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THE  WORKS  AND  LIFE  OF 
WALTER   B AGE HOT 

VOL.  III. 


THE  WORKS  AND  LIFE 


OF 


WALTER  BAGEHOT 


EDITED   BY 

MRS.  RUSSELL  HARRINGTON 


THE  WORKS  IN  NINE  VOLUMES 

THE    LIFE    IN    ONE   VOLUME 

VOL.  III.  OF  THE  WORKS 


LONGMANS,     GREEN,     AND     CO. 

39     PATERNOSTER     ROW,     LONDON 

FOURTH  AVENUE  &  30TH  STREET,  NEW  YORK 

BOMBAY,    CALCUTTA,    AND    MADRAS 

1915 


103 


CONTENTS  OF  VOLUME   III. 


PAGE 

BERANGER  (1857) i 

THE  WAVERLEY  NOVELS  (1858) 37 

CHARLES  DICKENS  (1858) 73 

PARLIAMENTARY  REFORM  (1859) 108 

JOHN  MILTON  (1859) 177 

THE  HISTORY  OF  THE   UNREFORMED    PARLIAMENT,   AND   ITS   LESSONS 

(1860) 222 

MR.  GLADSTONE  (1860) 272 

MEMOIR  OF  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE  JAMES  WILSON  (1860)  .        .        .  302 
THE  AMERICAN  CONSTITUTION  AT  THE  PRESENT  CRISIS.     Causes  of  the 
Civil  War  in  America.     By  J.  Lothrop  Motley  Manwaring  (from  Na- 
tional Review,  October,  1861) 349 


ERRATA. 

Page  378,  line  14,  for  eight  read  eighth 
»     379>    »»      7t   »   member  read  minister 


BERANGER.1 

(1857.) 

THE  invention  of  books  has  at  least  one  great  advantage.  It 
has  half-abolished  one  of  the  worst  consequences  of  the  diver- 
sity of  languages.  Literature  enables  nations  to  understand 
one  another.  Oral  intercourse  hardly  does  this.  In  English, 
a  distinguished  foreigner  says  not  what  he  thinks,  but  what 
he  can.  There  is  a  certain  intimate  essence  of  national  mean- 
ing which  is  as  untranslatable  as  good  poetry.  Dry  thoughts 
are  cosmopolitan  ;  but  the  delicate  associations  of  language 
which  express  character,  the  traits  of  speech  which  mark  the 
man,  differ  in  every  tongue,  so  that  there  are  not  even  cum- 
brous circumlocutions  that  are  equivalent  in  another.  National 
character  is  a  deep  thing — a  shy  thing ;  you  cannot  exhibit 
much  of  it  to  people  who  have  a  difficulty  in  understanding  your 
language  ;  you  are  in  strange  society,  and  you  feel  you  will 
not  be  understood.  "  Let  an  English  gentleman,"  writes  Mr. 
Thackeray,  "  who  has  dwelt  two,  four,  or  ten  years  in  Paris, 
say  at  the  end  of  any  given  period  how  much  he  knows  of 
French  society,  how  many  French  houses  he  has  entered,  and 
how  many  French  friends  he  has  made.  Intimacy  there  is 
none  ;  we  see  but  the  outsides  of  the  people.  Year  by  year 
we  live  in  France,  and  grow  grey  and  see  no  more.  We  play 
tcartf  with  Monsieur  de  Trefle  every  night ;  but  what  do  we 
know  of  the  heart  of  the  man — of  the  inward  ways,  thoughts, 

1  CEuvres  completes  de  C.-J.  de  Beranger.  Nouvelle  edition,  revue 
par  VAuteur,  contenant  les  Dix  Chansons  nou-velles,  le  facsimile  d'une 
Lettre  de  Beranger  ;  illustree  de  cinquante-deux  gravures  sur  acier, 
tfaprls  Charlet,  D'Aubigny,  Johannot  Grenier,  De  Lemud,  Pauquet,  Pen- 
guilly,  Raffet,  Sandoz,  executees  par  les  artistes  les  plus  distingues,  et 
dun  beau  portrait  tfapres  nature  par  Sandoz,  3  vols.,  8vo,  1855. 
VOL.  III.  I 


2  BERANGER 

and  customs  of  Trefle  ?  We  have  danced  with  Countess  Flic- 
Sac,  Tuesdays  and  Thursdays,  ever  since  the  peace ;  and  how 
far  are  we  advanced  in  her  acquaintance  since  we  first  twirled 
her  round  a  room  ?  We  know  her  velvet  gown  and  her  dia- 
monds ;  we  know  her  smiles  and  her  simpers  and  her  rouge  ; 
but  the  real,  rougeless,  intime  Flicflac  we  know  not."  1  Even 
if  our  words  did  not  stutter,  as  they  do  stutter  on  our  tongue, 
she  would  not  tell  us  what  she  is.  Literature  has  half  mended 
this.  Books  are  exportable  ;  the  essence  of  national  character 
lies  flat  on  a  printed  page.  Men  of  genius,  with  the  impulses 
of  solitude,  produce  works  of  art,  whose  words  can  be  read  and 
re-read  and  partially  taken  in  by  foreigners  to  whom  they  could 
never  be  uttered,  the  very  thought  of  whose  unsympathising 
faces  would  freeze  them  on  the  surface  of  the  mind.  Alexander 
Smith  has  accused  poetical  reviewers  of  beginning  as  far  as 
possible  from  their  subject.  It  may  seem  to  some,  though  it 
is  not  so  really,  that  we  are  exemplifying  this  saying  in  com- 
mencing as  we  have  commenced  an  article  on  Beranger. 

There  are  two  kinds  of  poetry — which  one  may  call  poems 
of  this  world,  and  poems  not  of  this  world.  We  see  a  certain 
society  on  the  earth  held  together  by  certain  relations,  per- 
forming certain  acts,  exhibiting  certain  phenomena,  calling 
forth  certain  emotions.  The  millions  of  human  beings  who 
compose  it  have  their  various  thoughts,  feelings,  and  desires. 
They  hate,  act,  and  live.  The  social  bond  presses  them 
closely  together;  and  from  their  proximity  new  sentiments 
arise  which  are  half  superficial  and  do  not  touch  the  inmost 
soul,  but  which  nevertheless  are  unspeakably  important  in 
the  actual  constitution  of  human  nature,  and  work  out  their 
effects  for  good  and  for  evil  on  the  characters  of  those  who 
are  subjected  to  their  influence.  These  sentiments  of  the 
world,  as  one  may  speak,  differ  from  the  more  primitive 
impulses  and  emotions  of  our  inner  nature  as  the  superficial 
phenomena  of  the  material  universe  from  what  we  fancy  is 
its  real  essence.  Passing  hues,  transient  changes  have  their 

1  We  have  been  obliged  to  abridge  the  above  extract,  and  in  so  doing 
have  left  out  the  humour  of  it.  (W.  Bagehot.)  [From  the  Part's  Sketch 
Book ;  condensed  from  the  section  on  some  French  fashionable  novels.] 
(Forrest  Morgan.) 


BER ANGER  3 

course  before  our  eyes ;  a  multiplex  diorama  is  for  ever  dis- 
played ;  underneath  it  all  we  fancy — such  is  the  inevitable 
constitution  of  our  thinking  faculty — a  primitive,  immovable 
essence,  which  is  modified  into  all  the  ever-changing  pheno- 
mena we  see,  which  is  the  grey  granite  whereon  they  lie,  the 
primary  substance  whose  debris  they  all  are.  Just  so  from 
the  original  and  primitive  emotions  of  man,  society — the 
evolving  capacity  of  combined  action — brings  out  desires 
which  seem  new,  in  a  sense  are  new,  which  have  no  exis- 
tence out  of  the  society  itself,  are  coloured  by  its  customs  at 
the  moment,  change  with  the  fashions  of  the  age.  Such  a 
principle  is  what  we  may  call  social  gaiety :  the  love  of 
combined  amusement  which  all  men  feel  and  variously  ex- 
press, and  which  is  to  the  higher  faculties  of  the  soul  what 
a  gay  running  stream  is  to  the  everlasting  mountain — a 
light,  altering  element  which  beautifies  while  it  modifies. 
Poetry  does  not  shrink  from  expressing  such  feelings ;  on  the 
contrary,  their  renovating  cheerfulness  blends  appropriately 
with  her  inspiriting  delight.  Each  age  and  each  form  of 
the  stimulating  imagination  has  a  fashion  of  its  own.  Sir 
Walter  sings  in  his  modernised  chivalry : — 

"  Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay, 
On  the  mountain  dawns  the  day  ; 
All  the  jolly  chase  is  here, 
With  hawk  and  horse  and  hunting-spear. 
Hounds  are  in  their  couples  yelling, 
Hawks  are  whistling,  horns  are  knelling. 
Merrily,  merrily,  mingle  they  : 
Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay. 

"  Louder,  louder  chant  the  lay, 
Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay  ; 
Tell  them  youth  and  mirth  and  glee 
Run  a  course  as  well  as  we. 
Time,  stern  huntsman,  who  can  balk  ? 
Stanch  as  hound  and  fleet  as  hawk  ; 
Think  of  this,  and  rise  with  day, 
Gentle  lords  and  ladies  gay."  l 

1  A  separate  lyric  first  published  in  the  Edinburgh  Annual  Register 
for  1808,  and  republished  in  the  collected  edition  of  Scott's  Poetical 
in  1830,  under  the  title  of  "  Hunting  Song,"  vol.  viii.  p.  370, 

I  * 


4  BERANGER 

The  poet  of  the  people  "vilain  et  tres  vilain?  sings  with  the 
pauper  Bohemian  : — 

"  Voir,  c'est  avoir.     Aliens  courir  ! 

Vie  errante 

Est  chose  enivrante. 
Voir,  c'est  avoir.     Aliens  courir  ! 
Car  tout  voir,  c'est  tout  conque'rir. 

"  Nous  n'avons  done,  exempts  d'orgueil, 

De  lois  vaines, 

De  lourdes  chaines  ; 
Nous  n'avons  done,  exempts  d'orgueil, 
Ni  berceau,  ni  toit,  ni  cercueil. 

"  Mais  croyez-en  notre  gaite, 

Noble  ou  pretre, 

Valet  ou  maitre  ; 

Mais,  croyez-en  notre  gaite, 

Le  bonheur,  c'est  la  liberte. 

"  Oui,  croyez-en  notre  gaite, 

Noble  ou  pretre, 

Valet  ou  maitre  ; 

Oui,  croyez-en  notre  gaite, 

Le  bonheur,  c'est  la  liberte'. "  * 

The  forms  of  those  poems  of  social  amusement  are,  in 
truth,  as  various  as  the  social  amusement  itself.  The  variety 
of  the  world,  singularly  various  as  it  everywhere  is,  is  nowhere 
so  various  as  in  that.  Men  have  more  ways  of  amusing  them- 
selves than  of  doing  anything  else  they  do.  But  the  essence 
— the  characteristic — of  these  poems  everywhere  is,  that  they 
express  more  or  less  well  the  lighter  desires  of  human  nature ; 
— those  that  have  least  of  unspeakable  depth,  partake  most  of 
what  is  perishable  and  earthly,  and  least  of  the  immortal  soul. 
The  objects  of  these  desires  are  social  accidents ;  excellent, 
perhaps,  essential,  possibly — so  is  human  nature  made — in  one 
form  and  variety  or  another,  to  the  well-being  of  the  soul,  yet 
in  themselves  transitory,  fleeting,  and  in  other  moods  contempt- 
ible. The  old  saying  was,  that  to  endure  solitude  a  man  must 
either  be  a  beast  or  a  god.2  It  is  in  the  lighter  play  of  social 

1  Les  Bohemiens. 

2  Bacon  :  Essay  on  "  Friendship,"  quoting  from  Aristotle's  Pplitica, 
(Forrest  Morgan.) 


BERANGER  5 

action,  in  that  which  is  neither  animal  nor  divine,  which  in  its 
half-way  character  is  so  natural  to  man,  that  these  poems  of 
society,  which  we  have  called  poems  of  amusement,  have  their 
place. 

This  species  does  not,  however,  exhaust  the  whole  class. 
Society  gives  rise  to  another  sort  of  poems,  differing  from 
this  one  as  contemplation  differs  from  desire.  Society  may 
be  thought  of  as  an  object.  The  varied  scene  of  men, — their 
hopes,  fears,  anxieties,  maxims,  actions, — presents  a  sight 
more  interesting  to  man  than  any  other  which  has  ever 
existed,  or  which  can  exist ;  and  it  may  be  viewed  in  all 
moods  of  mind,  and  with  the  change  of  inward  emotion  as 
the  external  object  seems  to  change :  not  that  it  really  does 
so,  but  that  some  sentiments  are  more  favourable  to  clear- 
sightedness than  others  are;  and  some  bring  before  us  one 
aspect  of  the  subject,  and  fix  our  attention  upon  it,  others  a 
different  one,  and  bind  our  minds  to  that  likewise.  Among 
the  most  remarkable  of  these  varied  views  is  the  world's  view 
of  itself.  The  world,  such  as  it  is,  has  made  up  its  mind 
what  it  is.  Childishly  deceivable  by  charlatans  on  every 
other  subject, — imposed  on  by  pedantry,  by  new  and 
unfounded  science,  by  ancient  and  unfounded  reputation,  a 
prey  to  pomposity,  overrun  with  recondite  fools,  ignorant  of 
all  else, — society  knows  itself.  The  world  knows  a  man  of 
the  world.  A  certain  tradition  pervades  it;  a  disciplina  of 
the  market-place  teaches  what  the  collective  society  of  men 
has  ever  been,  and  what,  so  long  as  the  nature  of  man  is  the 
same,  it  cannot  and  will  not  cease  to  be.  Literature,  the 
written  expression  of  human  nature  in  every  variety,  takes 
up  this  variety  likewise.  Ancient  literature  exhibits  it  from 
obvious  causes  in  a  more  simple  manner  than  modern 
literature  can.  Those  who  are  brought  up  in  times  like  the 
present  necessarily  hear  a  different  set  of  opinions,  fall  in 
with  other  words,  are  under  the  shadow  of  a  higher  creed. 
In  consequence,  they  cannot  have  the  simple  naivett  of  the 
old  world ;  they  cannot  speak  with  easy  equanimity  of  the 
fugitiveness  of  life,  the  necessity  of  death,  of  goodness  as  a 
mean,  of  sin  as  an  extreme.  The  theory  of  the  universe  has 


6  BERANGER 

ceased  to  be  an  open  question.  Still  the  spirit  of  Horace  is 
alive,  and  as  potent  as  that  of  any  man.  His  tone  is  that 
of  prime  ministers ;  his  easy  philosophy  is  that  of  courts  and 
parliaments ;  you  may  hear  his  words  where  no  other  foreign 
words  are  ever  heard.  He  is  but  the  extreme  and  perfect 
type  of  a  whole  class  of  writers,  some  of  whom  exist  in  every 
literary  age,  and  who  give  an  expression  to  what  we  may  call 
the  poetry  of  equanimity,  that  is,  the  world's  view  of  itself ; 
its  self-satisfaction,  its  conviction  that  you  must  bear  what 
comes,  not  hope  for  much,  think  some  evil,  never  be  excited, 
admire  little,  and  then  you  will  be  at  peace.  This  creed  does 
not  sound  attractive  in  description.  Nothing,  it  has  been 
said,  is  so  easy  as  to  be  "  religious  on  paper  "  :  on  the  other 
hand,  it  is  rather  difficult  to  be  worldly  in  speculation ;  the 
mind  of  man,  when  its  daily  maxims  are  put  before  it,  revolts 
from  anything  so  stupid,  so  mean,  so  poor.  It  requires  a 
consummate  art  to  reconcile  men  in  print  to  that  moderate 
and  insidious  philosophy  which  creeps  into  all  hearts,  colours 
all  speech,  influences  all  action.  We  may  not  stiffen  common- 
sense  into  a  creed ;  our  very  ambition  forbids  : — 

"  It  hears  a  voice  within  us  tell 
Calm's  not  life's  crown,  though  calm  is  well  : 
'Tis  all  perhaps  which  man  acquires  ; 
But  'tis  not  what  our  youth  desires  ".l 

Still  a  great  artist  may  succeed  in  making  "  calm  "  interesting. 
Equanimity  has  its  place  in  literature ;  the  poetry  of  equipoise 
is  possible.  Poems  of  society  have,  thus,  two  divisions  :  that 
which  we  mentioned  first,  the  expression  of  the  feelings  which 
are  called  out  by  the  accidents  of  society  ;  next,  the  harmonised 
expression  of  that  philosophy  of  indifference  with  which  the 
world  regards  the  fortunes  of  individuals  and  its  own. 

We  have  said  that  no  modern  nation  can  produce  literature 
embodying  this  kind  of  cool  reflection  and  delineation  as  it 
was  once  produced.  By  way  of  compensation,  however,  it  may 
be,  it  no  doubt  is,  easier  now  to  produce  the  lyrical  kinds  of 
poems  of  society — the  light  expression  of  its  light  emotions — 

1  Matthew  Arnold  :  "  Youth  and  Calm  ". 


BERANGER  7 

than  it  was  in  ancient  times.  Society  itself  is  better.  There 
is  something  hard  in  paganism,  which  is  aways  felt  even  in 
the  softest  traits  of  the  most  delicate  society  in  antiquity. 
The  social  influence  of  women  in  modern  times  gives  an  inter- 
est, a  little  pervading  excitement,  to  social  events.  Civilisation, 
besides,  has  made  comfort  possible ;  it  has,  at  least  in  part, 
created  a  scene  in  which  society  can  be  conducted.  Its  petty 
conveniences  may  or  may  not  be  great  benefits  according  to  a 
recondite  philosophy ;  but  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  for 
actual  men  and  women  in  actual  conversation  it  is  of  the 
greatest  importance  that  their  feet  should  not  be  cold ;  that 
their  eyes  and  mouths  should  not  be  troubled  with  smoke ; 
that  sofas  should  be  good,  and  attractive  chairs  many.  Modern 
times  have  the  advantage  of  the  ancient  in  the  scenery  of 
flirtation.  The  little  boy  complained  that  you  could  not  find 
"  drawing-room  "  in  the  dictionary.  Perhaps  even  because  our 
reflections  are  deeper,  our  inner  life  less  purely  pagan,  our  ap- 
parent life  is  softer  and  easier.  Some  have  said,  that  one 
reason  why  physical  science  made  so  little  progress  in  ancient 
times  was,  that  people  were  in  doubt  about  more  interesting 
things ;  men  must  have,  it  has  been  alleged,  a  settled  creed  as 
to  human  life  and  human  hopes,  before  they  will  attend  to 
shells  and  snails  and  pressure.  And  whether  this  be  so  or 
not,  perhaps  a  pleasant  society  is  only  possible  to  persons  at 
ease  as  to  what  is  beyond  society.  Those  only  can  lie  on  the 
grass  who  fear  no  volcano  underneath,  and  can  bear  to  look 
at  the  blue  vault  above. 

Among  modern  nations  it  is  not  difficult  to  say  where  we 
should  look  for  success  in  the  art  of  social  poetry.  "  Wher- 
ever," said  Mr.  Lewes  the  other  day,  "the  French  go,  they 
take  what  they  call  their  civilisation — that  is,  a  cafd  and  a 
theatre."  And  though  this  be  a  trifle  severe,  yet  in  its  essence  its 
meaning  is  correct.  The  French  have  in  some  manner  or  other 
put  their  mark  on  all  the  externals  of  European  life.  The 
essence  of  every  country  remains  little  affected  by  their  teach- 
ing ;  but  in  all  the  superficial  embellishments  of  society  they 
have  enjoined  the  fashion  ;  and  the  very  language  in  which 
those  embellishments  are  spoken  of,  shows  at  once  whence 


8  BERANGER 

they  were  derived.  Something  of  this  is  doubtless  due  to  the 
accidents  of  a  central  position,  and  an  early  and  prolonged 
political  influence ;  but  more  to  a  certain  neatness  of  nature,  a 
certain  finish  of  the  senses,  which  enables  them  more  easily 
than  others  to  touch  lightly  the  light  things  of  society,  to  see 
the  comme-il-faut.  "  I  like,"  said  a  good  judge,  "  to  hear  a 
Frenchman  talk  ;  he  strikes  a  light."  On  a  hundred  topics 
he  gives  the  bright  sharp  edge,  where  others  have  only  a  blunt 
approximation. 

Nor  is  this  anticipation  disappointed  Reviewers  do  not  ad- 
vance such  theories  unless  they  correspond  with  known  results. 
For  many  years  the  French  have  not  been  more  celebrated 
for  memoirs  which  professedly  describe  a  real  society  than  they 
have  been  for  the  light  social  song  which  embodies  its  senti- 
ments and  pours  forth  its  spirit.  The  principle  on  which  such 
writings  are  composed  is  the  taking  some  incident — not  volun- 
tarily (for  the  incident  doubtless  of  itself  takes  a  hold  on  the 
poet's  mind) — and  out  of  that  incident  developing  all  which 
there  is  in  it.  A  grave  form  is  of  course  inconsistent  with 
such  art  The  spirit  of  such  things  is  half-mirthful ;  a  very 
profound  meaning  is  rarely  to  be  expected  ;  but  little  incidents 
are  not  destitute  of  meaning,  and  a  delicate  touch  will  deline- 
ate it  in  words.  A  profound  excitement  likewise  such  poems 
cannot  produce ;  they  do  not  address  the  passions  or  the  intui- 
tions, the  heart  or  the  soul,  but  a  gentle  pleasure,  half  sympathy, 
half  amusement,  is  that  at  which  they  aim.  They  do  not  please 
us  equally  in  all  moods  of  mind  :  sometimes  they  seem  nothing 
and  nonsense,  like  society  itself.  We  must  not  be  too  active  or 
too  inactive,  to  like  them  ;  the  tension  of  mind  must  not  be  too 
great ;  in  our  highest  moods  the  littlenesses  of  life  are  petty ; 
the  mind  must  not  be  obtusely  passive ;  light  touches  will  not 
stimulate  a  sluggish  inaction.  This  dependence  on  the  mood 
of  mind  of  the  reader  makes  it  dangerous  to  elucidate  this  sort 
of  art  by  quotation  ;  Beranger  has,  however,  the  following : — 

"  Laideur  et  Beaute. 
"  Sa  trop  grande  beaute  m'obsede  ; 
C'est  un  masque  aise"ment  trompeur. 
Oui,  je  voudrais  qu'elle  fut  laide, 
Mais  laide,  laide  a  faire  peur. 


BERANGER 

Belle  ainsi  faut-il  que  je  1'aime  ! 
Dieu,  reprends  ce  don  eclatant  ; 
Je  le  demande  k  1'enfer  meme  : 
Qu'elle  soit  laide  et  que  je  1'aime  autant. 

"  A  ces  mots  m'apparait  le  diable  ; 
C'est  le  pere  de  la  laideur. 

*  Rendons-la,'  dit-il,  '  effroyable, 
De  tes  rivaux  trompons  1'ardeur. 
J'aime  assez  ces  metamorphoses. 
Ta  belle  ici  vient  en  chantant  ; 
Perles,  tombez  ;  fanez-vous  roses  : 

La  voilk  laide,  et  tu  1'aimes  autant.' 

"  — Laide  !  moi  ?  dit-elle  e"tonnee. 
Elle  s'approche  d'un  miroir, 
Doute  d'abord,  puis,  consternee, 
Tombe  en  un  morne  de"sespoir. 

*  Pour  moi  seul  tu  jurais  de  vivre,' 
Lui  dis-je,  k  ses  pieds  me  jetant ; 
'A  mon  seul  amour  il  te  livre. 

Plus  laide  encore,  je  t'aimerais  autant.' 

"  Ses  yeux  e"teints  fondent  en  larmes, 

Alors  sa  douleur  m'attendrit. 

'Ah  !  rendez,  rendez-lui  ses  charmes.' 

' — Soit  ! '  re"pond  Satan,  qui  sourit. 

Ainsi  que  nait  la  fraiche  aurore, 

Sa  beautd  renait  k  1'instant. 

Elle  est,  je  crois,  plus  belle  encore  : 
Elle  est  plus  belle,  et  moi  je  1'aime  autant. 

Vite  au  miroir  elle  s'assure 
Qu'on  lui  rend  bien  tous  ses  appas  ; 
Des  pleurs  restent  sur  sa  figure, 
Qu'elle  essuie  en  grondant  tout  bas. 
Satan  s'envole,  et  la  cruelle 
Fuit  et  s'e'crie  en  me  quittant : 
'Jamais  fille  que  Dieu  fit  belle 
Ne  doit  aimer  qui  peut  1'aimer  autant '.  " 

And  this  is  even  a  more  characteristic  specimen  : — 

"  La  Mouche. 

"  Au  bruit  de  notre  gaite"  folle, 
Au  bruit  des  verres,  des  chansons, 
Quelle  mouche  murmure  et  vole, 
Et  revient  quand  nous  la  chassons  ?  (bis.} 


io  BER  ANGER 

C'est  quelque  dieu,  je  le  soupc,onne, 
Qu'un  peu  de  bonheur  rend  jaloux. 
Ne  souffrons  point  qu'elle  bourdonne,   \/b-s  \ 
Qu'elle  bourdonne  autour  de  nous.        J 

"  Transformee  en  mouche  hideuse, 
Amis,  oui,  c'est,  j'en  suis  certain, 
La  Raison,  d6it6  grondeuse, 
Qu'irrite  un  si  joyeux  festin. 
L'orage  approche,  le  ciel  tonne, 
Voila  ce  que  dit  son  courroux. 
Ne  souffrons  point  qu'elle  bourdonne, 
Qu'elle  bourdonne  autour  de  nous. 

"  C'est  la  Raison  qui  vient  me  dire  : 
'  A  ton  age  on  vit  en  reclus. 
Ne  bois  plus  tant,  cesse  de  rire, 
Cesse  d'aimer,  ne  chante  plus.' 
Ainsi  son  beffroi  toujours  sonne 
Aux  lueurs  des  feux  les  plus  doux. 
Ne  souffrons  point  qu'elle  bourdonne, 
Qu'elle  bourdonne  autour  de  nous. 

"  C'est  la  Raison,  gare  a  Lisette  ! 
Son  dard  la  menace  toujours. 
Dieux  !  il  perce  la  collerette  : 
Le  sang  coule  !  accourez,  Amours  ! 
Amours  !  poursuivez  la  fdlonne  ; 
Qu'elle  expire  enfin  sous  vos  coups. 
Ne  souffrons  point  qu'elle  bourdonne, 
Qu'elle  bourdonne  autour  de  nous. 

"  Victoire  !  amis,  elle  se  noie 
Dans  1'a'i  que  Lise  a  verse. 
Victoire  !  et  qu'aux  mains  de  la  Joie 
Le  sceptre  enfin  soit  replace",     (bis.} 
Un  souffle  ebranle  sa  couronne  ; 
Une  mouche  nous  troublait  tous. 
Ne  craignons  plus  qu'elle  bourdonne, 
Qu'elle  bourdonne  autour  de  nous." 

To  make  poetry  out  of  a  fly  is  a  difficult  operation.  It 
used  to  be  said  of  the  Lake  school  of  criticism,  in  Mr. 
Wordsworth's  early  and  more  rigid  days,  that  there  was  no 
such  term  as  "elegant"  in  its  nomenclature.  The  reason  is 
that,  dealing,  or  attempting  to  deal,  only  with  the  essential 
aboriginal  principles  of  human  nature,  that  school  had  no 


BERANGER 


IT 


room  and  no  occasion  for  those  minor  contrivances  of  thought 
and  language  which  are  necessary  to  express  the  complex 
accumulation  of  little  feelings,  the  secondary  growth  of  human 
emotion.  The  underwood  of  nature  is  "  elegant"  ;  the  bare 
ascending  forest-tree  despises  what  is  so  trivial, — it  is  grave 
and  solemn.  To  such  verses,  on  the  other  hand,  as  have  been 
quoted,  "  elegance  "  is  essential ;  the  delicate  finish  of  fleeting 
forms  is  the  only  excellence  they  can  have. 

The  characteristic  deficiencies  of  French  literature  have 
no  room  to  show  themselves  in  this  class  of  art.  "  Though 
France  herself  denies,"  says  a  recent  writer,  "  yet  all  other 
nations  with  one  voice  proclaim  her  inferiority  to  her  rivals 
in  poetry  and  romance,  and  in  all  the  other  elevated  fields  of 
fiction.  A  French  Dante,  or  Michael  Angelo,  or  Cervantes, 
or  Murillo,  or  Goethe,  or  Shakespeare,  or  Milton,  we  at  once 
perceive  to  be  a  mere  anomaly  ;  a  supposition  which  may, 
indeed,  be  proposed  in  terms,  but  which  in  reality  is  incon- 
ceivable and  impossible."  In  metaphysics,  the  reason  seems 
to  be  that  the  French  character  is  incapable  of  being  mastered 
by  an  unseen  idea,  without  being  so  tyrannised  over  by  it  as  to 
be  incapable  of  artistic  development.  Such  a  character  as 
Robespierre's  may  explain  what  we  mean.  His  entire  nature 
was  taken  up  and  absorbed  in  certain  ideas ;  he  had  almost 
a  vanity  in  them ;  he  was  of  them,  and  they  were  of  him. 
But  they  appear  in  his  mind,  in  his  speeches,  in  his  life,  in 
their  driest  and  barest  form  ;  they  have  no  motion,  life,  or 
roundness.  We  are  obliged  to  use  many  metaphors  remotely 
and  with  difficulty  to  indicate  the  procedure  of  the  imagina- 
tion. In  one  of  these  metaphors  we  figure  an  idea  of  imagina- 
tion as  a  living  thing,  a  kind  of  growing  plant,  with  a  peculiar 
form,  and  ever  preserving  its  identity,  but  absorbing  from  the 
earth  and  air  all  kindred,  suitable,  and,  so  to  say,  annexable 
materials.  In  a  mind  such  as  Robespierre's,  in  the  type  of 
the  fanatic  mind,  there  is  no  such  thing.  The  ideas  seem  a 
kind  of  dry  hard  capsules,  never  growing,  never  enlarging, 
never  uniting.  Development  is  denied  them  ;  they  cannot 
expand,  or  ripen,  or  mellow.  Dogma  is  a  dry  hard  husk  ; 
poetry  has  the  soft  down  of  the  real  fruit.  Ideas  seize  on  the 


12  BER  ANGER 

fanatic  mind  just  as  they  do  on  the  poetical  ;  they  have  the 
same  imperious  ruling  power.  The  difference  is,  that  in  the  one 
the  impelling  force  is  immutable,  iron,  tyrannical ;  in  the 
other  the  rule  is  expansive,  growing,  free,  taking  up  from  all 
around  it  moment  by  moment  whatever  is  fit,  as  in  the  politi- 
cal world  a  great  constitution  arises  through  centuries,  with  a 
shape  that  does  not  vary,  but  with  movement  for  its  essence 
and  the  fluctuation  of  elements  for  its  vitality.  A  thin  poor 
mind  like  Robespierre's  seems  pressed  and  hampered  by  the 
bony  fingers  of  a  skeleton  hand ;  a  poet's  is  expanded  and 
warmed  at  the  same  time  that  it  is  impelled  by  a  pure  life- 
blood  of  imagination.  The  French,  as  we  have  said,  are 
hardly  capable  of  this.  When  great  remote  ideas  seize  upon 
them  at  all,  they  become  fanatics.  The  wild,  chimerical, 
revolutionary,  mad  Frenchman  has  the  stiffest  of  human  minds. 
He  is  under  the  law  of  his  creed  ;  he  has  not  attained  to  the 
higher  freedom  of  the  impelling  imagination.  The  prosing 
rhetoric  of  the  French  tragedy  shows  the  same  defect  in 
another  form.  The  ideas  which  should  have  become  living 
realities,  remain  as  lean  abstractions.  The  characters  are 
speaking  officials,  jets  of  attenuated  oratory.  But  exactly 
on  this  very  account  the  French  mind  has  a  genius  for  the 
poetry  of  society.  Unable  to  remove  itself  into  the  higher 
region  of  imagined  forms,  it  has  the  quickest  detective  insight 
into  the  exact  relation  of  surrounding  superficial  phenomena. 
There  are  two  ways  of  putting  it :  either  being  fascinated  by 
the  present,  they  cannot  rise  to  what  is  not  present ;  or  being 
by  defect  of  nature  unable  to  rise  to  what  is  not  present,  they 
are  concentrated  and  absorbed  in  that  which  is  so.  Of  course 
there  ought  not  to  be,  but  there  is,  a  world  of  bonbons,  of 
salons,  of  esprit.  Living  in  the  present,  they  have  the  poetry 
of  the  present.  The  English  genius  is  just  the  opposite.  Our 
cumbrous  intellect  has  no  call  to  light  artificialities.  We  do 
not  excel  in  punctuated  detail  or  nicely-squared  elaboration. 
It  puts  us  out  of  patience  that  others  should.  A  respectable 
Englishman  murmured  in  the  Caft  de  Paris,  "  I  wish  I  had 
a  hunch  of  mutton".  He  could  not  bear  the  secondary 
niceties  with  which  he  was  surrounded.  Our  art  has  the  same 


BER ANGER  13 

principle.  We  excel  in  strong,  noble  imagination,  in  solid 
stuff.  Shakespeare  is  tough  work  ;  he  has  the  play  of  the 
rising  energy,  the  buoyant  freedom  of  the  unbounded  mind  ; 
but  no  writer  is  so  destitute  of  the  simplifying  dexterities  of 
the  manipulating  intellect. 

It  is  dangerous  for  a  foreigner  to  give  an  opinion  on 
minuticB  of  style,  especially  on  points  affecting  the  character- 
istic excellences  of  national  style.  The  French  language  is 
always  neat ;  all  French  styles  somehow  seem  good.  But 
Beranger  appears  to  have  a  peculiar  neatness.  He  tells  us 
that  all  his  songs  are  the  production  of  a  painful  effort.  If 
so,  the  reader  should  be  most  grateful ;  he  suffers  no  pain. 
The  delicate  elaboration  of  the  writer  has  given  a  singular 
currency  to  the  words.  Difficult  writing  is  rarely  easy  read- 
ing. It  can  never  be  so  when  the  labour  is  spent  in  piecing 
together  elements  not  joined  by  an  insensible  touch  of  im- 
agination. The  highest  praise  is  due  to  a  writer  whose  ideas 
are  more  delicately  connected  by  unconscious  genius  than 
other  men's  are,  and  yet  who  spends  labour  and  toil  in  giving 
the  production  a  yet  cunninger  finish,  a  still  smoother  con- 
nection. The  characteristic  aloofness  of  the  Gothic  mind,  its 
tendency  to  devote  itself  to  what  is  not  present,  is  represented 
in  composition  by  a  want  of  care  in  the  pettinesses  of  style. 
A  certain  clumsiness  pervades  all  tongues  of  German  origin. 
Instead  of  the  language  having  been  sharpened  and  improved 
by  the  constant  keenness  of  attentive  minds,  it  has  been 
habitually  used  obtusely  and  crudely.  Light,  loquacious 
Gaul  has  for  ages  been  the  contrast.  If  you  take  up  a  pen 
just  used  by  a  good  writer,  for  a  moment  you  seem  to  write 
rather  well.  A  language  long  employed  by  a  delicate  and 
critical  society  is  a  treasure  of  dexterous  felicities.  It  is  not, 
according  to  the  fine  expression  of  Mr.  Emerson,  "  fossil 
poetry  "  ;  *  it  is  crystallised  esprit. 

A  French  critic  has  praised  Beranger  for  having  retained 
the  refrain,  or  burden,  "la  rime  de  Vair"  as  he  calls  it. 
Perhaps  music  is  more  necessary  as  an  accompaniment  to 
the  poetry  of  society  than  it  is  to  any  other  poetry.  Without 

1  Essay  on  "  The  Poet  ", 


i4  BER ANGER 

a  sensuous  reminder,  we  might  forget  that  it  was  poetry  ; 
especially  in  a  sparkling,  glittering,  attenuated  language,  we 
might  be  absorbed  as  in  the  defined  elegances  of  prose.  In 
half-trivial  compositions  we  easily  forget  the  little  central 
fancy.  The  music  prevents  this :  it  gives  oneness  to  the 
parts,  pieces  together  the  shavings  of  the  intellect,  makes 
audible  the  flow  of  imagination. 

The  poetry  of  society  tends  to  the  poetry  of  love.  All 
poetry  tends  that  way.  By  some  very  subtle  links,  which  no 
metaphysician  has  skilfully  tracked,  the  imagination,  even  in 
effects  and  employments  which  seem  remote,  is  singularly  so 
connected.  One  smiles  to  see  the  feeling  recur.  Half  the 
poets  can  scarcely  keep  away  from  it :  in  the  high  and  dry 
epic  you  may  see  the  poet  return  to  it.  And  perhaps  this  is 
not  unaccountable.  The  more  delicate  and  stealing  the  sen- 
suous element,  the  more  the  mind  is  disposed  to  brood  upon 
it ;  the  more  we  dwell  on  it  in  stillness,  the  more  it  influences 
the  wandering,  hovering  faculty  which  we  term  imagination. 
The  first  constructive  effort  of  imagination  is  beyond  the 
limit  of  consciousness  ;  the  faculty  works  unseen.  But  we 
know  that  it  works  in  a  certain  soft  leisure  only :  and  this  in 
ordinary  minds  is  almost  confined  to,  in  the  highest  is  most 
commonly  accompanied  by,  the  subtlest  emotion  of  reverie. 
So  insinuating  is  that  feeling,  that  no  poet  is  alive  to  all  its 
influences ;  so  potent  is  it,  that  the  words  of  a  great  poet,  in 
our  complex  modern  time,  are  rarely  ever  free  from  its  traces. 
The  phrase  "  stealing  calm,"  which  most  naturally  and  gra- 
phically describes  the  state  of  soul  in  which  the  imagination 
works,  quite  equally  expresses,  it  is  said,  the  coming  in  and 
continuance  of  the  not  uncommon  emotion.  Passing,  however, 
from  such  metaphysics,  there  is  no  difficulty  in  believing  that 
the  poetry  of  society  will  tend  to  the  most  romantic  part  of 
society, — away  from  aunts  and  uncles,  antiquaries  and  wigs, 
to  younger  and  pleasanter  elements.  The  talk  of  society  does 
so ;  probably  its  literature  will  do  so  likewise.  There  are, 
nevertheless,  some  limiting  considerations,  which  make  this 
tendency  less  all-powerful  than  we  might  expect  it  to  be.  In 
the  first  place,  the  poetry  of  society  cannot  deal  with  passion. 


BER ANGER  15 

Its  light  touch  is  not  competent  to  express  eager,  intense 
emotion.  Rather,  we  should  say,  the  essential  nature  of  the 
poetry  of  amusement  is  inconsistent  with  those  rugged,  firm, 
aboriginal  elements  which  passion  brings  to  the  surface.  The 
volcano  is  inconsistent  with  careless  talk  ;  you  cannot  com- 
fortably associate  with  lava.  Such  songs  as  those  of  Burns 
are  the  very  antithesis  to  the  levity  of  society.  A  certain 
explicitness  pervades  them  : — 

"  Come,  let  me  take  thee  to  my  breast, 
And  pledge  we  ne'er  shall  sunder  ; 
And  I  shall  spurn  as  vilest  dust 
The  warld's  wealth  and  grandeur  ". 

There  is  a  story  of  his  having  addressed  a  lady  in  society, 
some  time  after  he  came  to  Edinburgh,  in  this  direct  style, 
and  being  offended  that  she  took  notice  of  it.  The  verses 
were  in  English,  and  were  not  intended  to  mean  anything 
particular,  only  to  be  an  elegant  attention  ;  but  you  might  as 
well  ask  a  young  lady  to  take  brandy  with  you  as  compliment 
her  in  this  intense  manner.  The  eager  peasant-poet  was  at 
fault  in  the  polished  refinements  of  the  half-feeling  drawing- 
room.  Again,  the  poetry  of  society  can  scarcely  deal  with 
affection.  No  poetry,  except  in  hints,  and  for  moments, 
perhaps  ever  can.  You  might  as  well  tell  secrets  to  the  town- 
crier.  The  essence  of  poetry  somehow  is  publicity.  It  is 
very  odd  when  one  reads  many  of  the  sentiments  which  are 
expressed  there, — the  brooding  thought,  the  delicate  feeling, 
the  high  conception.  What  is  the  use  of  telling  these  to  the 
mass  of  men  ?  Will  the  grocer  feel  them  ? — will  the  greasy 
butcher  in  the  blue  coat  feel  them  ?  Are  there  not  some 
emphatic  remarks  by  Lord  Byron  on  Mr.  Sanders  ("the 
d — d  saltfish  seller"  of  Venice),1  who  could  not  appreciate 
Don  Juan  ?  Nevertheless,  for  some  subtle  reason  or  other, 
poets  do  crave,  almost  more  than  other  men,  the  public 
approbation.  To  have  a  work  of  art  in  your  imagination, 
and  that  no  one  else  should  know  of  it,  is  a  great  pain.  But 
even  this  craving  has  its  limits.  Art  can  only  deal  with  the 
universal.  Characters,  sentiments,  actions,  must  be  described 

1  Moore's  Byron. 


1 6  BER ANGER 

in  what  in  the  old  language  might  be  called  their  conceptual 
shape.  There  must  always  be  an  idea  in  them.  If  we  com- 
pare a  great  character  in  fiction,  say  that  of  Hamlet,  with  a 
well-known  character  in  life,  we  are  struck  almost  at  once  by 
the  typical  and  representative  nature  of  the  former.  We  seem 
to  have  a  more  summary  conception  of  it,  if  the  phrase  may 
be  allowed,  than  we  have  of  the  people  we  know  best  in 
reality.  Indeed,  our  notion  of  the  fictitious  character  rather 
resembles  a  notion  of  actual  persons  of  whom  we  know  a  little, 
and  but  a  little, — of  a  public  man,  suppose,  of  whom  from 
his  speeches  and  writings  we  know  something,  but  with  whom 
we  never  exchanged  a  word.  We  generalise  a  few  traits ;  we 
do  what  the  historian  will  have  to  do  hereafter ;  we  make  a 
man,  so  to  speak,  resembling  the  real  one,  but  more  defined, 
more  simple  and  comprehensible.  The  objects  on  which 
affection  turns  are  exactly  the  opposite.  In  their  essence  they 
are  individual,  peculiar.  Perhaps  they  become  known  under 
a  kind  of  confidence ;  but  even  if  not,  Nature  has  hallowed 
the  details  of  near  life  by  an  inevitable  secrecy.  You  cannot 
expect  other  persons  to  feel  them ;  you  cannot  tell  your  own 
intellect  what  they  are.  An  individuality  lurks  in  our  nature. 
Each  soul  (as  the  divines  speak)  clings  to  each  soul.  Poetry 
is  impossible  on  such  points  as  these :  they  seem  too  sacred, 
too  essential.  The  most  that  it  can  do  is,  by  hints  and  little 
marks  in  the  interstices  of  a  universalised  delineation,  to 
suggest  that  there  is  something  more  than  what  is  stated,  and 
more  inward  and  potent  than  what  is  stated.  Affection  as  a 
settled  subject  is  incompatible  with  art.  And  thus  the  poetry 
of  society  is  limited  on  its  romantic  side  in  two  ways :  first, 
by  the  infinite,  intense  nature  of  passion,  which  forces  the 
voice  of  art  beyond  the  social  tone ;  and  by  the  confidential, 
incomprehensible  nature  of  affection,  which  will  not  bear  to 
be  developed  for  the  public  by  the  fancy  in  any  way. 

Being  so  bounded  within  the  ordinary  sphere  of  their  art, 
poets  of  this  world  have  contrived  or  found  a  substitute.  In 
every  country  there  is  a  society  which  is  no  society.  The 
French,  which  is  the  most  worldly  of  literatures,  has  devoted 
itself  to  the  delineation  of  this  outside  world.  There  is  no 


BER ANGER  17 

form,  comic  or  serious,  dramatic  or  lyrical,  in  which  the  sub- 
ject has  not  been  treated :  the  burden  is — 

"  Lisette,  ma  Lisette, 
Tu  m'as  trompe'  toujours  ; 
Mais  vive  la  grisette  ! 

Je  veux,  Lisette, 
Boire  a  nos  amours." 

There  is  obviously  no  need  of  affection  in  this  society.  The 
whole  plot  of  the  notorious  novel,  La  Dame  aux  Came'lias, — 
and  a  very  remarkable  one  it  is, — is  founded  on  the  incon- 
gruity of  real  feeling  with  this  world,  and  the  singular  and 
inappropriate  consequences  which  result,  if,  by  any  rare  chance, 
it  does  appear  there.  Passion  is  almost  a  fortiori  out  of  the 
question.  The  depths  of  human  nature  have  nothing  to  do 
with  this  life.  On  this  account,  perhaps,  it  is  that  it  harmonises 
so  little  with  the  English  literature  and  character.  An  Eng- 
lishman can  scarcely  live  on  the  surface ;  his  passions  are  too 
strong,  his  power  of  finesse  too  little.  Accordingly,  since 
Defoe,  who  treated  the  subject  with  a  coarse  matter-of-factness, 
there  has  been  nothing  in  our  literature  of  this  kind — nothing 
at  least  professedly  devoted  to  it.  How  far  this  is  due  to  real 
excellence,  how  far  to  the  bourgeois  and  not  very  outspoken 
temper  of  our  recent  writers,  we  need  not  in  this  place  discuss. 
There  is  no  occasion  to  quote  in  this  country  the  early  poetry 
of  Beranger,  at  least  not  the  sentimental  part  of  it.  We  may 
take,  in  preference,  one  of  his  poems  written  in  olcj,  or  rather 
in  middle  age  : — 

"  Cinquante  Ans. 
"  Pourquoi  ces  fleurs  ?  est-ce  ma  fete  ? 

Non  ;  ce  bouquet  vient  m'annoncer 

Qu'un  demi-siecle  sur  ma  tete 

Acheve  aujourd'hui  de  passer. 

Oh  !  combien  nos  jours  sont  rapides  ! 

Oh  !  combien  j'ai  perdu  d'instants  ! 

Oh  !  combien  je  me  sens  de  rides  ! 

He*las  !  helas  !  j'ai  cinquante  ans. 

"  A  cet  age,  tout  nous  echappe  ; 
Le  fruit  meurt  sur  1'arbre  jauni. 
Mais  a  ma  porte  quelqu'un  frappe  ; 
N'ouvrons  point :  mon  role  est  fini. 
VOL.  III.  2 


1 8  BERANGER 

C'est,  je  gage,  un  docteur  qui  jette 
Sa  carte,  ou  s'est  loge*  le  Temps. 
Jadis,  j'aurais  dit :  C'est  Lisette. 
He'las  !  he'las  !  j'ai  cinquante  ans. 

"  En  maux  cuisants  vieillesse  abonde  : 
C'est  la  goutte  qui  nous  meurtrit ; 
La  ce'cite',  prison  profonde  ; 
La  surdite",  dont  chacun  rit. 
Puis  la  raison,  lampe  qui  baisse, 
N'a  plus  que  des  feux  tremblotants. 
Enfants,  honorez  la  vieillesse  ! 
He'las  !  he'las  !  j'ai  cinquante  ans  ! 

"  Ciel  !  j'entends  la  Mort,  qui,  joyeuse, 
Arrive  en  se  frottant  les  mains. 
A  ma  porte  la  fossoyeuse 
Frappe  ;  adieu,  messieurs  les  humains  ! 
En  bas,  guerre,  famine  et  peste  ; 
En  haut,  plus  d'astres  e*clatants. 
Ouvrons,  tandis  que  Dieu  me  reste. 
Helas  !  he'las  !  j'ai  cinquante  ans. 

"  Mais  non  ;  c'est  vous  !  vous,  jeune  amie, 
Sceur  de  charit£  des  amours  ! 
Vous  tirez  mon  ime  endormie 
Du  cauchemar  des  mauvais  jours. 
Semant  les  roses  de  votre  ige 
Partout,  comme  fait  le  printemps, 
Parfumez  les  reVes  d'un  sage. 
He'las  !  he'las  !  j'ai  cinquante  ans." 

This  is  the  last  scene  of  the  grisette,  of  whom  we  read  in  so 
many  songs  sparkling  with  youth  and  gaiety. 

A  certain  intellectuality,  however,  pervades  B6ranger's 
love-songs.  You  seem  to  feel,  to  see,  not  merely  the  emotion, 
but  the  mind,  in  the  background  viewing  that  emotion.  You 
are  conscious  of  a  considerateness  qualifying  and  contrasting 
with  the  effervescing  champagne  of  the  feelings  described. 
Desire  is  rarefied ;  sense  half  becomes  an  idea.  You  may 
trace  a  similar  metamorphosis  in  the  poetry  of  passion  itself. 
If  we  contrast  such  a  poem  as  Shelley's  "  Epipsychidion  "  with 
the  natural  language  of  common  passion,  we  see  how  curiously 
the  intellect  can  take  its  share  in  the  dizziness  of  sense.  In 
the  same  way,  in  the  lightest  poems  of  Beranger  we  feel  that 


BERANGER  19 

it  may  be  infused,  may  interpenetrate  the  most  buoyant  effer- 
vescence. 

Nothing  is  more  odd  than  to  contrast  the  luxurious  and 
voluptuous  nature  of  much  of  Beranger' s  poetry  with  the  cir- 
cumstances of  his  life.  He  never  in  all  his  productive  time 
had  more  than  £80  a  year  ;  the  smallest  party  of  pleasure 
made  him  live,  he  tells  us  himself,  most  ascetically  for  a  week ; 
so  far  from  leading  the  life  of  a  Sybarite,  his  youth  was  one 
of  anxiety  and  privation.  A  more  worldly  poet  has  probably 
never  written,  but  no  poet  has  shown  in  life  so  philosophic  an 
estimate  of  this  world's  goods.  His  origin  is  very  unaristo- 
cratic.  He  was  born  in  August,  1780,  at  the  house  of  his 
grandfather,  a  poor  old  tailor.  Of  his  mother  we  hear  nothing. 
His  father  was  a  speculative,  sanguine  man,  who  never  suc- 
ceeded. His  principal  education  was  given  him  by  an  aunt, 
who  taught  him  to  read  and  to  write,  and  perhaps  generally 
incited  his  mind.  His  school-teaching  tells  of  the  philosophy 
of  the  revolutionary  time.  By  way  of  primary  school  for  the 
town  of  Peronne,  a  patriotic  member  of  the  National  Assembly 
had  founded  an  institut  cCenfants.  "  It  offered,"  we  are  told, 
"  at  once  the  image  of  a  club  and  that  of  a  camp ;  the  boys 
wore  a  military  uniform ;  at  every  public  event  they  named 
deputations,  delivered  orations,  voted  addresses :  letters  were 
written  to  the  citizen  Robespierre  and  the  citizen  Tallien." 
Naturally,  amid  such  great  affairs  there  was  no  time  for  mere 
grammar ;  they  did  not  teach  Latin.  Nor  did  Beranger  ever 
acquire  any  knowledge  of  that  language ;  and  he  may  be  said 
to  be  destitute  of  what  is  in  the  usual  sense  called  culture. 
Accordingly,  it  has  in  these  days  been  made  a  matter  of  wonder 
by  critics,  whom  we  may  think  pedantic,  that  one  so  destitute 
should  be  able  to  produce  such  works.  But  a  far  keener  judge 
has  pronounced  the  contrary.  Goethe,  who  certainly  did  not 
undervalue  the  most  elaborate  and  artful  cultivation,  at  once 
pronounced  Beranger  to  have  "  a  nature  most  happily  endowed, 
firmly  grounded  in  himself,  purely  developed  from  himself,  and 
quite  in  harmony  with  himself  ".l  In  fact,  as  these  words 
mean,  Beranger,  by  happiness  of  nature  or  self-attention,  has 
1  Conversations  with  Eckermann  and  Soret,  4th  May,  1830. 


20  BERANGER 

that  centrality  of  mind,  which  is  the  really  valuable  result  of 
colleges  and  teaching.  He  puts  things  together;  he  refers 
things  to  a  principle ;  rather,  they  group  themselves  in  his 
intelligence  insensibly  round  a  principle.  There  is  nothing 
distrait  in  his  genius  ;  the  man  has  attained  to  be  himself; 
a  cool  oneness,  a  poised  personality  pervades  him.  "The 
unlearned,"  it  has  been  said,  "judge  at  random."  Beranger 
is  not  unlearned  in  this  sense.  There  is  no  one  who  judges 
more  simply,  smoothly,  and  uniformly.  His  ideas  refer  to  an 
exact  measure.  He  has  mastered  what  comes  before  him. 
And  though  doubtless  unacquainted  with  foreign  and  incongru- 
ous literatures,  he  has  mastered  his  own  literature,  which  was 
shaped  by  kindred  persons,  and  has  been  the  expression  of 
analogous  natures ;  and  this  has  helped  him  in  expressing 
himself. 

In  the  same  way,  his  poor  youth  and  boyhood  have  given  a 
reality  to  his  productions.  He  seems  to  have  had  this  in  mind 
in  praising  the  " practical  education  which  I  have  received". 
He  was  bred  a  printer ;  and  the  highest  post  he  attained  was 
a  clerkship  at  the  university,  worth,  as  has  been  said,  £80  per 
annum.  Accordingly  he  has  everywhere  a  sympathy  with  the 
common  people,  an  unsought  familiarity  with  them  and  their 
life.  Sybarite  poetry  commonly  wants  this.  The  aristocratic 
nature  is  superficial ;  it  relates  to  a  life  protected  from  simple 
wants,  depending  on  luxurious  artifices.  ''Mamma,"  said  the 
simple-minded  young  nobleman,  "  when  poor  people  have  no 
bread,  why  do  not  they  eat  buns  ?  they  are  much  better."  An 
over-perfumed  softness  pervades  the  poetry  of  society.  You 
see  this  in  the  songs  of  Moore,  the  best  of  the  sort  we  have ; 
all  is  beautiful,  soft,  half-sincere.  There  is  a  little  falsetto  in 
the  tone,  everything  reminds  you  of  the  drawing-room  and  the 
pianoforte ;  and  not  only  so — for  all  poetry  of  society  must 
in  a  measure  do  this — but  it  seems  fit  for  no  other  scene. 
Naturalness  is  the  last  word  of  praise  that  would  be  suitable. 
In  the  scented  air  we  forget  that  there  is  a  pave  and  a  multi- 
tude. Perhaps  France  is  of  all  countries  which  have  ever  ex- 
isted the  one  in  which  we  might  seek  an  exception  from  this 
luxurious  limitation.  A  certain  egalite  may  pervade  its  art  as 


BER ANGER  21 

its  society.  There  is  no  such  difference  as  with  us  between 
the  shoeblack  and  the  gentleman.  A  certain  refinement  is 
very  common  ;  an  extreme  refinement  possibly  rare.  B6ranger 
was  able  to  write  his  poems  in  poverty ;  they  are  popular  with 
the  poor. 

A  success  even  greater  than  what  we  have  described  as 
having  been  achieved  by  Beranger  in  the  first  class  of  the 
poems  of  society — that  of  amusement — has  been  attained  by 
him  in  the  second  class,  expressive  of  epicurean  speculation. 
Perhaps  it  is  one  of  his  characteristics  that  the  two  are  for  ever 
running  one  into  another.  There  is  animation  in  his  thinking  ; 
there  is  meaning  in  his  gaiety.  It  requires  no  elaborate  ex- 
planation to  make  evident  the  connection  between  scepticism 
and  luxuriousness.  Every  one  thinks  of  the  Sadducee  as  in 
cool  halls  and  soft  robes ;  no  one  supposes  that  the  Sybarite 
believes.  Pain  not  only  purifies  the  mind,  but  deepens  the 
nature.  A  simple,  happy  life  is  animal ;  it  is  pleasant,  and  it 
perishes.  All  writers  who  have  devoted  themselves  to  the  ex- 
planation of  this  world's  view  of  itself  are  necessarily  in  a  certain 
measure  Sadducees.  The  world  is  Sadducee  itself;  it  cannot 
be  anything  else  without  recognising  a  higher  creed,  a  more 
binding  law,  a  more  solemn  reality — without  ceasing  to  be  the 
world.  Equanimity  is  incredulous  ;  impartiality  does  not  care  ; 
an  indifferent  politeness  is  sceptical.  Though  not  a  single 
speculative  opinion  is  expressed,  we  may  feel  this  in  "  Roger 
Bontemps"  : — 

"  Roger  Bontemps. 

"  Aux  gens  atrabilaires 
Pour  example  donne, 
En  un  temps  de  miseres 
Roger  Bontemps  est  ne. 
Vivre  obscur  a  sa  guise, 
Narguer  les  me"contents  : 
Eh  gai !  c'est  la  devise 
Du  gros  Roger  Bontemps. 

"  Du  chapeau  de  son  pere 
Coiffe  dans  les  grands  jours, 
De  roses  ou  de  lierre 
Le  rajeunir  toujours  ; 


22  BER ANGER 

Mettre  un  manteau  de  bure, 
Vieil  ami  de  vingt  ans  : 
Eh  gai  !  c'est  la  parure 
Du  gros  Roger  Bontemps. 

"  Possdder  dans  sa  hutte 
Une  table,  un  vieux  lit, 
Des  cartes,  une  flute, 
Un  broc  que  Dieu  remplit, 
Un  portrait  de  maitresse, 
Un  coffre  et  rien  dedans  : 
Eh  gai !  c'est  la  richesse 
Du  gros  Roger  Bontemps. 

"  Aux  enfants  de  la  ville 
Montrer  de  petits  jeux  ; 
Etre  un  faiseur  habile 
De  contes  graveleux  ; 
Ne  parler  que  de  danse 
Et  d'almanachs  chantants  : 
Eh  gai !  c'est  la  science 
Du  gros  Roger  Bontemps. 

"  Faute  de  vin  d'elite, 
Sabler  ceux  du  canton  ; 
Preferer  Marguerite 
Aux  dames  du  grand  ton  ; 
De  joie  et  de  tendresse 
Remplir  tous  ses  instants  : 
Eh  gai  !  c'est  la  sagesse 
Du  gros  Roger  Bontemps. 

"  Dire  au  Ciel :  Je  me  fie, 
Mon  pere,  a  ta  bcnte* ; 
De  ma  philosophic 
Pardonne  la  gaite" ; 
Que  ma  saison  derniere 
Soit  encore  un  printemps  : 
Eh  gai !  c'est  la  priere 
Du  gros  Roger  Bontemps. 

"  Vous,  pauvres  pleins  d'envie, 
Vous,  riches  desireux, 
Vous,  dont  le  char  devie 
Apres  un  cours  heureux  ; 
Vous,  qui  perdrez  peut-etre 
Des  titres  e'clatants, 
Eh  gai  !  prenez  pour  maitre 
Le  gros  Roger  Bontemps," 


BERANGER  23 

At  the  same  time,  in  Beranger  the  scepticism  is  not  ex- 
treme. The  skeleton  is  not  paraded.  That  the  world  is  a 
passing  show,  a  painted  scene,  is  admitted ;  you  seem  to  know 
that  it  is  all  acting  and  rouge  and  illusion  :  still  the  pleasantness 
of  the  acting  is  dwelt  on,  the  rouge  is  never  rubbed  off,  the  dream 
runs  lightly  and  easily.  No  nightmare  haunts  you,  you  have 
no  uneasy  sense  that  you  are  about  to  awaken.  Persons  who 
require  a  sense  of  reality  may  complain ;  pain  is  perhaps 
necessary  to  sharpen  their  nerves,  a  tough  effort  to  harden  their 
consciousness  :  but  if  you  pass  by  this  objection  of  the  thres- 
hold, if  you  admit  the  possibility  of  a  superficial  and  fleeting 
world,  you  will  not  find  a  better  one  than  Beranger's  world. 
Suppose  all  the  world  were  a  restaurant^  his  is  a  good  restaur- 
ant ;  admit  that  life  is  an  effervescing  champagne,  his  is  the 
best  for  the  moment. 

In  several  respects  Beranger  contrasts  with  Horace,  the 
poet  whom  in  general  he  most  resembles.  The  song  of  "  Roger 
Bontemps  "  suggests  one  of  the  most  obvious  differences.  It 
is  essentially  democratic.  As  we  have  said  before,  B6ranger 
is  the  poet  of  the  people;  he  himself  says,  Le  peuple  c'estma 
muse.  Throughout  Horace's  writings,  however  much  he  may 
speak,  and  speak  justly,  of  the  simplicity  of  his  tastes,  you  are 
always  conscious  that  his  position  is  exceptional.  Everybody 
cannot  be  the  friend  of  Maecenas ;  every  cheerful  man  of  the 
world  cannot  see  the  springs  of  the  great  world.  The  intellect 
of  most  self-indulgent  men  must  satisfy  itself  with  small  indul- 
gences. Without  a  hard  ascent  you  can  rarely  see  a  great  view. 
Horace  had  the  almost  unequalled  felicity  of  watching  the 
characters  and  thoughts  and  tendencies  of  the  governors  of  the 
world,  the  nicest  manipulation  of  the  most  ingenious  statesmen, 
the  inner  tastes  and  predilections  which  are  the  origin  of  the 
most  important  transactions ;  and  yet  had  the  ease  and  pleasant- 
ness of  the  common  and  effortless  life.  So  rare  a  fortune  can- 
not be  a  general  model ;  the  gospel  of  Epicureanism  must  not 
ask  a  close  imitation  of  one  who  had  such  very  special  advan- 
tages. Beranger  gives  the  acceptors  of  that  creed  a  commoner 
type.  Out  of  nothing  but  the  most  ordinary  advantages — the 
garret,  the  almost  empty  purse,  the  not  over-attired  grisette — 


24  BERANGER 

he  has  given  them  a  model  of  the  sparkling  and  quick  exist- 
ence for  which  their  fancy  is  longing.  You  cannot  imagine 
commoner  materials.  In  another  respect  Horace  and  Beranger 
are  remarkably  contrasted.  Beranger,  sceptical  and  indifferent 
as  he  is,  has  a  faith  in,  and  zeal  for,  liberty.  It  seems  odd 
that  he  should  care  for  that  sort  of  thing ;  but  he  does  care  for 
it.  Horace  probably  had  a  little  personal  shame  attaching  to 
such  ideas.  No  regimental  officer  of  our  own  time  can  have 
"joined"  in  a  state  of  more  crass  ignorance,  than  did  the  stout 
little  student  from  Athens  in  all  probability  join  the  army  of 
Brutus ;  the  legionaries  must  have  taken  the  measure  of  him, 
as  the  sergeants  of  our  living  friends.  Anyhow  he  was  not 
partial  to  such  reflections  ;  zeal  for  political  institutions  is  quite 
as  foreign  to  him  as  any  other  zeal.  A  certain  hope  in  the 
future  is  characteristic  of  Beranger — 

"  Qui  decouvrit  un  nouveau  monde  ? 
Un  fou  qu'on  raillait  en  tout  lieu." 

Modern  faith  colours  even  bystanding  scepticism.  Though 
probably  with  no  very  accurate  ideas  of  the  nature  of  liberty, 
Beranger  believes  that  it  is  a  great  good,  and  that  France  will 
have  it. 

The  point  in  which  Beranger  most  resembles  Horace  is 
that  which  is  the  most  essential  in  the  characters  of  them  both 
— their  geniality.  This  is  the  very  essence  of  the  poems  of 
society ;  it  springs  in  the  verses  of  amusement,  it  harmonises 
with  acquiescing  sympathy  the  poems  of  indifference.  And 
yet  few  qualities  in  writing  are  so  rare.  A  certain  malevolence 
enters  into  literary  ink  ;  the  point  of  the  pen  pricks.  Pope  is 
the  very  best  example  of  this.  With  every  desire  to  imitate 
Horace,  he  cannot  touch  any  of  his  subjects,  or  any  kindred 
subjects,  without  infusing  a  bitter  ingredient.  It  is  not  given 
to  the  children  of  men  to  be  philosophers  without  envy. 
Lookers-on  can  hardly  bear  the  spectacle  of  the  great  world. 
If  you  watch  the  carriages  rolling  down  to  the  House  of  Lords, 
you  will  try  to  depreciate  the  House  of  Lords.  Idleness  is 
cynical.  Both  Beranger  and  Horace  are  exceptions  to  this. 
Both  enjoy  the  roll  of  the  wheels  ;  both  love  the  glitter  of  the 
carriages  ;  neither  is  angry  at  the  sun.  Each  knows  that  he  is 


BER ANGER  25 

as  happy  as  he  can  be — that  he  is  all  that  he  can  be  in  his  con- 
templative philosophy.  In  his  means  of  expression  for  the 
purpose  in  hand,  the  Frenchman  has  the  advantage.  The 
Latin  language  is  clumsy.  Light  pleasure  was  an  exotic  in 
the  Roman  world ;  the  terms  in  which  you  strive  to  describe 
it  suit  rather  the  shrill  camp  and  droning  law-court.  In  Eng- 
lish, as  we  hinted  just  now,  we  have  this  too.  Business  is  in 
our  words ;  a  too  heavy  sense  clogs  our  literature ;  even  in  a 
writer  so  apt  as  Pope  at  the  'finesse  of  words,  you  feel  that  the 
solid  Gothic  roots  impede  him.  It  is  difficult  not  to  be  cum- 
brous. The  horse  may  be  fleet  and  light,  but  the  wheels  are 
ponderous  and  the  road  goes  heavily.  Beranger  certainly  has 
not  this  difficulty ;  nobody  ever  denied  that  a  Frenchman  could 
be  light,  that  the  French  language  was  adapted  for  levity. 

When  we  ascribed  an  absence  of  bitterness  and  male- 
volence to  Beranger,  we  were  far  from  meaning  that  he  is  not 
a  satirist.  Every  light  writer  in  a  measure  must  be  so.  Mirth 
is  the  imagery  of  society ;  and  mirth  must  make  fun  of  some- 
body. The  nineteenth  century  has  not  had  many  shrewder 
critics  than  its  easy-natured  poet.  Its  intense  dulness  parti- 
cularly strikes  him.  He  dreads  the  dreariness  of  the  Academy  ; 
pomposity  bores  him ;  formalism  tires  him ;  he  thinks,  and 
may  well  think,  it  dreary  to  have 

"  Pour  grands  hommes  des  journalistes, 
Pour  amusement  1'Opera  ". 

But  skilful  as  is  the  mirth,  its  spirit  is  genial  and  good-natured. 
"  You  have  been  laughing  at  me  constantly,  Sydney,  for  the  last 
seven  years,"  said  a  friend  to  the  late  Canon  of  St.  Paul's,  "  and 
yet  in  all  that  time  you  never  said  a  single  thing  to  me  that  I 
wished  unsaid."  l  So  far  as  its  essential  features  are  concerned, 
the  nineteenth  century  may  say  the  same  of  its  musical  satirist. 
Perhaps,  however,  the  Bourbons  might  a  little  object.  Clever 
people  have  always  a  little  malice  against  the  stupid. 

There  is  no  more  striking  example  of  the  degree  in  which 
the  gospel  of  good  works  has  penetrated  our  modern  society, 
than  that  Beranger  has  talked  of  "  utilising  his  talent ".  The 

1  Dudley  :  Lady  Holland's  Memoirs  of  Sydney  Smith,  chap,  xl 


26  BERANGER 

epicurean  poet  considers  that  he  has  been  a  political  missionary. 
Well  may  others  be  condemned  to  the  penal  servitude  of  in- 
dustry, if  the  lightest  and  idlest  of  skilful  men  boasts  of  being 
subjected  to  it.  If  Beranger  thinks  it  necessary  to  think  that 
he  has  been  useful,  others  may  well  think  so  too ;  let  us  accept 
the  heavy  doctrine  of  hard  labour ;  there  is  no  other  way  to 
heave  off  the  rubbish  of  this  world.  The  mode  in  which 
Beranger  is  anxious  to  prove  that  he  made  his  genius  of  use, 
is  by  diffusing  a  taste  for  liberty,  and  expressing  an  enthusiasm 
for  it ;  and  also,  as  we  suppose,  by  quizzing  those  rulers  of 
France  who  have  not  shared  either  the  taste  or  the  enthusiasm. 
Although,  however,  such  may  be  the  idea  of  the  poet  himself, 
posterity  will  scarcely  confirm  it.  Political  satire  is  the  most 
ephemeral  kind  of  literature.  The  circumstances  to  which  it 
applies  are  local  and  temporary;  the  persons  to  whom  it 
applies  die.  A  very  few  months  will  make  unintelligible  what 
was  at  first  strikingly  plain.  Beranger  has  illustrated  this  by 
an  admission.  There  was  a  delay  in  publishing  the  last  volume 
of  his  poems,  many  of  which  relate  to  the  years  or  months 
immediately  preceding  the  Revolution  of  1830  ;  the  delay  was 
not  long,  as  the  volume  appeared  in  the  first  month  of  1833, 
yet  he  says  that  many  of  the  songs  relate  to  the  passing  oc- 
currences of  a  period  "  dtja  loin  de  nous  ".  On  so  shifting  a  scene 
as  that  of  French  political  life,  the  jests  of  each  act  are  forgotten 
with  the  act  itself;  the  eager  interest  of  each  moment  withdraws 
the  mind  from  thinking  of  or  dwelling  on  anything  past.  And 
in  all  countries  administration  is  ephemeral ;  what  relates  to  it 
is  transitory.  Satires  on  its  detail  are  like  the  jests  of  a  public 
office ;  the  clerks  change,  oblivion  covers  their  peculiarities ; 
the  point  of  the  joke  is  forgotten.  There  are  some  consider- 
able exceptions  to  the  saying  that  foreign  literary  opinion  is 
a  " contemporary  posterity";  but  in  relation  to  satires  on 
transitory  transactions  it  is  exactly  expressive.  No  English- 
man will  now  care  for  many  of  B6ranger's  songs  which  were 
once  in  the  mouths  of  all  his  countrymen,  which  coloured  the 
manners  of  revolutions,  perhaps  influenced  their  course.  The 
fame  of  a  poet  may  have  a  reference  to  politics ;  but  it  will  be 
only  to  the  wider  species,  to  those  social  questions  which  never 


BER ANGER  27 

die,  the  elements  of  that  active  human  nature  which  is  the 
same  age  after  age.  B6ranger  can  hardly  hope  for  this.  Even 
the  songs  which  relate  to  liberty  can  hardly  hope  for  this  im- 
mortality. They  have  the  vagueness  which  has  made  French 
aspirations  for  freedom  futile.  So  far  as  they  express  distinct 
feeling,  their  tendency  is  rather  anti-aristocratic  than  in  favour 
of  simple  real  liberty.  And  an  objection  to  mere  rank,  though 
a  potent,  is  neither  a  very  agreeable  nor  a  very  poetical  senti- 
ment. Moreover,  when  the  love  of  liberty  is  to  be  im- 
aginatively expressed,  it  requires  to  an  Englishman's  ear  a 
sound  bigger  and  more  trumpet-tongued  than  the  voice  of 
Beranger. 

On  a  deeper  view,  however,  an  attentive  student  will  dis- 
cover a  great  deal  that  is  most  instructive  in  the  political  career 
of  the  not  very  business-like  poet.  His  life  has  been  contem- 
poraneous with  the  course  of  a  great  change  ;  and  throughout 
it  the  view  which  he  has  taken  of  the  current  events  is  that 
which  sensible  men  took  at  the  time,  and  which  a  sensible 
posterity  (and  these  events  will  from  their  size  attract  attention 
enough  to  insure  their  being  viewed  sensibly)  is  likely  to  take. 
Beranger  was  present  at  the  taking  of  the  Bastille,  but  he  was 
then  only  nine  years  old  ;  the  accuracy  of  opinion  which  we 
are  claiming  for  him  did  not  commence  so  early.  His  mature 
judgment  begins  with  the  career  of  Napoleon ;  and  no  one  of 
the  thousands  who  have  written  on  that  subject  has  viewed  it 
perhaps  more  justly.  He  had  no  love  for  the  despotism  of  the 
Empire,  was  alive  to  the  harshness  of  its  administration,  did 
not  care  too  much  for  its  glory,  must  have  felt  more  than  once 
the  social  exhaustion.  At  the  same  time,  no  man  was  pene- 
trated more  profoundly,  no  literary  man  half  so  profoundly, 
with  the  popular  admiration  for  the  genius  of  the  empire.  His 
own  verse  has  given  the  truest  and  most  lasting  expression 
of  it  :— 

"  Les  Souvenirs  du  Peuple. 

"  On  parlera  de  sa  gloire 
Sous  le  chaume  bien  longtemps. 
L'humble  toit,  dans  cinquante  ans, 
Ne  connaitra  plus  d'autre  histoire, 


28  BERANGER 

La  viendront  les  villageois, 
Dire  alors  a  quelque  vieille : 
'  Par  des  recits  d'autrefois, 
Mere,  abregez  notre  veille. 
Bien,  dit-on,  qu'il  nous  ait  nui, 
Le  peuple  encor  le  revere, 

Oui,  le  revere, 
Parlez-nous  de  lui,  grand'mere  ; 

Parlez-nous  de  lui.'     (bis.} 

"  '  Mes  enfants,  dans  ce  village, 
Suivi  de  rois,  il  passa. 
Voila  bien  longtemps  de  ga : 
Je  venais  d'entrer  en  menage. 
A  pied  grimpant  le  coteau 
Ou  pour  voir  je  m'etais  mise, 
II  avait  petit  chapeau 
Avec  redingote  grise. 
Pres  de  lui  je  me  troublai  ; 
II  me  dit:   "  Bonjour,  ma  chere, 

Bonjour,  ma  chere  ".' 
— 'II  vous  a  parle,  grand'mere  ! 
II  vous  a  parle  ! ' 

"  '  L'an  d'apres,  moi,  pauvre  femme, 
A  Paris  etant  un  jour, 
Je  le  vis  avec  sa  cour : 
II  se  rendait  a  Notre-Dame. 
Tous  les  coeurs  etaient  contents  ; 
On  admirait  son  cortege. 
Chacun  disait:   "  Quel  beau  temps  ! 
Le  ciel  toujours  le  protege  ". 
Son  sourire  etait  bien  doux, 
D'un  fils  Dieu  le  rendait  pere, 

Le  rendait  pere.' 

— '  Quel  beau  jour  pour  vous,  grand'mere 
Quel  beau  jour  pour  vous  ! ' 

"  '  Mais,  quand  la  pauvre  Champagne 
Fut  en  proie  aux  Strangers, 
Lui,  bravant  tous  les  dangers, 

Semblait  seul  tenir  la  campagne. 
Un  soir,  tout  comme  aujourd'hui, 
J'entends  frapper  a  la  porte. 
J'ouvre.     Bon  Dieu  !  c'e'tait  lui, 
Suivi  d'une  faible  escorte, 


BERANGER  29 

II  s'asseoit  ou  me  voilk, 
S'e"criant :   "  Oh  !  quelle  guerre  ! 

Oh  !  quelle  guerre  !  "  ' 
— '  II  s'est  assis  Ik,  grand'mere  ! 

II  s'est  assis  la  ! ' 

"  '  J'ai  faim,'  dit-il ;  'et  bien  vite 
Je  sers  piquette  et  pain  bis  ; 
Puis  il  seche  ses  habits, 
Meme  a  dormir  le  feu  1'invite. 
Au  reVeil,  voyant  mes  pleurs, 
II  me  dit:   "  Bonne  espeYance  ! 
Je  cours,  de  tous  ses  malheurs, 
Sous  Paris,  venger  la  France  ". 
II  part  ;  et,  comme  un  tre"sor, 
J'ai  depuis  gard£  son  verre, 

Garde  son  verre.' 
'  Vous  1'avez  encor,  grand'mere  ! 
Vous  1'avez  encor  !  ' 

"  '  Le  voici.     Mais  a  sa  perte 
Le  he'ros  fut  entrame. 
Lui,  qu'un  pape  a  couronne', 
Est  mort  dans  une  ile  de"serte. 
Longtemps  aucun  ne  1'a  cru  ; 
On  disait :   "  II  va  paraitre  ; 
Par  mer  il  est  accouru  ; 
L'etranger  va  voir  son  maitre  ". 
Quand  d'erreur  on  nous  tira, 
Ma  douleur  fut  bien  amere  ! 

Fut  bien  amere  ! ' 
— '  Dieu  vous  bdnira,  grand'mere  ; 
Dieu  vous  benira.' " 

This  is  a  great  exception  to  the  transitoriness  of  political 
poetry.  Such  a  character  as  that  of  Napoleon  displayed  on 
so  large  a  stage,  so  great  a  genius  amid  such  scenery  of 
action,  insures  an  immortality.  "The  page  of  universal 
history"  which  he  was  always  coveting,  he  has  attained; 
and  it  is  a  page  which,  from  its  singularity  and  its  errors,  its 
shame  and  its  glory,  will  distract  the  attention  from  other 
pages.  No  one  who  has  ever  had  in  his  mind  the  idea  of 
Napoleon's  character  can  forget  it.  Nothing  too  can  be  more 
natural  than  that  the  French  should  remember  it.  His 


30  BERANGER 

character  possessed  the  primary  imagination,  the  elementary 
conceiving  power,  in  which  they  are  deficient.  So  far  from 
being  restricted  to  the  poetry  of  society,  he  would  not  have 
even  appreciated  it.  A  certain  bareness  marks  his  mind  ;  his 
style  is  curt ;  the  imaginative  product  is  left  rude ;  there  is 
the  distinct  abstraction  of  the  military  diagram.  The  tact 
of  light  and  passing  talk,  the  detective  imagination  which  is 
akin  to  that  tact,  and  discovers  the  quick  essence  of  social 
things, — he  never  had.  In  speaking  of  his  power  over  popu- 
lar fancies,  Beranger  has  called  him  "  the  greatest  poet  of 
modern  times".  No  genius  can  be  more  unlike  his  own, 
and  therefore  perhaps  it  is  that  he  admires  it  so  much. 
During  the  Hundred  Days,  Beranger  says  he  was  never 
under  the  delusion,  then  not  rare,  that  the  Emperor  could 
become  a  constitutional  monarch.  The  lion,  he  felt,  would 
not  change  his  skin.  After  the  return  of  the  Bourbons,  he 
says,  doubtless  with  truth,  that  his  "instinct  du  peuple"  told 
him  they  could  never  ally  themselves  with  liberal  principles, 
or  unite  with  that  new  order  of  society  which,  though  dating 
from  the  Revolution,  had  acquired  in  five  and  twenty  years 
a  half- prescriptive  right.  They  and  their  followers  came  in  to 
take  possession,  and  it  was  impossible  they  could  unite  with 
what  was  in  possession.  During  the  whole  reign  of  the 
hereditary  Bourbon  dynasty,  Beranger  was  in  opposition. 
Representing  the  natural  sentiments  of  the  new  Frenchman, 
he  could  not  bear  the  natural  tendency  of  the  ruling  power 
to  the  half-forgotten  practices  of  old  France.  The  legitimate 
Bourbons  were  by  their  position  the  chieftains  of  the  party 
advocating  their  right  by  birth ;  they  could  not  be  the  kings 
of  a  people;  and  the  poet  of  the  people  was  against  them. 
After  the  genius  of  Napoleon,  all  other  governing  minds 
would  seem  tame  and  contracted ;  and  Charles  X.  was  not 
a  man  to  diminish  the  inevitable  feeling.  Beranger  despised 
him.  As  the  poet  warred  with  the  weapons  of  poetry,  the 
Government  retorted  with  the  penalties  of  State.  He  was 
turned  out  of  his  petty  clerkship,  he  was  twice  imprisoned ; 
but  these  things  only  increased  his  popularity;  and  a  firm 
and  genial  mind,  so  far  from  being  moved,  sang  songs  at 


BER ANGER  31 

La   Force   itself.     The  Revolution  of   1830  was  willing   to 
make  his  fortune. 

"  Je  1'ai  traitee,"  he  says,  "  comme  une  puissance  qui  peut  avoir  des 
caprices  auxquels  il  faut  etre  en  mesure  de  resister.  Tous  cm  presque 
tous  mes  amis  ont  passe  au  ministere:  j'en  ai  meme  encore  un  ou  deux 
qui  restent  suspendus  k  ce  mat  de  cocagne.  Je  me  plais  a  croire  qu'ils 
y  sont  accroche's  par  la  basque,  malgre'  les  efforts  qu'ils  font  pour  des- 
cendre.  J'aurais  done  pu  avoir  part  a  la  distribution  des  emplois. 
Malheureusement  je  n'ai  pas  1'amour  des  sinecures,  et  tout  travail 
oblig£  m'est  devenu  insupportable,  hors  peut-etre  encore  celui  d'ex- 
pe"ditionnaire.  Des  me'disants  ont  pre"tendu  que  je  faisais  de  la  vertu. 
Fi  done  !  je  faisais  de  la  paresse.  Ce  deTaut  m'a  tenu  lieu  de  bien  des 
quality's  ;  aussi  je  le  recommande  a  beaucoup  de  nos  honn£tes  gens. 
II  expose  pourtant  k  de  singuliers  reproches.  C'est  a  cette  paresse  si 
douce,  que  des  censeurs  rigides  ont  attribue'  I'e'loignement  ou  je  me 
suis  tenu  de  ceux  de  mes  honorables  amis  qui  ont  eu  le  malheur  d'ar- 
river  au  pouvoir.  Faisant  trop  d'honneur  k  ce  qu'ils  veulent  bien  appeler 
ma  bonne  tete,  et  oubliant  trop  combien  il  y  a  loin  du  simple  bon  sens  a 
la  science  des  grandes  affaires,  ces  censeurs  pre*tendent  que  mes  conseils 
eussent  e*clair£  plus  d'un  ministre.  A  les  croire,  tapi  derriere  le  fauteuil 
de  velours  de  nos  hommes  d'dtat,  j'aurais  conjure"  les  vents,  dissipe"  les 
orages,  et  fait  nager  la  France  dans  un  oce'an  de  devices.  Nous  aurions 
tous  de  la  liberte"  k  revendre  ou  plutot  k  donner,  car  nous  n'en  savons  pas 
bien  encore  le  prix.  Eh  !  messieurs  mes  deux  ou  trois  amis,  qui  prenez 
un  chansonnier  pour  un  magicien,  on  ne  vous  a  done  pas  dit  que  le 
pouvoir  est  une  cloche  qui  empeche  ceux  qui  la  mettent  en  branle 
d'entendre  aucun  autre  son  ?  Sans  doute  des  ministres  consultent  quel- 
quefois  ceux  qu'ils  ont  sous  la  main  :  consulter  est  un  moyen  de  parler  de 
soi  qu'on  ndglige  rarement.  Mais  il  ne  suffirait  pas  de  consulter  de  bonne 
foi  des  gens  qui  conseilleraient  de  me'me.  II  faudrait  encore  exe"cuter: 
ceci  est  la  part  du  caractere.  Les  intentions  les  plus  pures,  le  patriotisme 
le  plus  e*clair£  ne  le  donnent  pas  toujours.  Qui  n'a  vu  de  hauts  person- 
nages  quitter  un  donneur  d'avis  avec  une  pense'e  <  courageuse,  et,  1'instant 
d'apres,  revenir  vers  lui,  de  je  ne  sais  quel  lieu  de  fascination,  avec 
Pembarras  d'un  dementi  donne*  aux  resolutions  les  plus  sages  ?  «  Oh  !  ' 
disent-ils,  '  nous  n'y  serons  plus  repris  !  quelle  galere  ! '  Le  plus  honteux 
ajoute:  'Je  voudrais  bien  vous  voir  k  ma  place  ! '  Quand  un  ministre 
dit  cela,  soyez  sur  qu'il  n'a  plus  la  tete  k  lui.  Cependant  il  en  est  un, 
mais  un  seul,  qui,  sans  avoir  perdu  la  tete  a  r6p6t6  souvent  ce  mot  de  la 
meilleure  foi  du  monde  ;  aussi  ne  l'addressait-il  jamais  k  un  ami."  1 

The  statesman  alluded  to  in  the  last  paragraph  is  Manuel, 
his  intimate  friend,  from  whom  he  declares  he  could  never  have 

1  Preface  to  Chansons. 


32  BER ANGER 

been  separated,  but  whose  death  prevented  his  obtaining  poli- 
tical honours.  Nobody  can  read  the  above  passage  without 
feeling  its  tone  of  political  sense.  An  enthusiasm  for,  yet 
half  distrust  of,  the  Revolution  of  July  seems  as  sound  a 
sentiment  as  could  be  looked  for  even  in  the  most  sensible 
contemporary.  What  he  has  thought  of  the  present  dynasty 
we  do  not  know.  He  probably  has  as  little  concurred  in  the 
silly  encomiums  of  its  mere  partisans  as  in  the  wild  execrations 
of  its  disappointed  enemies.  His  opinion  could  not  have  been 
either  that  of  the  English  who  feted  Louis  Napoleon  in  1855, 
or  of  those  who  despised  him  in  1851.  The  political  fortunes 
of  France  during  the  last  ten  years  must  have  been  a  painful 
scene  of  observation  to  one  who  remembered  the  taking  of 
the  Bastille.  If  there  be  such  a  thing  as  failure  in  the  world, 
this  looks  like  it. 

Although  we  are  very  far  from  thinking  that  Beranger' s 
claims  on  posterity  are  founded  on  his  having  utilised  his  talent 
in  favour  of  liberty,  it  is  very  natural  that  he  should  think  or 
half-think  himself  that  it  is  so.  His  power  over  the  multitude 
must  have  given  him  great  pleasure  ;  it  is  something  to  be 
able  to  write  mottoes  for  a  revolution ;  to  write  words  for 
people  to  use,  and  hear  people  use  those  words.  The  same 
sort  of  pleasure  which  Horace  derived  from  his  nearness 
to  the  centre  of  great  action,  Beranger  has  derived  from  the 
power  which  his  thorough  sympathy  with  his  countrymen  has 
given  him  over  them.  A  political  satire  may  be  ephemeral 
from  the  rapid  oblivion  of  its  circumstances ;  but  it  is  not  un- 
natural that  the  author,  inevitably  proud  of  its  effect,  may 
consider  it  of  higher  worth  than  mere  verses  of  society. 

This  shrewd  sense  gives  a  solidity  to  the  verses  of  Beranger 
which  the  social  and  amusing  sort  of  poetry  commonly  wants  ; 
but  nothing  can  redeem  it  from  the  reproach  of  wanting  "back 
thought  "-1  This  is  inevitable  in  such  literature  ;  as  it  professes 
to  delineate  for  us  the  light  essence  of  a  fugitive  world,  it  can- 
not be  expected  to  dwell  on  those  deep  and  eternal  principles  on 
which  that  world  is  based.  It  ignores  them  as  light  talk  ignores 
them.  The  most  opposite  thing  to  the  poetry  of  society  is  the 

1  Derwent  Coleridge  on  Hartley. 


BERANGER 


33 


poetry  of  inspiration.  There  exists,  of  course,  a  kind  of  imag- 
ination which  detects  the  secrets  of  the  universe — which  fills 
us  sometimes  with  dread,  sometimes  with  hope — which  awakens 
the  soul,  which  makes  pure  the  feelings,  which  explains  Nature, 
reveals  what  is  above  Nature,  chastens  "the  deep  heart  of 
man  ".l  Our  senses  teach  us  what  the  world  is  ;  our  intuitions 
where  it  is.  We  see  the  blue  and  gold  of  the  world,  its  lively 
amusements,  its  gorgeous  if  superficial  splendour,  its  currents 
of  men ;  we  feel  its  light  spirits,  we  enjoy  its  happiness ;  we 
enjoy  it,  and  we  are  puzzled.  What  is  the  object  of  all  this  ? 
Why  do  we  do  all  this?  What  is  the  universe  for  ?  Such  a 
book  as  Beranger's  suggests  this  difficulty  in  its  strongest  form. 
It  embodies  the  essence  of  all  that  pleasure-loving,  pleasure- 
giving,  unaccountable  world  in  which  men  spend  their  lives, — 
which  they  are  compelled  to  live  in,  but  which  the  moment 
you  get  out  of  it  seems  so  odd  that  you  can  hardly  believe  it 
is  real.  On  this  account,  as  we  were  saying  before,  there  is 
no  book  the  impression  of  which  varies  so  much  in  different 
moods  of  mind.  Sometimes  no  reading  is  so  pleasant ;  at 
others  you  half-despise  and  half-hate  the  idea  of  it ;  it  seems 
to  sum  up  and  make  clear  the  littleness  of  your  own  nature. 
Few  can  bear  the  theory  of  their  amusements ;  it  is  essential 
to  the  pride  of  man  to  believe  that  he  is  industrious.  We  are 
irritated  at  literary  laughter,  and  wroth  at  printed  mirth.  We 
turn  angrily  away  to  that  higher  poetry  which  gives  the  out- 
line within  which  all  these  light  colours  are  painted.  From 
the  capital  of  levity,  and  its  self-amusing  crowds ;  from  the 
elastic  vaudeville  and  the  grinning  actors ;  from  chansons  and 
cafes  we  turn  away  to  the  solemn  in  Nature,  to  the  blue  over- 
arching sky :  the  one  remains,  the  many  pass ;  no  number  of 
seasons  impairs  the  bloom  of  those  hues,  they  are  as  soft  to- 
morrow as  to-day.  The  immeasurable  depth  folds  us  in. 
"Eternity,"  as  the  original  thinker  said,  "is  everlasting."  We 
breathe  a  deep  breath.  And  perhaps  we  have  higher  moments. 
We  comprehend  the  "unintelligible  world";2  we  see  into 
"  the  life  of  things  " ; 3  we  fancy  we  know  whence  we  come 

Shelley:  "Alastor". 

"Wordsworth:  "  Tintern  Abbey  ".  *  Ibid. 

VOL.  III.  3 


34  BERANGER 

and  whither  we  go ;  words  we  have  repeated  for  years  have  a 
meaning  for  the  first  time;  texts  of  old  Scripture  seem  to 
apply  to  us.  .  .  .  And — and — Mr.  Thackeray  would  say,  You 
come  back  into  the  town,  and  order  dinner  at  a  restaurant,  and 
read  Beranger  once  more. 

And  though  this  is  true — though  the  author  of  "  Le  Dieu  des 
Bonnes  Gens  "  has  certainly  no  claim  to  be  called  a  profound 
divine — though  we  do  not  find  in  him  any  proper  expression, 
scarcely  any  momentary  recognition,  of  those  intuitions  which 
explain  in  a  measure  the  scheme  and  idea  of  things,  and  form 
the  back  thought  and  inner  structure  of  such  minds  as  ours, — 
his  sense  and  sympathy  with  the  people  enable  him,  perhaps 
compel  him,  to  delineate  those  essential  conditions  which  con- 
stitute the  structure  of  exterior  life,  and  determine  with  inevit- 
able certainty  the  common  life  of  common  persons.  He  has 
no  call  to  deal  with  heaven  or  the  universe,  but  he  knows  the 
earth  ;  he  is  restricted  to  the  boundaries  of  time,  but  he  under- 
stands time.  He  has  extended  his  delineations  beyond  what 
in  this  country  would  be  considered  correct ;  "  Les  Cinq  Etages  " 
can  scarcely  be  quoted  here;  but  a  perhaps  higher  example 
of  the  same  kind  of  art  may  be  so : — 

"  Le  Vieux   Vagabond. 

"  Dans  ce  fosse  cessons  de  vivre  ; 

Je  finis  vieux,  infirme  et  las  ; 

Les  passants  vont  dire  :  *  II  est  ivre '. 

Tant  mieux  !  ils  ne  me  plaindront  pas. 

J'en  vois  qui  detournent  la  tete  ; 

D'autres  me  jettent  quelques  sous. 

Courez  vite,  allez  a  la  fete  : 
Vieux  vagabond,  je  puis  mourir  sans  vous. 

"  Oui,  je  meurs  ici  de  vieillesse, 

Parce  qu'on  ne  meurt  pas  de  faim. 

J'esperais  voir  de  ma  detresse 

L'hopital  adoucir  la  fin  ; 

Mais  tout  est  plein  dans  chaque  hospice, 

Tant  le  peuple  est  infortune. 

La  rue,  he'las  !  fut  ma  nourrice  : 
Vieux  vagabond,  mourons  ou  je  suis  ne. 


BER ANGER  35 

"  Aux  artisans,  dans  mon  jeune  age, 

J'ai  dit :  'Qu'on  m'enseigne  un  metier'. 

'  Va,  nous  n'avons  pas  trop  d'ouvrage,' 

Repondaient-ils,  '  va  mendier  '. 

Riches,  qui  me  disiez  :  « Travaille,' 

J'eus  bien  des  os  de  vos  repas  ; 

J'ai  bien  dormi  sur  votre  paille  : 
Vieux  vagabond,  je  ne  vous  maudis  pas. 

"  J'aurais  pu  voler,  moi,  pauvre  homme  ; 

Mais  non  :  mieux  vaut  tendre  la  main. 

Au  plus,  j'ai  derobe  la  pomme 

Qui  murit  au  bord  du  chemin. 

Vingt  fois  pourtant  on  me  verrouille 

Dans  les  cachots,  de  par  le  roi. 

De  mon  seul  bien  on  me  depouille  : 
Vieux  vagabond,  le  soleil  est  a  moi. 

"  Le  pauvre  a-t-il  une  patrie  ? 

Que  me  font  vos  vins  et  vos  bles, 

Votre  gloire  et  votre  industrie, 

Et  vos  orateurs  assembles  ? 

Dans  vos  murs  ouverts  a  ses  armes 

Lorsque  1'etranger  s'engraissait, 

Comme  un  sot  j'ai  verse  des  larmes  : 
Vieux  vagabond,  sa  main  me  nourrissait. 

"  Comme  un  insecte  fait  pour  nuire, 

Hommes,  que  ne  m'ecrasiez-vous  ! 

Ah  !  plutot  vous  deviez  m'instruire 

A  travailler  au  bien  de  tous. 

Mis  a  1'abri  du  vent  contraire, 

Le  ver  fut  devenu  fourmi  ; 

Je  vous  aurais  cheris  en  frere  : 
Vieux  vagabond,  je  meurs  votre  ennemi." 

Pathos  in  such  a  song  as  this  enters  into  poetry.  We 
sympathise  with  the  essential  lot  of  man.  Poems  of  this 
kind  are  doubtless  rare  in  Beranger.  His  commoner  style 
is  lighter  and  more  cheerful ;  but  no  poet  who  has  painted 
so  well  the  light  effervescence  of  light  society  can,  when  he 
likes,  paint  so  well  the  solid,  stubborn  forms  with  which  it 
is  encompassed.  The  genial,  firm  sense  of  a  large  mind 
sees  and  comprehends  all  of  human  life  which  lies  within  the 
sphere  of  sense.  He  is  an  epicurean,  as  all  merely  sensible 

3* 


36  BERANGER 

men  by  inevitable  consequence  are  ;  and  as  an  epicurean,  he 
prefers  to  deal  with  the  superficial  and  gay  forms  of  life ;  but 
he  can  deal  with  others  when  he  chooses  to  be  serious.  In- 
deed, there  is  no  melancholy  like  the  melancholy  of  the 
epicurean.  He  is  alive  to  the  fixed  conditions  of  earth,  but 
not  to  that  which  is  above  earth.  He  muses  on  the  temporary, 
as  such ;  he  admits  the  skeleton,  but  not  the  soul.  It  is 
wonderful  that  Beranger  is  so  cheerful  as  he  is. 

We  may  conclude  as  we  began.  In  all  his  works,  in 
lyrics  of  levity,  of  politics,  of  worldly  reflection, — Beranger, 
if  he  had  not  a  single  object,  has  attained  a  uniform  result. 
He  has  given  us  an  idea  of  the  essential  French  character, 
such  as  we  fancy  it  must  be,  but  can  never  for  ourselves 
hope  to  see  that  it  is.  We  understand  the  nice  tact,  the 
quick  intelligence,  the  gay  precision;  the  essence  of  the 
drama  we  know — the  spirit  of  what  we  have  seen.  We  know 
his  feeling : — 

"  J'aime  qu'un  Russe  soit  Russe, 
Et  qu'un  Anglais  soit  Anglais  ; 
Si  1'on  est  Prussien  en  Prusse, 
En  France  soyons  Frangais  "-1 

He  has  acted  accordingly:  he  has  delineated  to  us  the  es- 
sential Frenchman. 

1  "  Le  Bon  Francis." 


THE  WAVERLEY  NOVELS.1 
(1858.) 

IT  is  not  commonly  on  the  generation  which  was  contem- 
porary with  the  production  of  great  works  of  art  that  they 
exercise  their  most  magical  influence.  Nor  is  it  on  the 
distant  people  whom  we  call  posterity.  Contemporaries 
bring  to  new  books  formed  minds  and  stiffened  creeds ; 
posterity,  if  it  regard  them  at  all,  looks  at  them  as  old  sub- 
jects, worn-out  topics,  and  hears  a  disputation  on  their  merits 
with  languid  impartiality,  like  aged  judges  in  a  court  of 
appeal.  Even  standard  authors  exercise  but  slender  influence 
on  the  susceptible  minds  of  a  rising  generation ;  they  are 
become  "  papa's  books  " ;  the  walls  of  the  library  are  adorned 
with  their  regular  volumes;  but  no  hand  touches  them. 
Their  fame  is  itself  half  an  obstacle  to  their  popularity ;  a 
delicate  fancy  shrinks  from  employing  so  great  a  celebrity  as 
the  companion  of  an  idle  hour.  The  generation  which  is 
really  most  influenced  by  a  work  of  genius  is  commonly  that 
which  is  still  young  when  the  first  controversy  respecting  its 
merits  arises ;  with  the  eagerness  of  youth  they  read  and  re- 

1  Library  Edition.  Illustrated  by  upwards  of  Two  Hundred  En- 
gravings on  Steel,  after  Drawings  by  Turner,  Landseer,  Wilkie,  Stanfield, 
Roberts,  etc.,  including  Portraits  of  the  Historical  Personages  described 
in  the  Novels.  25  vols.  demy  8vo. 

Abbotsford  Edition.  With  One  Hundred  and  Twenty  Engravings  on 
Steel,  and  nearly  Two  Thousand  on  Wood.  2  vols.  super-royal  8vo. 

Author's  favourite  Edition.     48  vols.  post  8vo. 

Cabinet  Edition.     25  vols.  foolscap  8vo. 

Railway  Edition.     25  portable  volumes,  large  type. 

People's  Edition.     5  large  volumes  royal  8vo. 

37 


38  THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS 

read  ;  their  vanity  is  not  unwilling  to  adjudicate  :  in  the  process 
their  imagination  is  formed ;  the  creations  of  the  author  range 
themselves  in  the  memory ;  they  become  part  of  the  substance 
of  the  very  mind.  The  works  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  can  hardly 
be  said  to  have  gone  through  this  exact  process.  Their 
immediate  popularity  was  unbounded.  No  one— a  few  most 
captious  critics  apart — ever  questioned  their  peculiar  power. 
Still  they  are  subject  to  a  transition,  which  is  in  principle  the 
same.  At  the  time  of  their  publication  mature  contem- 
poraries read  them  with  delight.  Superficial  the  reading  of 
grown  men  in  some  sort  must  be ;  it  is  only  once  in  a  lifetime 
that  we  can  know  the  passionate  reading  of  youth ;  men  soon 
lose  its  eager  learning  power.  But  from  peculiarities  in  their 
structure,  which  we  shall  try  to  indicate,  the  novels  of  Scott 
suffered  less  than  almost  any  book  of  equal  excellence  from 
this  inevitable  superficiality  of  perusal.  Their  plain,  and,  so 
to  say,  cheerful  merits  suit  the  occupied  man  of  genial  middle 
life.  Their  appreciation  was  to  an  unusual  degree  coincident 
with  their  popularity.  The  next  generation,  hearing  the 
praises  of  their  fathers  in  their  earliest  reading  time,  seized 
with  avidity  on  the  volumes ;  and  there  is  much  in  very  many 
of  them  which  is  admirably  fitted  for  the  delight  of  boyhood. 
A  third  generation  has  now  risen  into  at  least  the  commence- 
ment of  literary  life,  which  is  quite  removed  from  the  un- 
bounded enthusiasm  with  which  the  Scotch  novels  were 
originally  received,  and  does  not  always  share  the  still  more 
eager  partiality  of  those  who,  in  the  opening  of  their  minds, 
first  received  the  tradition  of  their  excellence.  New  books 
have  arisen  to  compete  with  these ;  new  interests  distract  us 
from  them.  The  time,  therefore,  is  not  perhaps  unfavourable 
for  a  slight  criticism  of  these  celebrated  fictions ;  and  their 
continual  republication  without  any  criticism  for  many  years, 
seems  almost  to  demand  it. 

There  are  two  kinds  of  fiction  which,  though  in  common 
literature  they  may  run  very  much  into  one  another,  are  yet 
in  reality  distinguishable  and  separate.  One  of  these,  which 
we  may  call  the  ubiquitous,  aims  at  describing  the  whole  of 
human  life  in  all  its  spheres,  in  all  its  aspects,  with  all  its 


THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS  39 

varied  interests,  aims,  and  objects.  It  searches  through  the 
whole  life  of  man ;  his  practical  pursuits,  his  speculative 
attempts,  his  romantic  youth,  and  his  domestic  age.  It  gives 
an  entire  picture  of  all  these ;  or  if  there  be  any  lineaments 
which  it  forbears  to  depict,  they  are  only  such  as  the  inevitable 
repression  of  a  regulated  society  excludes  from  the  admitted 
province  of  literary  art.  Of  this  kind  are  the  novels  of 
Cervantes  and  Le  Sage,  and,  to  a  certain  extent,  of  Smollett 
or  Fielding.  In  our  own  time,  Mr.  Dickens  is  an  author 
whom  Nature  intended  to  write  to  a  certain  extent  with  this 
aim.  He  should  have  given  us  not  disjointed  novels,  with  a 
vague  attempt  at  a  romantic  plot,  but  sketches  of  diversified 
scenes,  and  the  obvious  life  of  varied  mankind.  The  literary 
fates,  however,  if  such  beings  there  are,  allotted  otherwise. 
By  a  very  terrible  example  of  the  way  in  which  in  this  world 
great  interests  are  postponed  to  little  ones,  the  genius  of 
authors  is  habitually  sacrificed  to  the  tastes  of  readers.  In 
this  age,  the  great  readers  of  fiction  are  young  people.  The 
"  addiction  "  of  these  is  to  romance  ;  and  accordingly  a  kind  of 
novel  has  become  so  familiar  to  us  as  almost  to  engross  the 
name,  which  deals  solely  with  the  passion  of  love ;  and  if  it 
uses  other  parts  of  human  life  for  the  occasions  of  its  art,  it 
does  so  only  cursorily  and  occasionally,  and  with  a  view  of 
throwing  into  a  stronger  or  more  delicate  light  those  senti- 
mental parts  of  earthly  affairs  which  are  the  special  objects  of 
delineation.  All  prolonged  delineation  of  other  parts  of  human 
life  is  considered  "  dry,"  stupid,  and  distracts  the  mind  of  the 
youthful  generation  from  the  "fantasies"  which  peculiarly 
charm  it.  Mr.  Olmstead  has  a  story  of  some  deputation  of 
the  Indians,  at  which  the  American  orator  harangued  the  bar- 
barian audience  about  the  "great  spirit,"  and  "the  land  of 
their  fathers,"  in  the  style  of  Mr.  Cooper's  novels ;  during  a 
moment's  pause  in  the  great  stream,  an  old  Indian  asked  the 
deputation  :  "  Why  does  your  chief  speak  thus  to  us  ?  We  did 
not  wish  great  instruction  or  fine  words ;  we  desire  brandy 
and  tobacco."  No  critic  in  a  time  of  competition  will  speak 
uncourteously  of  any  reader  of  either  sex  ;  but  it  is  indisputable 
that  the  old  kind  of  novel,  full  of  "  great  instruction "  and 


40  THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS 

varied  pictures,  does  not  afford  to  some  young  gentlemen 
and  some  young  ladies  either  the  peculiar  stimulus  or  the 
peculiar  solace  which  they  desire. 

The  Waverley  Novels  were  published  at  a  time  when  the 
causes  that  thus  limit  the  sphere  of  fiction  were  coming  into 
operation,  but  when  they  had  not  yet  become  so  omnipotent 
as  they  are  now.  Accordingly,  these  novels  everywhere  bear 
marks  of  a  state  of  transition.  They  are  not  devoted  with 
anything  like  the  present  exclusiveness  to  the  sentimental  part 
of  human  life.  They  describe  great  events,  singular  characters, 
strange  accidents,  strange  states  of  society  ;  they  dwell  with  a 
peculiar  interest — and  as  if  for  their  own  sake — on  antiquarian 
details  relating  to  a  past  society.  Singular  customs,  social 
practices,  even  political  institutions  which  existed  once  in 
Scotland,  and  elsewhere,  during  the  midde  ages,  are  explained 
with  a  careful  minuteness.  At  the  same  time  the  sentimental 
element  assumes  a  great  deal  of  prominence.  The  book  is  in 
fact,  as  well  as  in  theory,  a  narrative  of  the  feelings  and 
fortunes  of  the  hero  and  heroine.  An  attempt  more  or  less 
successful  has  been  made  to  insert  an  interesting  love-story  in 
each  novel.  Sir  Walter  was  quite  aware  that  the  best  delinea- 
tion of  the  oddest  characters,  or  the  most  quaint  societies,  or 
the  strangest  incidents,  would  not  in  general  satisfy  his  readers. 
He  has  invariably  attempted  an  account  of  youthful,  sometimes 
of  decidedly  juvenile,  feelings  and  actions.  The  difference 
between  Sir  Walter's  novels  and  the  specially  romantic  fictions 
of  the  present  day  is,  that  in  the  former  the  love-story  is  always, 
or  nearly  always,  connected  with  some  great  event,  or  the 
fortunes  of  some  great  historical  character,  or  the  peculiar 
movements  and  incidents  of  some  strange  state  of  society; 
and  that  the  author  did  not  suppose  or  expect  that  his  readers 
would  be  so  absorbed  in  the  sentimental  aspect  of  human  life 
as  to  be  unable  or  unwilling  to  be  interested  in,  or  to  attend 
to,  any  other.  There  is  always  a  locus  in  quo,  if  the  expres- 
sion may  be  pardoned,  in  the  Waverley  Novels.  The  hero 
and  heroine  walk  among  the  trees  of  the  forest  according  to 
rule,  but  we  are  expected  to  take  an  interest  in  the  forest  as 
well  as  in  them. 


THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS  41 

No  novel,  therefore,  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  can  be  considered 
to  come  exactly  within  the  class  which  we  have  called  the 
ubiquitous.  None  of  them  in  any  material  degree  attempts 
to  deal  with  human  affairs  in  all  their  spheres — to  delineate  as 
a  whole  the  life  of  man.  The  canvas  has  a  large  background, 
in  some  cases  too  large  either  for  artistic  effect  or  the  common 
reader's  interest ;  but  there  are  always  real  boundaries — Sir 
Walter  had  no  thesis  to  maintain.  Scarcely  any  writer  will 
set  himself  to  delineate  the  whole  of  human  life,  unless  he  has 
a  doctrine  concerning  human  life  to  put  forth  and  inculcate. 
The  effort  is  doctrinaire.  Scott's  imagination  was  strictly 
conservative.  He  could  understand  (with  a  few  exceptions) 
any  considerable  movement  of  human  life  and  action,  and 
could  always  describe  with  easy  freshness  everything  which  he 
did  understand ;  but  he  was  not  obliged  by  stress  of  fanaticism 
to  maintain  a  dogma  concerning  them,  or  to  show  their 
peculiar  relation  to  the  general  sphere  of  life.  He  described 
vigorously  and  boldly  the  peculiar  scene  and  society  which  in 
every  novel  he  had  selected  as  the  theatre  of  romantic  action. 
Partly  from  their  fidelity  to  nature,  and  partly  from  a  consist- 
ency in  the  artist's  mode  of  representation,  these  pictures 
group  themselves  from  the  several  novels  in  the  imagination, 
and  an  habitual  reader  comes  to  think  of  and  understand  what 
is  meant  by  "  Scott's  world "  ;  but  the  writer  had  no  such 
distinct  object  before  him.  No  one  novel  was  designed  to  be 
a  delineation  of  the  world  as  Scott  viewed  it.  We  have  vivid 
and  fragmentary  histories ;  it  is  for  the  slow  critic  of  after- 
times  to  piece  together  their  teaching. 

From  this  intermediate  position  of  the  Waverley  Novels, 
or  at  any  rate  in  exact  accordance  with  its  requirements,  is  the 
special  characteristic  for  which  they  are  most  remarkable.  We 
may  call  this  in  a  brief  phrase  their  romantic  sense  ;  and  perhaps 
we  cannot  better  illustrate  it  than  by  a  quotation  from  the 
novel  to  which  the  series  owes  its  most  usual  name.  It  occurs 
in  the  description  of  the  Court  ball  which  Charles  Edward 
is  described  as  giving  at  Holyrood  House  the  night  before  his 
march  southward  on  his  strange  adventure.  The  striking 
interest  of  the  scene  before  him,  and  the  peculiar  position  of 


42  THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS 

his  own  sentimental  career,  are  described  as  influencing  the 
mind  of  the  hero. 

"  Under  the  influence  of  these  mixed  sensations,  and  cheered  at 
times  by  a  smile  of  intelligence  and  approbation  from  the  Prince  as  he 
passed  the  group,  Waverley  exerted  his  powers  of  fancy,  animation,  and 
eloquence,  and  attracted  the  general  admiration  of  the  company.  The 
conversation  gradually  assumed  the  line  best  qualified  for  the  display  of 
his  talents  and  acquisitions.  The  gaiety  of  the  evening  was  exalted  in 
character,  rather  than  checked,  by  the  approaching  dangers  of  the 
morrow.  All  nerves  were  strung  for  the  future,  and  prepared  to  enjoy  the 
present.  This  mood  is  highly  favourable  for  the  exercise  of  the  powers 
of  imagination,  for  poetry,  and  for  that  eloquence  which  is  allied  to 
poetry."  l 

Neither  "  eloquence  "  nor  "  poetry  "  are  the  exact  words 
with  which  it  would  be  appropriate  to  describe  the  fresh 
style  of  the  Waverley  Novels  ;  but  the  imagination  of  their 
author  was  stimulated  by  a  fancied  mixture  of  sentiment 
and  fact,  very  much  as  he  describes  Waverley's  to  have 
been  by  a  real  experience  of  the  two  at  once.  The  second 
volume  of  Waverley  is  one  of  the  most  striking  illustrations 
of  this  peculiarity.  The  character  of  Charles  Edward,  his 
adventurous  undertaking,  his  ancestral  rights,  the  mixed 
selfishness  and  enthusiasm  of  the  Highland  chiefs,  the 
fidelity  of  their  hereditary  followers,  their  striking  and  strange 
array,  the  contrast  with  the  Baron  of  Bradwardine  and  the 
Lowland  gentry ;  the  collision  of  the  motley  and  half-ap- 
pointed host  with  the  formed  and  finished  English  society, 
its  passage  by  the  Cumberland  mountains  and  the  blue 
lake  of  Ullswater — are  unceasingly  and  without  effort  present 
to  the  mind  of  the  writer,  and  incite  with  their  historical 
interest  the  susceptibility  of  his  imagination.  But  at  the 
same  time  the  mental  struggle,  or  rather  transition,  in  the 
mind  of  Waverley — for  his  mind  was  of  ,the  faint  order  which 
scarcely  struggles — is  never  for  an  instant  lost  sight  of. 
In  the  very  midst  of  the  inroad  and  the  conflict,  the  acquiescent 
placidity  with  which  the  hero  exchanges  the  service  of  the 
imperious  for  the  appreciation  of  the  "nice"  heroine,  is  kept 
before  us,  and  the  imagination  of  Scott  wandered  without 

1  Chap,  xliii. 


THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS  43 

effort  from  the  great  scene  of  martial  affairs  to  the  natural 
but  rather  unheroic  sentiments  of  a  young  gentleman  not  very 
difficult  to  please.  There  is  no  trace  of  effort  in  the  tran- 
sition, as  is  so  common  in  the  inferior  works  of  later  copyists. 
Many  historical  novelists,  especially  those  who  with  care  and 
pains  have  "  read  up "  their  detail,  are  often  evidently  in  a 
strait  how  to  pass  from  their  history  to  their  sentiment.  The 
fancy  of  Sir  Walter  could  not  help  connecting  the  two.  If 
he  had  given  us  the  English  side  of  the  race  to  Derby,  he 
would  have  described  the  Bank  of  England  paying'in  sixpences, 
and  also  the  loves  of  the  cashier. 

It  is  not  unremarkable  in  connection  with  this,  the  special 
characteristic  of  the  "  Scotch  novels,"  that  their  author  began 
his  literary  life  by  collecting  the  old  ballads  of  his  native 
country.  Ballad  poetry  is,  in  comparison  at  least  with  many 
other  kinds  of  poetry,  a  sensible  thing.  It  describes  not  only 
romantic  events,  but  historical  ones,  incidents  in  which  there 
is  a  form  and  body  and  consistence — events  which  have  a 
result.  Such  a  poem  as  "  Chevy  Chace,"  we  need  not  ex- 
plain, has  its  prosaic  side.  The  latest  historian  of  Greece1 
has  nowhere  been  more  successful  than  in  his  attempt  to 
derive  from  Homer,  the  greatest  of  ballad  poets,  a  thorough 
and  consistent  account  of  the  political  working  of  the  Hom- 
eric state  of  society.  The  early  natural  imagination  of  men 
seizes  firmly  on  all  which  interests  the  minds  and  hearts  of 
natural  men.  We  find  in  its  delineations  the  council  as  well 
as  the  marriage ;  the  harsh  conflict  as  well  as  the  deep  love- 
affair.  Scott's  own  poetry  is  essentially  a  modernised  edition 
of  the  traditional  poems  which  his  early  youth  was  occupied 
in  collecting.  The  "  Lady  of  the  Lake "  is  a  sort  of  boudoir 
ballad,  yet  it  contains  its  element  of  common-sense  and  broad 
delineation.  The  exact  position  of  Lowlander  and  Highlander 
would  not  be  more  aptly  described  in  a  set  treatise  than  in 
the  well-known  lines  : — 

"  Saxon,  from  yonder  mountain  high 
I  marked  thee  send  delighted  eye 
Far  to  the  south  and  east,  where  lay, 

1  Grote. 


44  THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS 

Extended  in  succession  gay, 
Deep  waving  fields  and  pastures  green, 
With  gentle  slopes  and  groves  between  : 
These  fertile  plains,  that  softened  vale, 
Were  once  the  birthright  of  the  Gael. 
The  stranger  came  with  iron  hand, 
And  from  our  fathers  reft  the  land. 
Where  dwell  we  now  !  See,  rudely  swell 
Crag  over  crag,  and  fell  o'er  fell. 
Ask  we  this  savage  hill  we  tread, 
For  fattened  steer  or  household  bread  ; 
Ask  we  for  flocks  these  shingles  dry, — 
And  well  the  mountain  might  reply  : 
'  To  you,  as  to  your  sires  of  yore, 
Belong  the  target  and  claymore  ; 
I  give  you  shelter  in  my  breast, 
Your  own  good  blades  must  win  the  rest '. 
Pent  in  this  fortress  of  the  North, 
Think'st  thou  we  will  not  sally  forth 
To  spoil  the  spoiler  as  we  may, 
And  from  the  robber  rend  the  prey  ? 
Ay,  by  my  soul  !     While  on  yon  plain 
The  Saxon  rears  one  shock  of  grain  ; 
While  of  ten  thousand  herds  there  strays 
But  one  along  yon  river's  maze  ; 
The  Gael,  of  plain  and  river  heir, 
Shall  with  strong  hand  redeem  his  share." 

We  need  not  search  the  same  poem  for  specimens  of  the 
romantic  element,  for  the  whole  poem  is  full  of  them.  The 
incident  in  which  Ellen  discovers  who  Fitz-James  really  is,  is 
perhaps  excessively  romantic.  At  any  rate  the  lines,— 

"  To  him  each  lady's  look  was  lent ; 
On  him  each  courtier's  eye  was  bent ; 
Midst  furs  and  silks  and  jewels  sheen, 
He  stood  in  simple  Lincoln  green, 
The  centre  of  the  glittering  ring, 
And  Snowdoun's  knight  is  Scotland's  king," — 

may  be  cited  as  very  sufficient  example  of  the  sort :  of  senti- 
mental incident  which  is  separable  from  extreme  feeling. 
When  Scott,  according  to  his  own  half-jesting  but  half-serious 
expression,  was  "  beaten  out  of  poetry  "  by  Byron,  he  began 
to  express  in  more  pliable  prose  the  same  combination  which 


THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS  45 

his  verse  had  been  used  to  convey.  As  might  have  been  ex- 
pected, the  sense  became  in  the  novels  more  free,  vigorous, 
and  flowing,  because  it  is  less  cramped  by  the  vehicle  in 
which  it  is  conveyed.  The  range  of  character  which  can  be 
adequately  delineated  in  narrative  verse  is  much  narrower 
than  that  which  can  be  described  in  the  combination  of  nar- 
rative with  dramatic  prose  ;  and  perhaps  even  the  sentiment 
of  the  novels  is  manlier  and  freer  ;  a  delicate  unreality  hovers 
over  the  "  Lady  of  the  Lake  ". 

The  sensible  element,  if  we  may  so  express  it,  of  the 
Waverley  Novels  appears  in  various  forms.  One  of  the  most 
striking  is  in  the  delineation  of  great  political  events  and  in- 
fluential political  institutions.  We  are  not  by  any  means 
about  to  contend  that  Scott  is  to  be  taken  as  an  infallible  or 
an  impartial  authority  for  the  parts  of  history  which  he  de- 
lineates. On  the  contrary,  we  believe  all  the  world  now 
agrees  that  there  are  many  deductions  to  be  made  from,  many 
exceptions  to  be  taken  to,  the  accuracy  of  his  delineations. 
Still,  whatever  period  or  incident  we  take,  we  shall  always 
find  in  the  error  a  great,  in  one  or  two  cases  perhaps  an  ex- 
treme, mixture  of  the  mental  element  which  we  term  common- 
sense.  The  strongest  z/#sensible  feeling  in  Scott  was  perhaps 
his  Jacobitism,  which  crept  out  even  in  small  incidents  and 
recurring  prejudice  throughout  the  whole  of  his  active  career, 
and  was,  so  to  say,  the  emotional  aspect  of  his  habitual 
Toryism.  Yet  no  one  can  have  given  a  more  sensible  de- 
lineation, we  might  say  a  more  statesmanlike  analysis,  of  the 
various  causes  which  led  to  the  momentary  success,  and  to  the 
speedy  ruin,  of  the  enterprise  of  Charles  Edward.1  Mr. 
Lockhart  says,  that  notwithstanding  Scott's  imaginative 
readiness  to  exalt  Scotland  at  the  expense  of  England,  no 
man  would  have  been  more  willing  to  join  in  emphatic  op- 
position to  an  anti-English  party,  if  any  such  had  presented 
itself  with  a  practical  object.  Similarly  his  Jacobitism,  though 
not  without  moments  of  real  influence,  passed  away  when  his 
mind  was  directed  to  broad  masses  of  fact,  and  general  con- 
clusions of  political  reasoning.  A  similar  observation  may  be 

1  In  Waverley. 


46  THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS 

made  as  to  Scott's  Toryism  ;  although  it  is  certain  that  there 
was  an  enthusiastic,  and,  in  the  malicious  sense,  poetical 
element  in  Scott's  Toryism,  yet  quite  as  indisputably  it 
partook  largely  of  two  other  elements,  which  are  in  common 
repute  prosaic.  He  shared  abundantly  in  the  love  of  ad- 
ministration and  organisation,  common  to  all  men  of  great 
active  powers.  He  liked  to  contemplate  method  at  work  and 
order  in  action.  Everybody  hates  to  hear  that  the  Duke  of 
Wellington  asked  "  how  the  king's  government  was  to  be 
carried  on".  No  amount  of  warning  wisdom  will  bear  so 
fearful  a  repetition.  Still  he  did  say  it,  and  Scott  had  a 
sympathising  foresight  of  the  oracle  before  it  was  spoken. 
One  element  of  his  conservatism  is  his  sympathy  with  the 
administrative  arrangement,  which  is  confused  by  the  ob- 
jections of  a  Whiggish  opposition  and  is  liable  to  be  al- 
together destroyed  by  uprisings  of  the  populace.  His 
biographer,  while  pointing  out  the  strong  contrast  between 
Scott  and  the  argumentative  and  parliamentary  statesmen  of 
his  age,  avows  his  opinion  that  in  other  times,  and  with 
sufficient  opportunities,  Scott's  ability  in  managing  men  would 
have  enabled  him  to  "  play  the  part  of  Cecil  or  of  Gondomar  "-1 
We  may  see  how  much  a  suppressed  enthusiasm  for  such 
abilities  breaks  out,  not  only  in  the  description  of  hereditary 
monarchs,  where  the  sentiment  might  be  ascribed  to  a 
different  origin,  but  also  in  the  delineation  of  upstart  rulers, 
who  could  have  no  hereditary  sanctity  in  the  eyes  of  any  Tory. 
Roland  Graeme,  in  The  Abbot,  is  well  described  as  losing  in 
the  presence  of  the  Regent  Murray  the  natural  impertinence 
of  his  disposition.  "He  might  have  braved  with  indifference 
the  presence  of  an  earl  merely  distinguished  by  his  belt  and 
coronet ;  but  he  felt  overawed  in  that  of  the  soldier  and 
statesman,  the  wielder  of  a  nation's  power,  and  the  leader  of 
her  armies." 2  It  is  easy  to  perceive  that  the  author  shares 
the  feeling  of  his  hero  by  the  evident  pleasure  with  which  he 

1  Lockhart's  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  v.,  chap,  viii.,  in  re  Scott's  manage- 
ment of  the  Highland  pageant  on  George  IV.'s  visit  to  Scotland.     (For- 
rest Morgan.) 

2  Chap,  xviii. 


THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS  47 

dwells  on  the  regent's  demeanour :  "  He  then  turned  slowly 
round  toward  Roland  Graeme,  and  the  marks  of  gaiety,  real 
or  assumed,  disappeared  from  his  countenance  as  completely 
as  the  passing  bubbles  leave  the  dark  mirror  of  a  still  pro- 
found lake  into  which  the  traveller  has  cast  a  stone  ;  in  the 
course  of  a  minute  his  noble  features  had  assumed  their 
natural  expression  of  melancholy  gravity,"  l  etc.  In  real  life, 
Scott  used  to  say,  that  he  never  remembered  feeling  abashed 
in  any  one's  presence  except  the  Duke  of  Wellington's.  Like 
that  of  the  hero  of  his  novel,  his  imagination  was  very  sus- 
ceptible to  the  influence  of  great  achievements  and  prolonged 
success  in  wide-spreading  affairs. 

The  view  which  Scott  seems  to  have  taken  of  democracy 
indicates  exactly  the  same  sort  of  application  of  a  plain  sense 
to  the  visible  parts  of  the  subject.  His  imagination  was 
singularly  penetrated  with  the  strange  varieties  and  motley 
composition  of  human  life.  The  extraordinary  multitude  and 
striking  contrast  of  the  characters  in  his  novels  show  this  at 
once.  And  even  more  strikingly  is  the  same  habit  of  mind 
indicated  "by  a  tendency  never  to  omit  an  opportunity  of 
describing  those  varied  crowds  and  assemblages  "  which  con- 
centrate for  a  moment  into  a  unity  the  scattered  and  unlike 
varieties  of  mankind.  Thus,  but  a  page  or  two  before  the 
passage  which  we  alluded  to  in  The  Abbot,  we  find  the 
following : — 

"  It  was  indeed  no  common  sight  to  Roland,  the  vestibule  of  a  palace, 
traversed  by  its  various  groups, — some  radiant  with  gaiety — some  pensive, 
and  apparently  weighed  down  by  affairs  concerning  the  State,  or  concern- 
ing themselves.  Here  the  hoary  statesman,  with  his  cautious  yet  com- 
manding look,  his  furred  cloak  and  sable  pantoufles  ;  there  the  soldier  in 
buff  and  steel,  his  long  sword  jarring  against  the  pavement,  and  his 
whiskered  upper  lip  and  frowning  brow  looking  an  habitual  defiance  of 
danger,  which  perhaps  was  not  always  made  good  ;  there  again  passed 
my  lord's  serving-man,  high  of  heart  and  bloody  of  hand,  humble  to  his 
master  and  his  master's  equals,  insolent  to  all  others.  To  these  might  be 
added  the  poor  suitor,  with  his  anxious  look  and  depressed  mien — the 
officer,  full  of  his  brief  authority,  elbowing  his  betters,  and  possibly  his 
benefactors,  out  of  the  road — the  proud  priest  who  sought  a  better  benefice — 

1  Chap,  xviii. 


48  THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS 

the  proud  baron,  who  sought  a  grant  of  Church  lands — the  robber  chief, 
who  came  to  solicit  a  pardon  for  the  injuries  he  had  inflicted  on  his  neigh- 
bours— the  plundered  franklin,  who  came  to  seek  vengeance  for  that 
which  he  had  himself  received.  Besides,  there  was  the  mustering  and 
disposition  of  guards  and  soldiers — the  despatching  of  messengers,  and 
the  receiving  them — the  trampling  and  neighing  of  horses  without  the  gate 
— the  flashing  of  arms,  and  rustling  of  plumes,  and  jingling  of  spurs  within 
it.  In  short,  it  was  that  gay  and  splendid  confusion,  in  which  the  eye  of 
youth  sees  all  that  is  brave  and  brilliant,  and  that  of  experience  much  that 
is  doubtful,  deceitful,  false,  and  hollow — hopes  that  will  never  be  gratified — 
promises  which  will  never  be  fulfilled — pride  in  the  disguise  of  humility — 
and  insolence  in  that  of  frank  and  generous  bounty."  1 

As  in  the  imagination  of  Shakespeare,  so  in  that  of  Scott, 
the  principal  form  and  object  were  the  structure — that  is  a 
hard  word — the  undulation  and  diversified  composition  of 
human  society ;  the  picture  of  this  stood  in  the  centre,  and 
everything  else  was  accessory  and  secondary  to  it.  The  old 
"  rows  of  books,"  in  which  Scott  so  peculiarly  delighted,  were 
made  to  contribute  their  element  to  this  varied  imagination  of 
humanity.  From  old  family  histories,  odd  memoirs,  old  law- 
trials,  his  fancy  elicited  new  traits  to  add  to  the  motley  assem- 
blage. His  objection  to  democracy — an  objection  of  which 
we  can  only  appreciate  the  emphatic  force,  when  we  remember 
that  his  youth  was  contemporary  with  the  first  French  Revolu- 
tion, and  the  controversy  as  to  the  uniform  and  stereotyped 
rights  of  man — was,  that  it  would  sweep  away  this  entire 
picture,  level  prince  and  peasant  in  a  common  egalite, — sub- 
stitute a  scientific  rigidity  for  the  irregular  and  picturesque 
growth  of  centuries, — replace  an  abounding  and  genial  life  by 
a  symmetrical  but  lifeless  mechanism.  All  the  descriptions 
of  society  in  the  novels, — whether  of  feudal  society,  of  modern 
Scotch  society  or  of  English  society, — are  largely  coloured  by 
this  feeling.  It  peeps  out  everywhere,  and  liberal  critics  have 
endeavoured  to  show  that  it  was  a  narrow  Toryism ;  but  in 
reality,  it  is  a  subtle  compound  of  the  natural  instinct  of  the 
artist  with  the  plain  sagacity  of  the  man  of  the  world. 

It  would  be  tedious  to  show  how  clearly  the  same  sagacity 
appears  in  his  delineation  of  the  various  great  events  and 

1  Chap,  xviii.,  3rd  paragraph. 


THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS  49 

movements  in  society  which  are  described  in  the  Scotch  novels. 
There  is  scarcely  one  of  them  which  does  not  bear  it  on  its 
surface.  Objections  may,  as  we  shall  show,  be  urged  against 
the  delineation  which  Scott  has  given  of  the  Puritan  resistance 
and  rebellions,  yet  scarcely  any  one  will  say  there  is  not  a 
worldly  sense  in  it.  On  the  contrary,  the  very  objection  is, 
that  it  is  too  worldly,  and  far  too  exclusively  sensible. 

The  same  thoroughly  well-grounded  sagacity  and  compre- 
hensive appreciation  of  human  life  is  shown  in  the  treatment 
of  what  we  may  call  anomalous  characters.  In  general,  mon- 
strosity is  no  topic  for  art.  Every  one  has  known  in  real  life 
characters  which  if,  apart  from  much  experience,  he  had  found 
described  in  books,  he  would  have  thought  unnatural  and  im- 
possible. Scott,  however,  abounds  in  such  characters.  Meg 
Merrilies,  Edie  Ochiltree,  Radcliffe,1  are  more  or  less  of  that 
description.  That  of  Meg  Merrilies  especially  is  as  distorted 
and  eccentric  as  anything  can  be.  Her  appearance  is  described 
as  making  Mannering  "  start " ;  and  well  it  might. 

"  She  was  full  six  feet  high,  wore  a  man's  greatcoat  over  the  rest  of 
her  dress,  had  in  her  hand  a  goodly  sloethorn  cudgel,  and  in  all  points  of 
equipment  except  her  petticoats  seemed  rather  masculine  than  feminine. 
Her  dark  elf-locks  shot  out  like  the  snakes  of  the  gorgon  between  an  old- 
fashioned  bonnet  called  a  bongrace,  heightening  the  singular  effect  of 
her  strong  and  weather-beaten  features,  which  they  partly  shadowed, 
while  her  eye  had  a  wild  roll  that  indicated  something  of  insanity."  2 

Her  career  in  the  tale  corresponds  with  the  strangeness 
of  her  exterior.  "  Harlot,  thief,  witch,  and  gipsy,"  as  she 
describes  herself,  the  hero  is  preserved  by  her  virtues ;  half- 
crazed  as  she  is  described  to  be,  he  owes  his  safety  on  more 
than  one  occasion  to  her  skill  in  stratagem,  and  ability  in 
managing  those  with  whom  she  is  connected,  and  who  are 
most  likely  to  be  familiar  with  her  weakness  and  to  detect 
her  craft.  Yet  on  hardly  any  occasion  is  the  natural  reader 
conscious  of  this  strangeness.  Something  is  of  course  attri- 
butable to  the  skill  of  the  artist ;  for  no  other  power  of  mind 
could  produce  the  effect,  unless  it  were  aided  by  the  un- 

1  In  Guy  Mannering,  The  Antiquary  and  The  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian. 

2  Guy  Mannering,  chap.  iii. 
VOL.  III.  4 


50  THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS 

conscious  tact  of  detailed  expression.  But  the  fundamental 
explanation  of  this  remarkable  success  is  the  distinctness 
with  which  Scott  saw  how  such  a  character  as  Meg  Merrilies 
arose  and  was  produced  out  of  the  peculiar  circumstances  of 
gipsy  life  in  the  localities  in  which  he  has  placed  his  scene. 
He  has  exhibited  this  to  his  readers  not  by  lengthy  or 
elaborate  description,  but  by  chosen  incidents,  short  com- 
ments, and  touches  of  which  he  scarcely  foresaw  the  effect. 
This  is  the  only  way  in  which  the  fundamental  objection  to 
making  eccentricity  the  subject  of  artistic  treatment  can  be 
obviated.  Monstrosity  ceases  to  be  such  when  we  discern 
the  laws  of  Nature  which  evolve  it :  when  a  real  science 
explains  its  phenomena,  we  find  that  it  is  in  strict  accord- 
ance with  what  we  call  the  natural  type,  but  that  some  rare 
adjunct  or  uncommon  casualty  has  interfered  and  distorted 
a  nature  which  is  really  the  same,  into  a  phenomenon  which 
is  altogether  different.  Just  so  with  eccentricity  in  human 
character ;  it  becomes  a  topic  of  literary  art  only  when  its 
identity  with  the  ordinary  principles  of  human  nature  is 
exhibited  in  the  midst  of,  and  as  it  were  by  means  of,  the 
superficial  unlikeness.  Such  a  skill,  however,  requires  an 
easy  careless  familiarity  with  usual  human  life  and  common 
human  conduct.  A  writer  must  have  a  sympathy  with  health 
before  he  can  show  us  how,  and  where,  and  to  what  extent, 
that  which  is  unhealthy  deviates  from  it ;  and  it  is  this  con- 
sistent acquaintance  with  regular  life  which  makes  the  irregular 
characters  of  Scott  so  happy  a  contrast  to  the  uneasy  distor- 
tions of  less  sagacious  novelists. 

A  good  deal  of  the  same  criticism  may  be  applied  to  the 
delineation  which  Scott  has  given  us  of  the  poor.  In  truth, 
poverty  is  an  anomaly  to  rich  people.  It  is  very  difficult  to 
make  out  why  people  who  want  dinner  do  not  ring  the  bell. 
One  half  of  the  world,  according  to  the  saying,  do  not  know 
how  the  other  half  lives.  Accordingly,  nothing  is  so  rare  in 
fiction  as  a  good  delineation  of  the  poor.  Though  perpetually 
with  us  in  reality,  we  rarely  meet  them  in  our  reading.  The 
requirements  of  the  case  present  an  unusual  difficulty  to  artistic 
delineation.  A  good  deal  of  the  character  of  the  poor  is  an 


THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS  51 

unfit  topic  for  continuous  art,  and  yet  we  wish  to  have  in  our 
books  a  life-like  exhibition  of  the  whole  of  that  character. 
Mean  manners  and  mean  vices  are  unfit  for  prolonged  delinea- 
tion ;  the  every-day  pressure  of  narrow  necessities  is  too  petty 
a  pain  and  too  anxious  a  reality  to  be  dwelt  upon.  We  can 
bear  the  mere  description  of  the  Parish  Register — 

"  But  this  poor  farce  has  neither  truth  nor  art 
To  please  the  fancy  or  to  touch  the  heart. 
Dark  but  not  awful,  dismal  but  yet  mean, 
With  anxious  bustle  moves  the  cumbrous  scene  ; 
Presents  no  objects  tender  or  profound, 
But  spreads  its  cold  unmeaning  gloom  around  ;  " — 

but  who  could  bear  to  have  a(  long  narrative  of  fortunes 
" dismal  but  yet  mean,"  with  characters  "dark  but  not  awful," 
and  no  objects  "  tender  or  profound  "?  Mr.  Dickens  has 
in  various  parts  of  his  writings  been  led  by  a  sort  of  pre- 
Raphaelite  cultus  of  reality  into  an  error  of  this  species.  His 
poor  people  have  taken  to  their  poverty  very  thoroughly  ;  they 
are  poor  talkers  and  poor  livers,  and  in  all  ways  poor  people 
to  read  about.  A  whole  array  of  writers  have  fallen  into 
an  opposite  mistake.  Wishing  to  preserve  their  delineations 
clear  from  the  defects  of  meanness  and  vulgarity,  they  have 
attributed  to  the  poor  a  fancied  happiness  and  Arcadian 
simplicity.  The  conventional  shepherd  of  ancient  times  was 
scarcely  displeasing :  that  which  is  by  everything  except  ex- 
;  press  avowal  removed  from  the  sphere  of  reality  does  not 
I  annoy  us  by  its  deviations  from  reality  ;  but  the  fictitious  poor 
of  sentimental  novelists  are  brought  almost  into  contact  with 
real  life,  half  claim  to  be  copies  of  what  actually  exists  at  our 
;very  doors,  are  introduced  in  close  proximity  to  characters 
i  moving  in  a  higher  rank,  over  whom  no  such  ideal  charm  is 
!  diffused,  and  who  are  painted  with  as  much  truth  as  the 
i  writer's  ability  enables  him  to  give.  Accordingly,  the  contrast 
!is  evident  and  displeasing :  the  harsh  outlines  of  poverty  will 
i  not  bear  the  artificial  rose-tint ;  they  are  seen  through  it,  like 
I  high  cheek-bones  through  the  delicate  colours  of  artificial 
jyouth ;  we  turn  away  with  some  disgust  from  the  false  ele- 
Igance  and  undeceiving  art ;  we  prefer  the  rough  poor  of 

4* 


52  THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS 

nature  to  the  petted  poor  of  the  refining  describer.  Scott  has 
most  felicitously  avoided  both  these  errors.  His  poor  people 
are  never  coarse  and  never  vulgar  ;  their  lineaments  have  the 
rude  traits  which  a  life  of  conflict  will  inevitably  leave  on  the 
minds  and  manners  of  those  who  are  to  lead  it ;  their  notions 
have  the  narrowness  which  is  inseparable  from  a  contracted 
experience ;  their  knowledge  is  not  more  extended  than  their 
restricted  means  of  attaining  it  would  render  possible.  Al- 
most alone  among  novelists  Scott  has  given  a  thorough, 
minute,  life-like  description  of  poor  persons,  which  is  at 
same  time  genial  and  pleasing.  The  reason  seems  to  be,  ttu 
the  firm  sagacity  of  his  genius  comprehended  the  industry 
aspect  of  poor  people's  life  thoroughly  and  comprehensive!] 
his  experience  brought  it  before  him  easily  and  naturally,  anc 
his  artist's  mind  and  genial  disposition  enabled  him  to  dwell 
on  those  features  which  would  be  most  pleasing  to  the  world 
in  general.  In  fact,  his  own  mind  of  itself  and  by  its  own 
nature  dwelt  on  those  very  peculiarities.  He  could  not  re- 
move his  firm  and  instructed  genius  into  the  domain  of 
Arcadian  unreality,  but  he  was  equally  unable  to  dwell  prin- 
cipally, peculiarly,  or  consecutively,  on  those  petty,  vulgar, 
mean  details  in  which  such  a  writer  as  Crabbe  lives  and 
breathes.  Hazlitt  said  that  Crabbe  described  a  poor  man's 
cottage  like  a  man  who  came  to  distrain  for  rent ;  he  cata- 
logued every  trivial  piece  of  furniture,  defects  and  cracks  and 
all.  Scott  describes  it  as  a  cheerful  but  most  sensible  land- 
lord would  describe  a  cottage  on  his  property:  he  has  a 
pleasure  in  it.  No  detail,  or  few  details,  in  the  life  of  the 
inmates  escape  his  experienced  and  interested  eye ;  but  he 
dwells  on  those  which  do  not  displease  him.  He  sympathises 
with  their  rough  industry  and  plain  joys  and  sorrows.  He 
does  not  fatigue  himself  or  excite  their  wondering  smile  by 
theoretical  plans  of  impossible  relief.  He  makes  the  best  of 
the  life  which  is  given,  and  by  a  sanguine  sympathy  makes 
it  still  better.  A  hard  life  many  characters  in  Scott  seem  to 
lead ;  but  he  appreciates,  and  makes  his  reader  appreciate, 
the  full  value  of  natural  feelings,  plain  thoughts,  and  applied 
sagacity. 


THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS  53 

His  ideas  of  political  economy  are  equally  characteristic 
of  his  strong  sense  and  genial  mind.  He  was  always  sneering 
at  Adam  Smith,  and  telling  many  legends  of  that  philosopher's 
absence  of  mind  and  inaptitude  for  the  ordinary  conduct  of  life. 
A  contact  with  the  Edinburgh  logicians  had,  doubtless,  not 
augmented  his  faith  in  the  formal  deductions  of  abstract  econ- 
omy ;  nevertheless,  with  the  facts  before  him,  he  could  give  a 
very  plain  and  satisfactory  exposition  of  the  genial  consequences 
of  old  abuses,  the  distinct  necessity  for  stern  reform,  and  the 
delicate  humanity  requisite  for  introducing  that  reform  temper- 
ately and  with  feeling  : — 

"  Even  so  the  Laird  of  Ellangowan  ruthlessly  commenced  his  magis- 
terial reform,  at  the  expense  of  various  established  and  superannuated 
pickers  and  stealers,  who  had  been  his  neighbours  for  half  a  centuiy.  He 
wrought  his  miracles  like  a  second  Duke  Humphrey  ;  and  by  the  influence 
of  the  beadle's  rod,  caused  the  lame  to  walk,  the  blind  to  see,  and  the 
palsied  to  labour.  He  detected  poachers,  black-fishers,  orchard-breakers, 
and  pigeon-shooters  ;  had  the  applause  of  the  bench  for  his  reward,  and 
the  public  credit  of  an  active  magistrate. 

"  All  this  good  had  its  rateable  proportion  of  evil.  Even  an  admitted 
nuisance,  of  ancient  standing,  should  not  be  abated  without  some  caution. 
The  zeal  of  our  worthy  friend  now  involved  in  great  distress  sundry  per- 
sonages whose  idle  and  mendicant  habits  his  own  Idchesse  had  contributed 
to  foster,  until  these  habits  had  become  irreclaimable,  or  whose  real 
incapacity  for  exertion  rendered  them  fit  objects,  in  their  own  phrase,  for 
the  charity  of  all  well-disposed  Christians.  The  *  long-remembered  beggar,' 
who  for  twenty  years  had  made  his  regular  rounds  within  the  neighbour- 
hood, received  rather  as  an  humble  friend  than  as  an  object  of  charity, 
was  sent  to  the  neighbouring  workhouse.  The  decrepit  dame,  who  tra- 
velled round  the  parish  upon  a  hand-barrow,  circulating  from  house  to 
house  like  a  bad  shilling,  which  every  one  is  in  haste  to  pass  to  his  neigh- 
bour ;  she  who  used  to  call  for  her  bearers  as  loud,  or  louder,  than  a 
traveller  demands  post-horses,  even  she  shared  the  same  disastrous  fate. 
The  'daft  Jock,'  who,  half  knave,  half  idiot,  had  been  the  sport  of  each 
succeeding  race  of  village  children  for  a  good  part  of  a  century,  was  re- 
mitted to  the  county  bridewell,  where,  secluded  from  free  air  and  sunshine, 
the  only  advantages  he  was  capable  of  enjoying,  he  pined  and  died  in  the 
course  of  six  months.  The  old  sailor,  who  had  so  long  rejoiced  the  smoky 
rafters  of  every  kitchen  in  the  country,  by  singing  '  Captain  Ward '  and 
'  Bold  Admiral  Benbow,'  was  banished  from  the  county  for  no  better  reason 
than  that  he  was  supposed  to  speak  with  a  strong  Irish  accent.  Even  the 
annual  rounds  of  the  pedlar  were  abolished  by  the  Justice,  in  his  hasty  zeal 
for  the  administration  of  rural  police. 


54  THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS 

"  These  things  did  not  pass  without  notice  and  censure.  We  are  not 
made  of  wood  or  stone,  and  the  things  which  connect  themselves  with  our 
hearts  and  habits  cannot,  like  bark  or  lichen,  be  rent  away  without  our 
missing  them.  The  farmer's  dame  lacked  her  usual  share  of  intelligence, 
perhaps  also  the  self-applause  which  she  had  felt  while  distributing  the 
aivmous  (alms),  in  shape  of  a  goivpen  (handful)  of  oatmeal,  to  the  men- 
dicant who  brought  the  news.  The  cottage  felt  inconvenience  from  in- 
terruption of  the  petty  trade  carried  on  by  the  itinerant  dealers.  The 
children  lacked  their  supply  of  sugar-plums  and  toys  ;  the  young  women 
wanted  pins,  ribbons,  combs,  and  ballads  ;  and  the  old  could  no  longer 
barter  their  eggs  for  salt,  snuff,  and  tobacco.  All  these  circumstances 
brought  the  busy  Laird  of  Ellangowan  into  discredit,  which  was  the  more 
general  on  account  of  his  former  popularity.  Even  his  lineage  was 
brought  up  in  judgment  against  him.  They  thought  '  naething  of  what 
the  like  of  Greenside,  or  Burnville,  or  Viewforth,  might  do,  that  were 
strangers  in  the  country  ;  but  Ellangowan  !  that  had  been  a  name  amang 
them  since  the  mirk  Monanday,  and  lang  before — him  to  be  grinding  the 
puir  at  that  rate  ! — They  ca'd  his  grandfather  the  Wicked  Laird  ;  but, 
though  he  was  whiles  fractious  aneuch,  when  he  got  into  roving  company, 
and  had  ta'en  the  drap  drink,  he  would  have  scorned  to  gang  on  at  this 
gate.  Na,  na,  the  muckle  chumley  in  the  Auld  Place  reeked  like  a 
killogie  in  his  time,  and  there  were  as  mony  puir  folk  riving  at  the  banes 
in  the  court  and  about  the  door,  as  there  were  gentles  in  the  ha'.  And 
the  leddy,  on  ilka  Christmas  night  as  it  came  round,  gae  twelve  siller 
pennies  to  ilka  puir  body  about,  in  honour  of  the  twelve  apostles  like. 
They  were  fond  to  ca'  it  papistrie  ;  but  I  think  our  great  folk  might  take 
a  lesson  frae  the  papists  whiles.  They  gie  another  sort  o'  help  to  puir 
folk  than  just  dinging  down  a  saxpence  in  the  brod  on  the  Sabbath,  and 
kilting,  and  scourging,  and  drumming  them  a'  the  sax  days  o'  the  week 
besides.' " l 

Many  other  indications  of  the  same  healthy  and  natural 
sense,  which  gives  so  much  of  their  characteristic  charm  to 
the  Scotch  novels,  might  be  pointed  out,  if  it  were  necessary 
to  weary  our  readers  by  dwelling  longer  on  a  point  we  have 
already  laboured  so  much.  One  more,  however,  demands 
notice  because  of  its  importance,  and  perhaps  also  because, 
from  its  somewhat  less  obvious  character,  it  might  otherwise 
escape  without  notice.  There  has  been  frequent  controversy 
as  to  the  penal  code,  if  we  may  so  call  it,  of  fiction ;  that  is, 
as  to  the  apportionment  of  reward  and  punishment  respectively 
to  the  good  and  evil  personages  therein  delineated  ;  and  the 

1  Guy  Mannering,  chap.  vi. 


THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS  55 

practice  of  authors  has  been  as  various  as  the  legislation  of 
critics.  One  school  abandons  all  thought  on  the  matter,  and 
declares  that  in  the  real  life  we  see  around  us,  good  people 
often  fail,  and  wicked  people  continually  prosper ;  and  would 
deduce  the  precept,  that  it  is  unwise  in  an  art  which  should 
"  hold  the  mirror  up  to  nature,"  1  not  to  copy  the  uncertain  and 
irregular  distribution  of  its  sanctions.  Another  school,  with  an 
exactness  which  savours  at  times  of  pedantry,  apportions  the 
success  and  the  failure,  the  pain  and  the  pleasure  of  fictitious 
life,  to  the  moral  qualities  of  those  who  are  living  in  it — does 
not  think  at  all,  or  but  little,  of  any  other  quality  in  those 
characters,  and  does  not  at  all  care  whether  the  penalty  and 
reward  are  evolved  in  natural  sequence  from  the  circumstances 
and  characters  of  the  tale,  or  are  owing  to  some  monstrous 
accident  far  removed  from  all  relation  of  cause  or  consequence 
to  those  facts  and  people.  Both  these  classes  of  writers  pro- 
duce works  which  jar  on  the  natural  sense  of  common  readers, 
and  are  at  issue  with  the  analytic  criticism  of  the  best  critics. 
One  school  leaves  an  impression  of  an  uncared-for  world,  in 
which  there  is  no  right  and  no  wrong  ;  the  other,  of  a  sort  of 
Governesses'  Institution  of  a  world,  where  all  praise  and  all 
blame,  all  good  and  all  pain,  are  made  to  turn  on  special  graces 
and  petty  offences,  pesteringly  spoken  of  and  teasingly  watched 
for.  The  manner  of  Scott  is  thoroughly  different ;  you  can 
scarcely  lay  down  any  novel  of  his  without  a  strong  feeling 
that  the  world  in  which  the  fiction  has  been  laid,  and  in  which 
your  imagination  has  been  moving,  is  one  subject  to  laws  of 
retribution  which,  though  not  apparent  on  a  superficial  glance, 
are  yet  in  steady  and  consistent  operation,  and  will  be  quite 
sure  to  work  their  due  effect,  if  time  is  only  given  to  them. 
Sagacious  men  know  that  this  is  in  its  best  aspect  the  condi- 
tion of  life.  Certain  of  the  ungodly  may,  notwithstanding  the 
Psalmist,  flourish  even  through  life  like  a  green  bay-tree ;  for 
providence,  in  external  appearance  (far  differently  from  the 
real  truth  of  things,  as  we  may  one  day  see  it),  works  by  a 
scheme  of  averages.  Most  people  who  ought  to  succeed,  do 
succeed  ;  most  people  who  do  fail,  ought  to  fail.  But  there  is 

1 "  Hamlet,"  iii.  2. 


56  THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS 

no  exact  adjustment  of  "  mark  "  to  merit ;  the  competitive  ex- 
amination system  appears  to  have  an  origin  more  recent  than 
the  creation  of  the  world; — "on  the  whole,"  "speaking  gen- 
erally," "looking  at  life  as  a  whole,"  are  the  words  in  which 
we  must  describe  the  providential  adjustment  of  visible  good 
and  evil  to  visible  goodness  and  badness.  And  when  we  look 
more  closely,  we  see  that  these  general  results  are  the  conse- 
quences of  certain  principles  which  work  half  unseen,  and  which 
are  effectual  in  the  main,  though  thwarted  here  and  there.  It 
is  this  comprehensive  though  inexact  distribution  of  good  and 
evil,  which  is  suited  to  the  novelist,  and  it  is  exactly  this  which 
Scott  instinctively  adopted.  Taking  a  firm  and  genial  view  of 
the  common  facts  of  life, — seeing  it  as  an  experienced  observer 
and  tried  man  of  action, — he  could  not  help  giving  the  repre- 
sentation of  it  which  is  insensibly  borne  in  on  the  minds  of 
such  persons.  He  delineates  it  as  a  world  moving  according 
to  laws  which  are  always  producing  their  effect,  never  have 
produced  it ;  sometimes  fall  short  a  little ;  are  always  nearly 
successful.  Good  sense  produces  its  effect,  as  well  as  good  in- 
tention ;  ability  is  valuable  as  well  as  virtue.  It  is  this  pecu- 
liarity which  gives  to  his  works,  more  than  anything  else,  the 
lifelikeness  which  distinguishes  them ;  the  average  of  the  copy 
is  struck  on  the  same  scale  as  that  of  reality ;  an  unexplained, 
uncommented-on  adjustment  works  in  the  one,  just  as  a  hidden, 
imperceptible  principle  of  apportionment  operates  in  the  other. 
The  romantic  susceptibility  of  Scott's  imagination  is  as  ob- 
vious in  his  novels  as  his  matter-of-fact  sagacity.  We  can  find 
much  of  it  in  the  place  in  which  we  should  naturally  look  first 
for  it, — his  treatment  of  his  heroines.  We  are  no  indiscrimi- 
nate admirers  of  these  young  ladies,  and  shall  shortly  try  to 
show  how  much  they  are  inferior  as  imaginative  creations  to 
similar  creations  of  the  very  highest  artists.  But  the  mode  in 
which  the  writer  speaks  of  them  everywhere  indicates  an  imagi- 
nation continually  under  the  illusion  which  we  term  romance. 
A  gentle  tone  of  manly  admiration  pervades  the  whole  delinea- 
tion of  their  words  and  actions.  If  we  look  carefully  at  the 
narratives  of  some  remarkable  female  novelists — it  would  be 
invidious  to  give  the  instances  by  name — we  shall  be  struck  at 


THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS  57 

once  with  the  absence  of  this ;  they  do  not  half  like  their 
|  heroines.  It  would  be  satirical  to  say  that  they  were  jealous 
of  them  ;  but  it  is  certain  that  they  analyse  the  mode  in  which 
their  charms  produce  their  effects,  and  the  minutiae  of  their 
[  operation,  much  in  the  same  way  in  which  a  slightly  jealous 
lady  examines  the  claims  of  the  heroines  of  society.  The  same 
writers  have  invented  the  atrocious  species  of  plain  heroines. 
Possibly  none  of  the  frauds  which  are  now  so  much  the  topic 
of  common  remark  are  so  irritating,  as  that  to  which  the 
purchaser  of  a  novel  is  a  victim  on  finding  that  he  has  only  to 
peruse  a  narrative  of  the  conduct  and  sentiments  of  an  ugly 
lady.  "  Two-and-sixpence  to  know  the  heart  which  has  high 
cheek-bones!"  Was  there  ever  such  an  imposition?  Scott 
would  have  recoiled  from  such  a  conception.  Even  Jeanie 
Deans,1  though  no  heroine,  like  Flora  Macivor,2  is  described 
as  "comely,"  and  capable  of  looking  almost  pretty  when  re- 
quired, and  she  has  a  compensating  set-off  in  her  sister,  who 
is  beautiful  as  well  as  unwise.  Speaking  generally,  as  is  the 
necessity  of  criticism,  Scott  makes  his  heroines,  at  least  by 
profession,  attractive,  and  dwells  on  their  attractiveness,  though 
not  with  the  wild  ecstasy  of  insane  youth,  yet  with  the 
tempered  and  mellow  admiration  common  to  genial  men  of 
this  world.  Perhaps  at  times  we  are  rather  displeased  at  his 
explicitness,  and  disposed  to  hang  back  and  carp  at  the  admir- 
able qualities  displayed  to  us.  But  this  is  only  a  stronger 
evidence  of  the  peculiarity  which  we  speak  of, — of  the  uncon- 
scious sentiments,  inseparable  from  Scott's  imagination. 

The  same  romantic  tinge  undeniably  shows  itself  in  Scott's 
pictures  of  the  past.  Many  exceptions  have  been  taken  to  the 
detail  of  mediaeval  life  as  it  is  described  to  us  in  Ivanhoe ;  but 
one  merit  will  always  remain  to  it,  and  will  be  enough  to 
secure  to  it  immense  popularity.  It  describes  the  middle  ages 
as  we  should  have  wished  them  to  have  been.  We  do  not 
mean  that  the  delineation  satisfies  those  accomplished  admirers 
of  the  old  Church  system  who  fancy  that  they  have  found 
among  the  prelates  and  barons  of  the  fourteenth  century  a 
close  approximation  to  the  theocracy  which  they  would  re- 

1  In  The  Heart  of  Mid- Lothian.  2  In  Waverley. 


58  THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS 

commend  for  our  adoption.  On  the  contrary,  the  theological 
merits  of  the  middle  ages  are  not  prominent  in  Scott's  delinea- 
tion. "Dogma"  was  not  in  his  way:  a  cheerful  man  of  the 
world  is  not  anxious  for  a  precise  definition  of  peculiar  doctrines. 
The  charm  of  Ivanhoe  is  addressed  to  a  simpler  sort  of  imagi- 
nation, to  that  kind  of  boyish  fancy  which  idolises  mediaeval 
society  as  the  "fighting  time".  Every  boy  has  heard  of 
tournaments,  and  has  a  firm  persuasion  that  in  an  age  of  tourna- 
ments, life  was  thoroughly  well  understood.  A  martial  society, 
where  men  fought  hand  to  hand  on  good  horses  with  large 
lances,  in  peace  for  pleasure,  and  in  war  for  business,  seems  the 
very  ideal  of  perfection  to  a  bold  and  simply  fanciful  boy.  Ivan- 
hoe  spreads  before  him  the  full  landscape  of  such  a  realm,  with 
Richard  Cceur-de-Lion,  a  black  horse,  and  the  passage  of  arms 
at  Ashby.  Of  course  he  admires  it,  and  thinks  there  was  never 
such  a  writer,  and  will  never  more  be  such  a  world.  And  a  mature 
critic  will  share  his  admiration,  at  least  to  the  extent  of  admit- 
ting that  nowhere  else  have  the  elements  of  a  martial  romance 
been  so  gorgeously  accumulated  without  becoming  oppressive ; 
their  fanciful  charm  been  so  powerfully  delineated,  and  yet  so 
constantly  relieved  by  touches  of  vigorous  sagacity.  One 
single  fact  shows  how  great  the  romantic  illusion  is.  The 
pressure  of  painful  necessity  is  scarcely  so  great  in  this  novel, 
as  in  novels  of  the  same  writer  in  which  the  scene  is  laid  in 
modern  times.  Much  may  be  said  in  favour  of  the  mediaeval 
system  as  contradistinguished  from  existing  society ;  much  has 
been  said.  But  no  one  can  maintain  that  general  comfort  was 
as  much  diffused  as  it  is  now.  A  certain  ease  pervades  the 
structure  of  later  society.  Our  houses  may  not  last  so  long,  ai 
not  so  picturesque,  will  leave  no  such  ruins  behind  them ;  but 
they  are  warmed  with  hot  water,  have  no  draughts,  and  coi 
tain  sofas  instead  of  rushes.  A  slight  daily  unconscious  luxui 
is  hardly  ever  wanting  to  the  dwellers  in  civilisation  ;  like  tl 
gentle  air  of  a  genial  climate,  it  is  a  perpetual  minute  enjoj 
ment.  The  absence  of  this  marks  a  rude  barbaric  time.  We 
may  avail  ourselves  of  rough  pleasures,  stirring  amusemenl 
exciting  actions,  strange  rumours ;  but  life  is  hard  and  harsl 
The  cold  air  of  the  keen  North  may  brace  and  invigorate,  but 


THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS  59 

it  cannot  soothe  us.  All  sensible  people  know  that  the 
middle  ages  must  have  been  very  uncomfortable ;  there  was  a 
difficulty  about  "good  food"; — almost  insuperable  obstacles 
to  the  cultivation  of  nice  detail  and  small  enjoyment.  No 
one  knew  the  abstract  facts  on  which  this  conclusion  rests  better 
than  Scott ;  but  his  delineation  gives  no  general  idea  of  the  re- 
sult. A  thoughtless  reader  rises  with  the  impression  that  the 
middle  ages  had  the  same  elements  of  happiness  which  we  have 
at  present,  and  that  they  had  fighting  besides.  We  do  not 
assert  that  this  tenet  is  explicitly  taught;  on  the  contrary, 
many  facts  are  explained,  and  many  customs  elucidated  from 
which  a  discriminating  and  deducing  reader  would  infer  the 
meanness  of  poverty  and  the  harshness  of  barbarism.  But  these 
less  imposing  traits  escape  the  the  rapid,  and  still  more  the 
boyish  reader.  His  general  impression  is  one  of  romance ; 
and  though,  when  roused,  Scott  was  quite  able  to  take  a 
distinct  view  of  the  opposing  facts,  he  liked  his  own  mind  to 
rest  for  the  most  part  in  the  same  pleasing  illusion. 

The  same  sort  of  historical  romance  is  shown  likewise 
in  Scott's  picture  of  remarkable  historical  characters.  His 
Richard  I.  is  the  traditional  Richard,  with  traits  heightened  and 
ennobled  in  perfect  conformity  to  the  spirit  of  tradition.  Some 
illustration  of  the  same  quality  might  be  drawn  from  his  de- 
lineations of  the  Puritan  rebellions  and  the  Cavalier  enthusiasm. 
We  might  show  that  he  ever  dwells  on  the  traits  and  incidents 
most  attractive  to  a  genial  and  spirited  imagination.  But  the 
most  remarkable  instance  of  the  power  which  romantic  illusion 
exercised  over  him,  is  his  delineation  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots. 
He  refused  at  one  time  of  his  life  to  write  a  biography  of  that 
princess  "because  his  opinion  was  contrary  to  his  feeling". 
He  evidently  considered  her  guilt  to  be  clearly  established, 
and  thought,  with  a  distinguished  lawyer,  that  he  should 
"  direct  a  jury  to  find  her  guilty  "  ;  but  his  fancy,  like  that  of 
most  of  his  countrymen,  took  a  peculiar  and  special  interest  in 
the  beautiful  lady  who,  at  any  rate,  had  suffered  so  much  and 
so  fatally  at  the  hands  of  a  queen  of  England.  He  could  not 
bring  himself  to  dwell  with  nice  accuracy  on  the  evidence  which 
substantiates  her  criminality,  or  on  the  still  clearer  indications 


60  THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS 

of  that  unsound  and  over-crafty  judgment,  which  was  the  fatal 
inheritance  of  the  Stuart  family,  and  which,  in  spite  of  advan- 
tages that  scarcely  any  other  family  in  the  world  has  enjoyed, 
has  made  their  name  a  historical  by-word  for  misfortune.  The 
picture  in  The  Abbot,  one  of  the  best  historical  pictures  which 
Scott  has  given  us,  is  principally  the  picture  of.  the  queen  as 
the  fond  tradition  of  his  countrymen  exhibited  her.  Her  entire 
innocence,  it  is  true,  is  never  alleged  :  but  the  enthusiasm  of  her 
followers  is  dwelt  on  with  approving  sympathy ;  their  confi- 
dence is  set  forth  at  large ;  her  influence  over  them  is  skilfully  de- 
lineated ;  the  fascination  of  charms  chastened  by  misfortune  is 
delicately  indicated.  We  see  a  complete  picture  of  the  beautiful 
queen,  of  the  suffering  and  sorrowful,  but  yet  not  insensible 
woman.  Scott  could  not,  however,  as  a  close  study  will  show 
us,  quite  conceal  the  unfavourable  nature  of  his  fundamental 
opinion.  In  one  remarkable  passage  the  struggle  of  the  judg- 
ment is  even  conspicuous,  and  in  others  the  sagacity  of  the 
practised  lawyer, — the  "thread  of  the  attorney,"  as  he  used 
to  call  it,  in  his  nature, — qualifies  and  modifies  the  sentiment 
hereditary  in  his  countrymen,  and  congenial  to  himself. 

This  romantic  imagination  is  a  habit  of  power  (as  we 
may  choose  to  call  it)  of  mind  which  is  almost  essential  to 
the  highest  success  in  the  historical  novel.  The  aim,  at  any 
rate  the  effect,  of  this  class  of  works  seems  to  be  to  deepen 
and  confirm  the  received  view  of  historical  personages.  A 
great  and  acute  writer  may,  from  an  accurate  study  of 
original  documents,  discover  that  those  impressions  are  errone- 
ous, and  by  a  process  of  elaborate  argument  substitute  others 
which  he  deems  more  accurate.  But  this  can  only  be  effected  by 
writing  a  regular  history.  The  essence  of  the  achievement  is  the 
proof.  If  Mr.  Froude  had  put  forward  his  view  of  Henry  VIII. 's 
character  in  a  professed  novel,  he  would  have  been  laughed 
at.  It  is  only  by  a  rigid  adherence  to  attested  facts  and  authen- 
tic documents,  that  a  view  so  original  could  obtain  even  a  hear- 
ing. We  start  back  with  a  little  anger  from  a  representation 
which  is  avowedly  imaginative,  and  which  contradicts  our  im- 
pressions. We  do  not  like  to  have  our  opinions  disturbed  by 
reasoning ;  but  it  is  impertinent  to  attempt  to  disturb  them  by 


THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS  61 

fancies.  A  writer  of  the  historical  novel  is  bound  by  the  popu- 
lar conception  of  his  subject ;  and  commonly  it  will  be  found 
that  this  popular  impression  is  to  some  extent  a  romantic 
one.  An  element  of  exaggeration  clings  to  the  popular  judg- 
ment :  great  vices  are  made  greater,  great  virtues  greater 
also ;  interesting  incidents  are  made  more  interesting,  soft 
legends  more  soft.  The  novelist  who  disregards  this  tend- 
ency will  do  so  at  the  peril  of  his  popularity.  His  business 
is  to  make  attraction  more  attractive,  and  not  to  impair  the 
pleasant  pictures  of  ready-made  romance  by  an  attempt  at 
grim  reality. 

We  may  therefore  sum  up  the  indications  of  this  charac- 
teristic excellence  of  Scott's  novels  by  saying,  that  more  than 
any  novelist  he  has  given  us  fresh  pictures  of  practical  human 
society,  with  its  cares  and  troubles,  its  excitements  and  its 
pleasures ;  that  he  has  delineated  more  distinctly  than  any 
one  else  the  framework  in  which  this  society  inheres,  and  by 
the  boundaries  of  which  it  is  shaped  and  limited ;  that  he 
has  made  more  clear  the  way  in  which  strange  and  eccentric 
characters  grow  out  of  that  ordinary  and  usual  system  of 
life;  that  he  has  extended  his  view  over  several  periods  of 
society,  and  given  an  animated  description  of  the  external 
appearance  of  each,  and  a  firm  representation  of  its  social 
institutions ;  that  he  has  shown  very  graphically  what  we 
may  call  the  worldly  laws  of  moral  government;  and  that 
over  all  these  he  has  spread  the  glow  of  sentiment  natural 
to  a  manly  mind,  and  an  atmosphere  of  generosity  congenial 
to  a  cheerful  one.  It  is  from  the  collective  effect  of  these 
causes,  and  from  the  union  of  sense  and  sentiment  which 
is  the  principle  of  them  all,  that  Scott  derives  the  peculiar 
healthiness  which  distinguishes  him.  There  are  no  such 
books  as  his  for  the  sick-room,  or  for  freshening  the  painful 
intervals  of  a  morbid  mind.  Mere  sense  is  dull,  mere  senti- 
ment unsubstantial ;  a  sensation  of  genial  healthiness  is 
only  given  by  what  combines  the  solidity  of  the  one  and  the 
brightening  charm  of  the  other. 

Some  guide  to  Scott's  defects,  or  to  the  limitations  of 
his  genius,  if  we  would  employ  a  less  ungenial  and  perhaps 


62  THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS 

more  correct  expression,  is  to  be  discovered,  as  usual,  from 
the  consideration  of  his  characteristic  excellence.  As  it  is 
his  merit  to  give  bold  and  animated  pictures  of  this  world, 
it  is  his  defect  to  give  but  insufficient  representations  of 
qualities  which  this  world  does  not  exceedingly  prize, — of 
such  as  do  not  thrust  themselves  very  forward  in  it, — of  such 
as  are  in  some  sense  above  it.  We  may  illustrate  this  in 
several  ways. 

One  of  the  parts  of  human  nature  which  are  systematically 
omitted  in  Scott,  is  the  searching  and  abstract  intellect. 
This  did  not  lie  in  his  way.  No  man  had  a  stronger  sagacity, 
better  adapted  for  the  guidance  of  common  men,  and  the 
conduct  of  common  transactions.  Few  could  hope  to  form  a 
more  correct  opinion  on  things  and  subjects  which  were  brought 
before  him  in  actual  life ;  no  man  had  a  more  useful  intellect. 
But  on  the  other  hand,  as  will  be  generally  observed  to  be  the 
case,  no  one  was  less  inclined  to  that  probing  and  seeking 
and  anxious  inquiry  into  things  in  general  which  is  the  neces- 
sity of  some  minds,  and  a  sort  of  intellectual  famine  in  their 
nature.  He  had  no  call  to  investigate  the  theory  of  the  universe, 
and  he  would  not  have  been  able  to  comprehend  those  who 
did.  Such  a  mind  as  Shelley's  would  have  been  entirely 
removed  from  his  comprehension.  He  had  no  call  to  mix 
"awful  talk  and  asking  looks"  l  with  his  love  of  the  visible 
scene.  He  could  not  have  addressed  the  universe : — 

"  I  have  watched 

Thy  shadow,  and  the  darkness  of  thy  steps, 
And  my  heart  ever  gazes  on  the  depth 
Of  thy  deep  mysteries.     I  have  made  my  bed 
In  charnels  and  on  coffins,  where  black  death 
Keeps  record  of  the  trophies  won  from  thee, 
Hoping  to  still  these  obstinate  questionings 
Of  thee  and  thine,  by  forcing  some  lone  ghost, 
Thy  messenger,  to  render  up  the  tale 
Of  what  we  are."  2 

Such  thoughts  would  have  been  to  him  "thinking  withoul 
an  object,"  "abstracted  speculations,"  "cobwebs  of  the  un- 
intelligible brain  ".  Above  all  minds,  his  had  the  Baconian 

Shelley,  «  Alastor  ".  *  Ibid. 


THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS  63 

propensity  to  work  upon  "stuff".  At  first  sight,  it  would 
not  seem  that  this  was  a  defect  likely  to  be  very  hurtful  to 
the  works  of  a  novelist.  The  labours  of  the  searching  and 
introspective  intellect,  however  needful,  absorbing,  and  in 
some  degree  delicious,  to  the  seeker  himself,  are  not  in  general 
very  delightful  to  those  who  are  not  seeking.  Genial  men  in 
middle  life  are  commonly  intolerant  of  that  philosophising 
which  their  prototype,  in  old  times,  classed  side  by  side  with 
the  lisping  of  youth.  The  theological  novel,  which  was  a 
few  years  ago  so  popular,  and  which  is  likely  to  have  a  recurring 
influence  in  times  when  men's  belief  is  unsettled,  and  persons 
who  cannot  or  will  not  read  large  treatises  have  thoughts  in 
their  minds  and  inquiries  in  their  hearts,  suggests  to  those 
who  are  accustomed  to  it  the  absence  elsewhere  of  what  is 
necessarily  one  of  its  most  distinctive  and  prominent  subjects. 
The  desire  to  attain  a  belief,  which  has  become  one  of  the 
most  familiar  sentiments  of  heroes  and  heroines,  would  have 
seemed  utterly  incongruous  to  the  plain  sagacity  of  Scott, 
and  also  to  his  old-fashioned  art.  Creeds  are  data  in  his 
novels ;  people  have  different  creeds,  but  each  keeps  his  own. 
Some  persons  will  think  that  this  is  not  altogether  amiss  ; 
nor  do  we  particularly  wish  to  take  up  the  defence  of  the 
dogmatic  novel.  Nevertheless,  it  will  strike  those  who  are 
accustomed  to  the  youthful  generation  of  a  cultivated  time, 
that  the  passion  of  intellectual  inquiry  is  one  of  the  strongest 
impulses  in  many  of  them,  and  one  of  those  which  give  the 
predominant  colouring  to  the  conversation  and  exterior  mind 
of  many  more.  And  a  novelist  will  not  exercise  the  most 
potent  influence  over  those  subject  to  that  passion,  if  he  en- 
tirely omit  the  delineation  of  it.  Scott's  works  have  only  one 
merit  in  this  relation :  they  are  an  excellent  rest  to  those  who 
have  felt  this  passion,  and  have  had  something  too  much  of  it. 
The  same  indisposition  to  the  abstract  exercises  of  the 
intellect  shows  itself  in  the  reflective  portions  of  Scott's 
novels,  and  perhaps  contributes  to  their  popularity  with  that 
immense  majority  of  the  world  who  strongly  share  in  that 
same  indisposition :  it  prevents,  however,  their  having  the 
most  powerful  intellectual  influence  on  those  who  have  at  any 


64  THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS 

time  of  their  lives  voluntarily  submitted  themselves  to  this 
acute  and  refining  discipline.  The  reflections  of  a  practised 
thinker  have  a  peculiar  charm,  like  the  last  touches  of  the 
accomplished  artist.  The  cunning  exactitude  of  the  profes- 
sional hand  leaves  a  trace  in  the  very  language.  A  nice  dis- 
crimination of  thought  makes  men  solicitous  of  the  most  apt 
expressions  to  diffuse  their  thoughts.  Both  words  and  mean- 
ing gain  a  metallic  brilliancy,  like  the  glittering  precision  of 
the  pure  Attic  air.  Scott's  is  a  healthy  and  genial  world  of 
reflection,  but  it  wants  the  charm  of  delicate  exactitude. 

The  same  limitation  of  Scott's  genius  shows  itself  in  a  very 
different  portion  of  art — in  his  delineation  of  his  heroines. 
The  same  blunt  sagacity  of  imagination  which  fitted  him  to 
excel  in  the  rough  description  of  obvious  life,  rather  unfitted 
him  for  delineating  the  less  substantial  essence  of  the  female 
character.  The  nice  minuticz  of  society,  by  means  of  which 
female  novelists  have  been  so  successful  in  delineating  their 
own  sex,  were  rather  too  small  for  his  robust  and  powerful 
mind.  Perhaps,  too,  a  certain  unworldliness  of  imagination 
is  necessary  to  enable  men  to  comprehend  or  delineate  that 
essence:  unworldliness  of  life  is  no  doubt  not  requisite  ;  rather, 
perhaps,  worldliness  is  necessary  to  the  acquisition  of  a  suffi- 
cient experience.  But  an  absorption  in  the  practical  world 
does  not  seem  favourable  to  a  comprehension  of  anything 
which  does  not  precisely  belong  to  it.  Its  interests  are  too 
engrossing ;  its  excitements  too  keen ;  it  modifies  the  fancy, 
and  in  the  change  unfits  it  for  everything  else.  Something,  t< 
in  Scott's  character  and  history  made  it  more  difficult  for  hii 
to  give  a  representation  of  women  than  of  men.  Goethe  use 
to  say,  that  his  idea  of  woman  was  not  drawn  from  his  expei 
ence,  but  that  it  came  to  him  before  experience,  and  that 
explained  his  experience  by  a  reference  to  it.1  And  thou{ 
this  is  a  German,  and  not  very  happy,  form  of  expression, 
it  appears  to  indicate  a  very  important  distinction.  Soi 
efforts  of  the  imagination  are  made  so  early  in  life,  ju« 
as  it  were  at  the  dawn  of  the  conscious  faculties,  that  we  are 
never  able  to  fancy  ourselves  as  destitute  of  them.  They  are 

Conversations  with  Eckermann  and  Soret,  22nd  Oct.,  1828. 


THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS  65 

part  of  the  mental  constitution  with  which,  so  to  speak,  we 
awoke  to  existence.  These  are  always  far  more  firm,  vivid, 
and  definite,  than  any  other  images  of  our  fancy  ;  and  we 
apply  them,  half  unconsciously,  to  any  facts  and  sentiments 
and  actions  which  may  occur  to  us  later  in  life,  whether  aris- 
ing from  within  or  thrust  upon  us  from  the  outward  world. 
Goethe  doubtless  meant  that  the  idea  of  the  female  character 
was  to  him  one  of  these  first  elements  of  imagination  ;  not  a 
thing  puzzled  out,  or  which  he  remembered  having  conceived, 
but  a  part  of  the  primitive  conceptions  which,  being  coeval 
with  his  memory,  seemed  inseparable  from  his  consciousness. 
The  descriptions  of  women  likely  to  be  given  by  this  sort  of 
imagination  will  probably  be  the  best  descriptions.  A  mind 
which  would  arrive  at  this  idea  of  the  female  character  by  this 
process,  and  so  early,  would  be  one  obviously  of  more  than 
usual  susceptibility.  The  early  imagination  does  not  com- 
monly take  this  direction  ;  it  thinks  most  of  horses  and  lances, 
tournaments  and  knights ;  only  a  mind  with  an  unusual  and 
instinctive  tendency  to  this  kind  of  thought,  would  be  borne 
thither  so  early  or  so  effectually.  And  even  independently  of 
this  probable  peculiarity  of  the  individual,  the  primitive  imagi- 
nation in  general  is  likely  to  be  the  most  accurate  which 
men  can  form ;  not,  of  course,  of  the  external  manifestations 
and  detailed  manners,  but  of  the  inner  sentiment  and  charac- 
teristic feeling  of  women.  The  early  imagination  conceives 
what  it  does  conceive  very  justly  ;  fresh  from  the  facts,  stirred 
by  the  new  aspect  of  things,  undimmed  by  the  daily  passage 
of  constantly  forgotten  images,  not  misled  by  the  irregular 
analogies  of  a  dislocated  life, — the  early  mind  sees  what 
it  does  see  with  a  spirit  and  an  intentness  never  given  to  it 
again.  A  mind  like  Goethe's,  of  very  strong  imagination, 
aroused  at  the  earliest  age, — not  of  course  by  passions,  but  by  an 
unusual  strength  in  that  undefined  longing  which  is  the  prelude 
to  our  passions, — will  form  the  best  idea  of  the  inmost  female 
nature  which  masculine  nature  can  form.  The  difference  is 
evident  between  the  characters  of  women  formed  by  Goethe's 
imagination  or  Shakespeare's,  and  those  formed  by  such  an 
imagination  as  that  of  Scott.  The  latter  seem  so  external. 
VOL.  in.  5 


66  THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS 

We  have  traits,  features,  manners  ;  we  know  the  heroine  as 
she  appeared  in  the  street ;  in  some  degree  we  know  how  she 
talked,  but  we  never  know  how  she  felt — least  of  all  what  she 
was :  we  always  feel  there  is  a  world  behind,  unanalysed,  un- 
represented, which  we  cannot  attain  to.  Such  a  character  as 
Margaret  in  "Faust"  is  known  to  us  to  the  very  soul;  so  is 
Imogen ;  so  is  Ophelia.  Edith  Bellenden,  Flora  Macivor,  Miss 
Wardour,1  are  young  ladies  who,  we  are  told,  were  good-looking, 
and  well  dressed  (according  to  the  old  fashion),  and  sensible ; 
but  we  feel  we  know  but  very  little  of  them,  and  they  do  not 
haunt  our  imaginations.  The  failure  of  Scott  in  this  line  of 
art  is  more  conspicuous,  because  he  had  not  in  any  remarkable 
degree  the  later  experience  of  female  detail,  with  which  some 
minds  have  endeavoured  to  supply  the  want  of  the  early 
essential  imagination,  and  which  Goethe  possessed  in  addition 
to  it.  It  was  rather  late,  according  to  his  biographer,  before  Scott 
set  up  for  a  "  squire  of  dames  " ;  he  was  a  "  lame  young  man, 
very  enthusiastic  about  ballad  poetry  "  ;  he  was  deeply  in  love 
with  a  young  lady,  supposed  to  be  imaginatively  represented 
by  Flora  Macivor,  but  he  was  unsuccessful.  It  would  be  over- 
ingenious  to  argue,  from  his  failing  in  a  single  love-affair,  that 
he  had  no  peculiar  interest  in  young  ladies  in  general ;  but 
the  whole  description  of  his  youth  shows  that  young  ladies 
exercised  over  him  a  rather  more  divided  influence  than  is 
usual.  Other  pursuits  intervened,  much  more  than  is  common 
with  persons  of  imaginative  temperament,  and  he  never  led 
the  life  of  flirtation  from  which  Goethe  believed  that  he  de- 
rived so  much  instruction.  Scott's  heroines,  therefore,  are, 
not  unnaturally,  faulty,  since  from  a  want  of  the  very  peculiar 
instinctive  imagination  he  could  not  give  us  the  essence  of 
women,  and  from  the  habits  of  his  life  he  could  not  delineate 
to  us  their  detailed  life  with  the  appreciative  accuracy  of  habitual 
experience.  Jeanie  Deans  is  probably  the  best  of  his  heroines, 
and  she  is  so  because  she  is  the  least  of  a  heroine.  The  plain 
matter-of-fact  element  in  the  peasant-girl's  life  and  circum- 
stances suited  a  robust  imagination.  There  is  little  in  the 
part  of  her  character  that  is  very  finely  described  which  is 

1  In  Old  Mortality,  Waverley  and  The  Antiquary. 


THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS  67 

characteristically  feminine.  She  is  not  a  masculine,  but  she 
is  an  epicene  heroine.  Her  love-affair  with  Butler,  a  single 
remarkable  scene  excepted,  is  rather  commonplace  than 
otherwise. 

A  similar  criticism  might  be  applied  to  Scott's  heroes. 
Every  one  feels  how  commonplace  they  are — Waverley  ex- 
cepted, whose  very  vacillation  gives  him  a  sort  of  character. 
They  have  little  personality.  They  are  all  of  the  same  type  ; 
— excellent  young  men — rather  strong — able  to  ride  and  climb 
and  jump.  They  are  always  said  to  be  sensible,  and  bear  out 
the  character  by  being  not  unwilling  sometimes  to  talk 
platitudes.  But  we  know  nothing  of  their  inner  life.  They 
are  said  to  be  in  love ;  but  we  have  no  special  account  of  their 
individual  sentiments.  People  show  their  character  in  their 
love  more  than  in  anything  else.  These  young  gentlemen  all 
love  in  the  same  way — in  the  vague  commonplace  way  of  this 
world.  We  have  no  sketch  or  dramatic  expression  of  the  life 
within.  Their  souls  are  quite  unknown  to  us.  If  there  is  an 
exception,  it  is  Edgar  Ravenswood. l  But  if  we  look  closely, 
we  may  observe  that  the  notion  which  we  obtain  of  his  char- 
acter, unusually  broad  as  it  is,  is  not  a  notion  of  him  in  his 
capacity  of  hero,  but  in  his  capacity  of  distressed  peer.  His 
proud  poverty  gives  a  distinctness  which  otherwise  his  linea- 
ments would  not  have.  We  think  little  of  his  love ;  we  think 
much  of  his  narrow  circumstances  and  compressed  haughti- 
ness. 

The  same  exterior  delineation  of  character  shows  itself  in 
his  treatment  of  men's  religious  nature.  A  novelist  is  scarcely, 
in  the  notion  of  ordinary  readers,  bound  to  deal  with  this  at 
all ;  if  he  does,  it  will  be  one  of  his  great  difficulties  to  indicate 
it  graphically,  yet  without  dwelling  on  it.  Men  who  purchase 
a  novel  do  not  wish  a  stone  or  a  sermon.  All  lengthened 
reflections  must  be  omitted ;  the  whole  armoury  of  pulpit  elo- 
quence. But  no  delineation  of  human  nature  can  be  considered 
complete  which  omits  to  deal  with  man  in  relation  to  the 
questions  which  occupy  him  as  man,  with  his  convictions  as  to 
the  theory  of  the  universe  and  his  own  destiny ;  the  human 

1  In  The  Bride  of  Lammermoor. 

5* 


68  THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS 

heart  throbs  on  few  subjects  with  a  passion  so  intense,  so 
peculiar,  and  so  typical.  From  an  artistic  view,  it  is  a  blunder  to 
omit  an  element  which  is  so  characteristic  of  human  life,  which 
contributes  so  much  to  its  animation,  and  which  is  so  pictu- 
resque. A  reader  of  a  more  simple  mind,  little  apt  to  indulge 
in  such  criticism,  feels  "  a  want  of  depth,"  as  he  would  speak, 
in  delineations  from  which  so  large  an  element  of  his  own 
most  passionate  and  deepest  nature  is  omitted.  It  can  hardly 
be  said  that  there  is  an  omission  of  the  religious  nature  in 
Scott.  But,  at  the  same  time,  there  is  no  adequate  delineation 
of  it.  If  we  refer  to  the  facts  of  his  life,  and  the  view  of  his 
character  which  we  collect  from  them,  we  shall  find  that  his 
religion  was  of  a  qualified  and  double  sort.  He  was  a  genial 
man  of  the  world,  and  had  the  easy  faith  in  the  kindly l  Dieu 
des  bonnes  gens,  which  is  natural  to  such  a  person ;  and  he  had 
also  a  half-poetic  principle  of  superstition  in  his  nature, 
inclining  him  to  believe  in  ghosts,  legends,  fairies,  and  elves, 
which  did  not  affect  his  daily  life,  or  possibly  his  superficial 
belief,  but  was  nevertheless  very  constantly  present  to  his 
fancy,  and  which  affected,  as  is  the  constitution  of  human 
nature,  through  that  frequency,  the  undefined,  half-expressed, 
inexpressible  feelings  which  are  at  the  root  of  that  belief. 
Superstition  was  a  kind  of  Jacobitism  in  his  religion  ;  as  a  sort 
of  absurd  reliance  on  the  hereditary  principle  modified  insen- 
sibly his  leanings  in  the  practical  world,  so  a  belief  in  the 
existence  of  unevidenced,  and  often  absurd,  supernatural 
beings  qualified  his  commonest  speculations  on  the  higher 
world.  Both  these  elements  may  be  thought  to  enter  into  the 
highest  religion  ;  there  is  a  principle  of  cheerfulness  which  will 
justify  in  its  measure  a  genial  enjoyment,  and  also  a  principle 
of  fear  which  those  who  think  only  of  that  enjoyment  will  deem 
superstition,  and  which  will  really  become  superstition  in  the 
over-anxious  and  credulous  acceptor  of  it.  But  in  a  true 
religion  these  two  elements  will  be  combined.  The  character 
of  God  images  itself  very  imperfectly  in  any  human  soul  ; 
but  in  the  highest  it  images  itself  as  a  whole ;  it  leaves  an 
abiding  impression  which  will  justify  anxiety  and  allow  of  happi- 

1  Beranger. 


THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS  69 

ness.  The  highest  aim  of  the  religious  novelist  would  be  to  show 
how  this  operates  in  human  character;  to  exhibit  in  their 
curious  modification  our  religious  love,  and  also  our  religious 
fear.  In  the  novels  of  Scott  the  two  elements  appear  in  a 
state  of  separation,  as  they  did  in  his  own  mind.  We  have 
the  superstition  of  the  peasantry  in  The  Antiquary,  in  Guy 
Mannering,  everywhere  almost ;  we  have  likewise  a  pervading 
tone  of  genial  easy  reflection  characteristic  of  the  man  of  the 
world  who  produced,  and  agreeable  to  the  people  of  the  world 
who  read,  these  works.  But  we  have  no  picture  of  the  two  in 
combination.  We  are  scarcely  led  to  think  on  the  subject  at 
all,  so  much  do  other  subjects  distract  our  interest ;  but  if  we 
do  think,  we  are  puzzled  at  the  contrast.  We  do  not  know 
which  is  true,  the  uneasy  belief  of  superstition,  or  the  easy 
satisfaction  of  the  world  ;  we  waver  between  the  two,  and  have 
no  suggestion  even  hinted  to  us  of  the  possibility  of  a  recon- 
ciliation. The  character  of  the  Puritans  certainly  did  not  in 
general  embody  such  a  reconciliation,  but  it  might  have  been 
made  by  a  sympathising  artist  the  vehicle  for  a  delineation  of 
a  struggle  after  it  The  two  elements  of  love  and  fear  ranked 
side  by  side  in  their  minds  with  an  intensity  which  is  rare  even 
in  minds  that  feel  only  one  of  them.  The  delineation  of  Scott 
is  amusing,  but  superficial.  He  caught  the  ludicrous  traits 
which  tempt  the  mirthful  imagination,  but  no  other  side  of  the 
character  pleased  him.  The  man  of  the  world  was  displeased 
with  their  obstinate  interfering  zeal ;  their  intensity  of  faith 
was  an  opposition  force  in  the  old  Scotch  polity,  of  which  he 
liked  to  fancy  the  harmonious  working.  They  were  supersti- 
tious enough  ;  but  nobody  likes  other  people's  superstitions. 
Scott's  were  of  a  wholly  different  kind.  He  made  no  difficulty 
as  to  the  observance  of  Christmas  Day,  and  would  have  eaten 
potatoes  without  the  faintest  scruple,  although  their  name 
does  not  occur  in  Scripture.  Doubtless  also  his  residence  in 
the  land  of  Puritanism  did  not  incline  him  to  give  anything 
except  a  satirical  representation  of  that  belief.  You  must  not 
expect  from  a  Dissenter  a  faithful  appreciation  of  the  creed  from 
which  he  dissents.  You  cannot  be  impartial  on  the  religion  of 
the  place  in  which  you  live ;  you  may  believe  it,  or  you  may  dis- 


70  THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS 

like  it ;  it  crosses  your  path  in  too  many  forms  for  you  to  be 
able  to  look  at  it  with  equanimity.  Scott  had  rather  a  rigid 
form  of  Puritanism  forced  upon  him  in  his  infancy;  it  is 
asking  too  much  to  expect  him  to  be  partial  to  it.  The  aspect 
of  religion  which  Scott  delineates  best  is  that  which  appears 
in  griefs,  especially  in  the  grief  of  strong  characters.  His 
strong  natural  nature  felt  the  power  of  death.  He  has  given 
us  many  pictures  of  rude  and  simple  men  subdued,  if  only  for 
a  moment,  into  devotion  by  its  presence. 

On  the  whole,  and  speaking  roughly,  these  defects  in  the 
delineation  which  Scott  has  given  us  of  human  life  are  but 
two.  He  omits  to  give  us  a  delineation  of  the  soul.  We 
have  mind,  manners,  animation,  but  it  is  the  stir  of  this 
world.  We  miss  the  consecrating  power ;  and  we  miss  it  not 
only  in  its  own  peculiar  sphere,  which,  from  the  difficulty  of 
introducing  the  deepest  elements  into  a  novel,  would  have 
been  scarcely  matter  for  a  harsh  criticism,  but  in  the  place  in 
which  a  novelist  might  most  be  expected  to  delineate  it. 
There  are  perhaps  such  things  as  the  love-affairs  of  immortal 
beings,  but  no  one  would  learn  it  from  Scott.  His  heroes 
and  heroines  are  well  dressed  for  this  world,  but  not  for 
another ;  there  is  nothing  even  in  their  love  which  is  suitable 
for  immortality.  As  has  been  noticed,  Scott  also  omits  any 
delineation  of  the  abstract  side  of  unworldly  intellect.  This 
too  might  not  have  been  so  severe  a  reproach,  considering  its 
undramatic,  unanimated  nature,  if  it  had  stood  alone ;  but 
taken  in  connection  with  the  omission  which  we  have  just 
spoken  of,  it  is  most  important.  As  the  union  of  sense  and 
romance  makes  the  world  of  Scott  so  characteristically  agree- 
able— a  fascinating  picture  of  this  world  in  the  light  in  which 
we  like  best  to  dwell  on  it ;  so  the  deficiency  in  the  attenuated, 
striving  intellect,  as  well  as  in  the  supernatural  soul,  gives  to 
the  "world"  of  Scott  the  cumbrousness  and  temporality — in 
short,  the  materialism — which  is  characteristic  of  the  world. 

We  have  dwelt  so  much  on  what  we  think  are  the  char- 
acteristic features  of  Scott's  imaginative  representations  that 
we  have  left  ourselves  no  room  to  criticise  the  two  most 
natural  points  of  criticism  in  a  novelist — plot  and  style.  This 


THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS  71 

is  not,  however,  so  important  in  Scott's  case  as  it  would 
commonly  be.  He  used  to  say :  "  It  is  of  no  use  having  a 
plot ;  you  cannot  keep  to  it ".  He  modified  and  changed  his 
thread  of  story  from  day  to  day, — sometimes  even  from  book- 
selling reasons,  and  on  the  suggestion  of  others.  An  elaborate 
work  of  narrative  art  could  not  be  produced  in  this  way,  every 
one  will  concede ;  the  highest  imagination,  able  to  look  far  over 
the  work,  is  necessary  for  that  task.  But  the  plots  produced, 
so  to  say,  by  the  pen  of  the  writer  as  he  passes  over  the  events, 
are  likely  to  have  a  freshness  and  a  suitableness  to  those  events, 
which  is  not  possessed  by  the  inferior  writers  who  make  up  a 
mechanical  plot  before  they  commence.  The  procedure  of  the 
highest  genius  doubtless  is  scarcely  a  procedure :  the  view  of 
the  whole  story  comes  at  once  upon  its  imagination  like  the 
delicate  end  and  the  distinct  beginning  of  some  long  vista. 
But  all  minds  do  not  possess  the  highest  mode  of  conception ; 
and  among  lower  modes,  it  is  doubtless  better  to  possess  the 
vigorous  fancy  which  creates  each  separate  scene  in  succession 
as  it  goes,  than  the  pedantic  intellect  which  designs  everything 
long  before  it  is  wanted.  There  is  a  play  in  unconscious 
creation  which  no  voluntary  elaboration  and  preconceived 
fitting  of  distinct  ideas  can  ever  hope  to  produce.  If  the 
whole  cannot  be  created  by  one  bounding  effort,  it  is  better 
that  each  part  should  be  created  separately  and  in  detail. 

The  style  of  Scott  would  deserve  the  highest  praise  if 
M.  Thiers  could  establish  his  theory  of  narrative  language. 
He  maintains  that  a  historian's  language  approaches  perfec- 
tion in  proportion  as  it  aptly  communicates  what  is  meant  to 
be  narrated  without  drawing  any  attention  to  itself.  Scott's 
style  fulfils  this  condition.  Nobody  rises  from  his  works 
without  a  most  vivid  idea  of  what  is  related,  and  no  one  is 
able  to  quote  a  single  phrase  in  which  it  has  been  narrated. 
We  are  inclined,  however,  to  differ  from  the  great  French 
historian,  and  to  oppose  to  him  a  theory  derived  from  a  very 
different  writer.  Coleridge  used  to  maintain  that  all  good 
poetry  was  untranslatable  into  words  of  the  same  language 
without  injury  to  the  sense :  the  meaning  was,  in  his  view,  to 
be  so  inseparably  intertwined  even  with  the  shades  of  the 


72  THE   WAVERLEY  NOVELS 

language,  that  the  change  of  a  single  expression  would  make 
a  difference  in  the  accompanying  feeling,  if  not  in  the  bare 
signification :  consequently,  all  good  poetry  must  be  remem- 
bered exactly, — to  change  a  word  is  to  modify  the  essence. 
Rigidly  this  theory  can  only  be  applied  to  a  few  kinds  of  poetry, 
or  special  passages  in  which  the  imagination  is  exerting  itself 
to  the  utmost,  and  collecting  from  the  whole  range  of  associated 
language  the  very  expressions  which  it  requires.  The  highest 
excitation  of  feeling  is  necessary  to  this  peculiar  felicity  of 
choice.  In  calmer  moments  the  mind  has  either  a  less  choice, 
or  less  acuteness  of  selective  power.  Accordingly,  in  prose  it 
would  be  absurd  to  expect  any  such  nicety.  Still,  on  great 
occasions  in  imaginative  fiction,  there  should  be  passages  in 
which  the  words  seem  to  cleave  to  the  matter.  The  excite- 
ment is  as  great  as  in  poetry.  The  words  should  become  part 
of  the  sense.  They  should  attract  our  attention,  as  this  is 
necessary  to  impress  them  on  the  memory ;  but  they  should 
not  in  so  doing  distract  attention  from  the  meaning  conveyed. 
On  the  contrary,  it  is  their  inseparability  from  their  meaning 
which  gives  them  their  charm  and  their  power.  In  truth, 
Scott's  language,  like  his  sense,  was  such  as  became  a  bold, 
sagacious  man  of  the  world.  He  used  the  first  sufficient  words 
which  came  uppermost,  and  seems  hardly  to  have  been 
sensible,  even  in  the  works  of  others,  of  that  exquisite  accuracy 
arid  inexplicable  appropriateness  of  which  we  have  been 
speaking. 

To  analyse  in  detail  the  faults  and  merits  of  even  a  few  of 
the  greatest  of  the  Waverley  Novels  would  be  impossible  in 
the  space  at  our  command  on  the  present  occasion.  We  have 
only  attempted  a  general  account  of  a  few  main  characteristics. 
Every  critic  must,  however,  regret  to  have  to  leave  topics  so 
tempting  to  remark  upon  as  many  of  Scott's  stories,  and  a  yet 
greater  number  of  his  characters. 


CHARLES  DICKENS.1 

(1858.) 

IT  must  give  Mr.  Dickens  much  pleasure  to  look  at  the  col- 
lected series  of  his  writings.  He  has  told  us  of  the  beginnings 
of  Pickwick. 

"  I  was,"  he  relates  in  what  is  now  the  preface  to  that  work,  "a  young 
man  of  three  and  twenty,  when  the  present  publishers,  attracted  by  some 
pieces  I  was  at  that  time  writing  in  the  Morning  Chronicle  newspaper  (of 
which  one  series  had  lately  been  collected  and  published  in  two  volumes, 
illustrated  by  my  esteemed  friend  Mr.  George  Cruikshank),  waited  upon 
me  to  propose  a  something  that  should  be  published  in  shilling  numbers — 
then  only  known  to  me,  or  I  believe  to  anybody  else,  by  a  dim  recollection 
of  certain  interminable  novels  in  that  form,  which  used,  some  five  and 
twenty  years  ago,  to  be  carried  about  the  country  by  pedlars,  and  over 
some  of  which  I  remember  to  have  shed  innumerable  tears,  before  I  served 
my  apprenticeship  to  Life.  When  I  opened  my  door  in  Furnival's  Inn  to 
the  managing  partner  who  represented  the  firm,  I  recognised  in  him  the 
person  from  whose  hands  I  had  bought,  two  or  three  years  previously,  and 
whom  I  had  never  seen  before  or  since,  my  first  copy  of  the  magazine  in 
which  my  first  effusion — dropped  stealthily  one  evening  at  twilight,  with 
fear  and  trembling,  into  a  dark  letter-box,  in  a  dark  office,  up  a  dark 
court  in  Fleet  Street — appeared  in  all  the  glory  of  print ;  on  which  occasion, 
by-the-bye, — how  well  I  recollect  it !— I  walked  down  to  Westminster  Hall, 
and  turned  into  it  for  half  an  hour,  because  my  eyes  were  so  dimmed  with 
joy  and  pride,  that  they  could  not  bear  the  street,  and  were  not  fit  to  be 
seen  there.  I  told  my  visitor  of  the  coincidence,  which  we  both  hailed  as 
a  good  omen  ;  and  so  fell  to  business." 

After  such  a  beginning,  there  must  be  great  enjoyment  in 
looking  at  the  long  series  of  closely  printed  green  volumes,  in 
remembering  their  marvellous  popularity,  in  knowing  that  they 
are  a  familiar  literature  wherever  the  English  language  is  spoken, 

1  Cheap  Edition  of  the  Works  of  Charles  Dickens.  The  Pickwick 
Papers,  Nicholas  Nickleby,  etc.  London,  1857-8.  Chapman  and  Hall. 

73 


74  CHARLES  DICKENS 

— that  they  are  read  with  admiring  appreciation  by  persons  of 
the  highest  culture  at  the  centre  of  civilisation, — that  they 
amuse,  and  are  fit  to  amuse,  the  roughest  settler  in  Vancouver's 
Island. 

The  penetrating  power  of  this  remarkable  genius  among 
all  classes  at  home  is  not  inferior  to  its  diffusive  energy  abroad. 
The  phrase  "household  book"  has,  when  applied  to  the  works 
of  Mr.  Dickens,  a  peculiar  propriety.  There  is  no  contempor- 
ary English  writer,  whose  works  are  read  so  generally  through 
the  whole  house,  who  can  give  pleasure  to  the  servants  as  well 
as  to  the  mistress,  to  the  children  as  well  as  to  the  master. 
Mr.  Thackeray  without  doubt  exercises  a  more  potent  and  plastic 
fascination  within  his  sphere,  but  that  sphere  is  limited.  It  is 
restricted  to  that  part  of  the  middle  class  which  gazes  inquisi- 
tively at  the  "  Vanity  Fair  "  world.  The  delicate  touches  of  our 
great  satirist  have,  for  such  readers,  not  only  the  charm  of  wit, 
but  likewise  the  interest  of  valuable  information  ;  he  tells  them 
of  the  topics  which  they  want  to  know.  But  below  this  class 
there  is  another  and  far  larger,  which  is  incapable  of  compre- 
hending the  idling  world,  or  of  appreciating  the  accuracy  of  de- 
lineations drawn  from  it, — which  would  not  know  the  differ- 
ence between  a  picture  of  Grosvenor  Square  by  Mr.  Thackeray 
and  the  picture  of  it  in  a  Minerva-Press  novel, — which  only 
cares  for  or  knows  of  its  own  multifarious,  industrial,  fig-selling 
world, — and  over  these  also  Mr.  Dickens  has  power. 

It  cannot  be  amiss  to  take  this  opportunity  of  investigating, 
even  slightly,  the  causes  of  so  great  a  popularity.  And  if,  in 
the  course  of  our  article,  we  may  seem  to  be  ready  with  over- 
refining  criticism,  or  to  be  unduly  captious  with  theoretical 
objections,  we  hope  not  to  forget  that  so  great  and  so  diffused 
an  influence  is  a  datum  for  literary  investigation, — that  books 
which  have  been  thus  tried  upon  mankind  and  have  thus  sue 
ceeded,  must  be  books  of  immense  genius, — and  that  it  is  our 
duty  as  critics  to  explain,  as  far  as  we  can,  the  nature  and  the 
limits  of  that  genius,  but  never  for  one  moment  to  deny  or 
question  its  existence. 

Men  of  genius  may  be  divided  into  regular  and  irregular. 
Certain  minds,  the  moment  we  think  of  them,  suggest  to  us 


CHARLES  DICKENS  75 

the  ideas  of  symmetry  and  proportion.  Plato's  name,  for  ex- 
ample, calls  up  at  once  the  impression  of  something  ordered, 
measured,  and  settled :  it  is  the  exact  contrary  of  everything 
eccentric,  immature,  or  undeveloped.  The  opinions  of  such  a 
mind  are  often  erroneous,  and  some  of  them  may,  from  change 
of  time,  of  intellectual  data,  or  from  chance,  seem  not  to  be 
quite  worthy  of  it ;  but  the  mode  in  which  those  opinions  are 
expressed,  and  (as  far  as  we  can  make  it  out)  the  mode  in  which 
they  are  framed,  affect  us,  as  we  have  said,  with  a  sensation  of 
symmetricalness.  It  is  not  very  easy  to  define  exactly  to 
what  peculiar  internal  characteristic  this  external  effect  is  due : 
the  feeling  is  distinct,  but  the  cause  is  obscure ;  it  lies  hid  in 
the  peculiar  constitution  of  great  minds,  and  we  should  not 
wonder  that  it  is  not  very  easy  either  to  conceive  or  to  describe. 
On  the  whole,  however,  the  effect  seems  to  be  produced  by  a 
peculiar  proportionateness,  in  each  instance,  of  the  mind  to  the 
tasks  which  it  undertakes,  amid  which  we  see  it,  and  by  which 
we  measure  it.  Thus  we  feel  that  the  powers  and  tendencies 
of  Plato's  mind  and  nature  were  more  fit  than  those  of  any  other 
philosopher  for  the  due  consideration  and  exposition  of  the 
highest  problems  of  philosophy,  of  the  doubts  and  difficulties 
which  concern  man  as  man.  His  genius  was  adapted  to  its 
element ;  any  change  would  mar  the  delicacy  of  the  thought, 
or  the  polished  accuracy  of  the  expression.  The  weapon  was 
fitted  to  its  aim.  Every  instance  of  proportionateness  does 
not,  however,  lead  us  to  attribute  this  peculiar  symmetry  to 
the  whole  mind  we  are  observing.  The  powers  must  not  only 
be  suited  to  the  task  undertaken,  but  the  task  itself  must  also 
be  suited  to  a  human  being,  and  employ  all  the  marvellous 
faculties  with  which  he  is  endowed.  The  neat  perfection  of 
such  a  mind  as  Talleyrand's  is  the  antithesis  to  the  symmetry 
of  genius  ;  the  niceties  neither  of  diplomacy  nor  of  conversation 
give  scope  to  the  entire  powers  of  a  great  nature.  We  may 
lay  down  as  the  condition  of  a  regular  or  symmetrical  genius, 
that  it  should  have  the  exact  combination  of  powers  suited  to 
graceful  and  easy  success  in  an  exercise  of  mind  great  enough 
to  task  the  whole  intellectual  nature. 

On  the  other    hand,    men  of  irregular  or  unsymmetrical 


76  CHARLES  DICKENS 

genius  are  eminent  either  for  some  one  or  some  few  peculiarities 
of  mind,  have  possibly  special  defects  on  other  sides  of  their 
intellectual  nature,  at  any  rate  want  what  the  scientific  men  of 
the  present  day  would  call  the  definite  proportion  of  faculties 
and  qualities  suited  to  the  exact  work  they  have  in  hand.  The 
foundation  of  many  criticisms  of  Shakespeare  is,  that  he  is 
deficient  in  this  peculiar  proportion.  His  overteeming  imagi- 
nation gives  at  times,  and  not  un frequently,  a  great  feeling  of 
irregularity ;  there  seems  to  be  confusion.  We  have  the  tall 
trees  of  the  forest,  the  majestic  creations  of  the  highest  genius ; 
but  we  have,  besides,  a  bushy  second  growth,  an  obtrusion  of 
secondary  images  and  fancies,  which  prevent  our  taking  an 
exact  measure  of  such  grandeur.  We  have  not  the  sensation  of 
intense  simplicity,  which  must  probably  accompany  the  highest 
conceivable  greatness.  Such  is  also  the  basis  of  Mr.  Hallam's 
criticism  on  Shakespeare's  language,1  which  Mr.  Arnold  has 
lately  revived.2  "  His  expression  is  often  faulty,"  because  his 
illustrative  imagination,  somewhat  predominating  over  his 
other  faculties,  diffuses  about  the  main  expression  a  supplement 
of  minor  metaphors  which  sometimes  distract  the  comprehen- 
sion, and  almost  always  deprive  his  style  of  the  charm  that 
arises  from  undeviating  directness.  Doubtless  this  is  an  in- 
stance of  the  very  highest  kind  of  irregular  genius,  in  which  all 
the  powers  exist  in  the  mind  in  a  very  high,  and  almost  all 
of  them  in  the  very  highest  measure,  but  in  which  from  a  slight 
excess  in  a  single  one,  the  charm  of  proportion  is  lessened. 
The  most  ordinary  cases  of  irregular  genius  are  those  in  which 
single  faculties  are  abnormally  developed,  and  call  off  the  at- 
tention from  all  the  rest  of  the  mind  by  their  prominence  and 
activity.  Literature,  as  the  "  fragment  of  fragments,"  is  so  full 
of  the  fragments  of  such  minds  that  it  is  needless  to  specify 
instances. 

Possibly  it  may  be  laid  down  that  one  of  two  elements  is 
essential  to  a  symmetrical  mind.  It  is  evident  that  such  a 
mind  must  either  apply  itself  to  that  which  is  theoretical  or 
that  which  is  practical,  to  the  world  of  abstraction  or  to  the 

^Introduction  to  the  Literature  of  Europe,  vol.  ii.,  chap.  vi. 
2  Preface  to  Matthew  Arnold's  Poems. 


CHARLES  DICKENS  77 

world  of  objects  and  realities.  In  the  former  case  the  deduc- 
tive understanding,  which  masters  first  principles,  and  makes 
deductions  from  them,  the  thin  ether  of  the  intellect, — the 
"  mind  itself  by  itself," — must  evidently  assume  a  great  pro- 
minence. To  attempt  to  comprehend  principles  without  it, 
is  to  try  to  swim  without  arms,  or  to  fly  without  wings.  Ac- 
cordingly, in  the  mind  of  Plato,  and  in  others  like  him,  the 
abstract  and  deducing  understanding  fills  a  great  place  ;  the  im- 
agination seems  a  kind  of  eye  to  descry  its  data ;  the  artistic 
instinct  an  arranging  impulse,  which  sets  in  order  its  inferences 
and  conclusions.  On  the  other  hand,  if  a  symmetrical  mind 
busy  itself  with  the  active  side  of  human  life,  with  the  world 
of  concrete  men  and  real  things,  its  principal  quality  will  be  a 
practical  sagacity,  which  forms  with  ease  a  distinct  view  and 
just  appreciation  of  all  the  mingled  objects  that  the  world  pre- 
sents,— which  allots  to  each  its  own  place,  and  its  intrinsic  and 
appropriate  rank.  Possibly  no  mind  gives  such  an  idea  of  this 
sort  of  symmetry  as  Chaucer's.  Everything  in  it  seems  in  its 
place.  A  healthy  sagacious  man  of  the  world  has  gone  through 
the  world  ;  he  loves  it,  and  knows  it ;  he  dwells  on  it  with  fond 
appreciation  ;  every  object  of  the  old  life  of  "  merry  England  " 
seems  to  fall  into  its  precise  niche  in  his  ordered  and  sym- 
metrical comprehension.  The  prologue  to  the  Canterbury  Tales 
is  in  itself  a  series  of  memorial  tablets  to  mediaeval  society ; 
each  class  has  its  tomb,  and  each  its  apt  inscription.  A  man 
without  such  an  apprehensive  and  broad  sagacity  must  fail  in 
every  extensive  delineation  of  various  life ;  he  might  attempt 
to  describe  what  he  did  not  penetrate,  or  if  by  a  rare  discretion 
he  avoided  that  mistake,  his  works  would  want  the  binding 
element ;  he  would  be  deficient  in  that  distinct  sense  of  rela- 
tion and  combination  which  is  necessary  for  the  depiction  of 
the  whole  of  life,  which  gives  to  it  unity  at  first,  and  imparts 
to  it  a  mass  in  the  memory  ever  afterwards.  And  eminence 
in  one  or  other  of  these  marking  faculties — either  in  the  de- 
ductive abstract  intellect,  or  the  practical  seeing  sagacity — 
seems  essential  to  the  mental  constitution  of  a  symmetrical 
genius,  at  least  in  man.  There  are,  after  all,  but  two  principal 
all-important  spheres  in  human  life — thought  and  action ;  and 


78  CHARLES  DICKENS 

we  can  hardly  conceive  of  a  masculine  mind  symmetrically  de- 
veloped, which  did  not  evince  its  symmetry  by  an  evident  per- 
fection in  one  or  other  of  those  pursuits,  which  did  not  leave 
the  trace  of  its  distinct  reflection  upon  the  one,  or  of  its  large 
insight  upon  the  other  of  them.  Possibly  it  may  be  thought 
that  in  the  sphere  of  pure  art  there  may  be  room  for  a  symmet- 
rical development  different  from  these ;  but  it  will  perhaps  be 
found,  on  examination  of  such  cases,  either  that  under  peculiar 
and  appropriate  disguises  one  of  these  great  qualities  is  pre- 
sent, or  that  the  apparent  symmetry  is  the  narrow  perfection 
of  a  limited  nature,  which  may  be  most  excellent  in  itself,  as 
in  the  stricter  form  of  sacred  art,  but  which,  as  we  explained, 
is  quite  opposed  to  that  broad  perfection  of  the  thinking  being, 
to  which  we  have  applied  the  name  of  the  symmetry  of 
genius. 

If  this  classification  of  men  of  genius  be  admitted,  there 
can  be  no  hesitation  in  assigning  to  Mr.  Dickens  his  place  in 
it.  His  genius  is  essentially  irregular  and  unsymmetrical. 
Hardly  any  English  writer  perhaps  is  much  more  so.  His 
style  is  an  example  of  it.  It  is  descriptive,  racy,  and  flowing; 
it  is  instinct  with  new  imagery  and  singular  illustration ;  but 
it  does  not  indicate  that  due  proportion  of  the  faculties  to  one 
another  which  is  a  beauty  in  itself,  and  which  cannot  help  dif- 
fusing beauty  over  every  happy  word  and  moulded  clause.  We 
may  choose  an  illustration  at  random.  The  following  graphic 
description  will  do  : — 

"If  Lord  George  Gordon  had  appeared  in  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Willet, 
overnight,  a  nobleman  of  somewhat  quaint  and  odd  exterior,  the  impres- 
sion was  confirmed  this  morning,  and  increased  a  hundred-fold.  Sitting  bolt 
upright  upon  his  bony  steed,  with  his  long,  straight  hair  dangling  about 
his  face  and  fluttering  in  the  wind  ;  his  limbs  all  angular  and  rigid,  his 
elbows  stuck  out  on  either  side  ungracefully,  and  his  whole  frame  jogged 
and  shaken  at  every  motion  of  his  horse's  feet ;  a  more  grotesque  or  more 
ungainly  figure  can  hardly  be  conceived.  In  lieu  of  whip,  he  carried  in 
his  hand  a  great  gold-headed  cane,  as  large  as  any  footman  carries  in 
these  days  ;  and  his  various  modes  of  holding  this  unwieldy  weapon — now 
upright  before  his  face  like  the  sabre  of  a  horse-soldier,  now  over  his 
shoulder  like  a  musket,  now  between  his  finger  and  thumb,  but  always  in 
some  uncouth  and  awkward  fashion — contributed  in  no  small  degree  to  the 
absurdity  of  his  appearance.  Stiff,  lank,  and  solemn,  dressed  in  an  unusual 


CHARLES  DICKENS  79 

manner,  and  ostentatiously  exhibiting — whether  by  design  or  accident — all 
his  peculiarities  of  carriage,  gesture,  and  conduct,  all  the  qualities,  natural 
and  artificial,  in  which  he  differed  from  other  men,  he  might  have  moved 
the  sternest  looker-on  to  laughter,  and  fully  provoked  the  smiles  and  whis- 
pered jests  which  greeted  his  departure  from  the  Maypole  Inn. 

"  Quite  unconscious,  however,  of  the  effect  he  produced,  he  trotted  on 
beside  his  secretary,  talking  to  himself  nearly  all  the  way,  until  they  came 
within  a  mile  or  two  of  London,  when  now  and  then  some  passenger  went 
by  who  knew  him  by  sight,  and  pointed  him  out  to  some  one  else,  and 
perhaps  stood  looking  after  him,  or  cried  in  jest  or  earnest  as  it  might  be, 
1  Hurrah,  Geordie  !  No  Popery  ! '  At  which  he  would  gravely  pull  off  his 
hat  and  bow.  When  they  reached  the  town  and  rode  along  the  streets, 
these  notices  became  more  frequent ;  some  laughed,  some  hissed,  some 
turned  their  heads  and  smiled,  some  wondered  who  he  was,  some  ran 
along  the  pavement  by  his  side  and  cheered.  When  this  happened  in  a 
crush  of  carts  and  chairs  and  coaches,  he  would  make  a  dead  stop,  and 
pulling  off  his  hat,  cry,  *  Gentlemen,  No  Popery  ! '  to  which  the  gentlemen 
would  respond  with  lusty  voices,  and  with  three  times  three  ;  and  then  on 
he  would  go  again  with  a  score  or  so  of  the  raggedest  following  at  his 
horse's  heels,  and  shouting  till  their  throats  were  parched. 

"  The  old  ladies  too — there  were  a  great  many  old  ladies  in  the 
streets,  and  these  all  knew  him.  Some  of  them — not  those  of  the  highest 
rank,  but  such  as  sold  fruit  from  baskets  and  carried  burdens — clapped 
their  shrivelled  hands,  and  raised  a  weazen,  piping,  shrill  '  Hurrah,  my 
lord '.  Others  waved  their  hands  or  handkerchiefs,  or  shook  their  fans  or 
parasols,  or  threw  up  windows,  and  called  in  haste  to  those  within  to  come 
and  see.  All  these  marks  of  popular  esteem  he  received  with  profound 
gravity  and  respect  ;  bowing  very  low,  and  so  frequently  that  his  hat  was 
more  off  his  head  than  on  ;  and  looking  up  at  the  houses  as  he  passed 
along,  with  the  air  of  one  who  was  making  a  public  entry,  and  yet  was 
not  puffed-up  or  proud."  l 

No  one  would  think  of  citing  such  a  passage  as  this,  as  ex- 
emplifying the  proportioned  beauty  of  finished  writing ;  it  is 
not  the  writing  of  an  evenly  developed  or  of  a  highly  cultured 
mind  ;  it  abounds  in  jolts  and  odd  turns  ;  it  is  full  of  singular 
twists  and  needless  complexities :  but,  on  the  other  hand,  no 
one  can  deny  its  great  and  peculiar  merit.  It  is  an  odd  style, 
and  it  is  very  odd  how  much  you  read  it.  It  is  the  overflow 
of  a  copious  mind,  though  not  the  chastened  expression  of  a 
harmonious  one. 

The  same  quality  characterises  the  matter  of  his  works. 

1  Barnaby  Rudge,  chap,  xxxvii. 


8o  CHARLES  DICKENS 

His  range  is  very  varied.  He  has  attempted  to  describe 
every  kind  of  scene  in  English  life,  from  quite  the  lowest  to 
almost  the  highest.  He  has  not  endeavoured  to  secure  success 
by  confining  himself  to  a  single  path,  nor  wearied  the  public 
with  repetitions  of  the  subjects  by  the  delineation  of  which 
he  originally  obtained  fame.  In  his  earlier  works  he  never 
writes  long  without  saying  something  well ;  something  which 
no  other  man  would  have  said ;  but  even  in  them  it  is  the 
characteristic  of  his  power  that  it  is  apt  to  fail  him  at  once ; 
from  masterly  strength  we  pass  without  interval  to  almost 
infantine  weakness, — something  like  disgust  succeeds  in  a 
moment  to  an  extreme  admiration.  Such  is  the  natural  fate 
of  an  unequal  mind  employing  itself  on  a  vast  and  variegated 
subject.  In  writing  on  the  Waverley  Novels,  we  ventured  to 
make  a  division  of  novels  into  the  ubiquitous — it  would  have 
been  perhaps  better  to  say  the  miscellaneous — and  the 
sentimental :  the  first,  as  its  name  implies,  busying  itself  with 
the  whole  of  human  life,  the  second  restricting  itself  within  a 
peculiar  and  limited  theme.  Mr.  Dickens's  novels  are  all  of 
the  former  class.  They  aim  to  delineate  nearly  all  that  part 
of  our  national  life  which  can  be  delineated, — at  least,  within 
the  limits  which  social  morality  prescribes  to  social  art ;  but 
you  cannot  read  his  delineation  of  any  part  without  being 
struck  with  its  singular  incompleteness.  An  artist  once  said 
of  the  best  work  of  another  artist :  "  Yes,  it  is  a  pretty  patch  ". 
If  we  might  venture  on  the  phrase,  we  should  say  that 
Mr.  Dickens's  pictures  are  graphic  scraps ;  his  best  books  are 
compilations  of  them. 

The  truth  is,  that  Mr.  Dickens  wholly  wants  the  two 
elements  which  we  have  spoken  of,  as  one  or  other  requisite 
for  a  symmetrical  genius.  He  is  utterly  deficient  in  the  faculty 
of  reasoning.  "Mamma,  what  shall  I  think  about?"  said  the 
small  girl.  "  My  dear,  don't  think,"  was  the  old-fashioned 
reply.  We  do  not  allege  that  in  the  strict  theory  of  education 
this  was  a  correct  reply  ;  modern  writers  think  otherwise ;  but 
we  wish  some  one  would  say  it  to  Mr.  Dickens.  He  is  often 
troubled  with  the  idea  that  he  must  reflect,  and  his  reflections 
are  perhaps  the  worst  reading  in  the  world.  There  is  a  sen- 


CBARL&S  DICKENS  81 

timental  confusion  about  them ;  we  never  find  the  consecu- 
tive precision  of  mature  theory,  or  the  cold  distinctness  of  clear 
thought.  Vivid  facts  stand  out  in  his  imagination  ;  and  a  fresh 
illustrative  style  brings  them  home  to  the  imagination  of  his 
readers ;  but  his  continuous  philosophy  utterly  fails  in  the 
attempt  to  harmonise  them, — to  educe  a  theory  or  elaborate  a 
precept  from  them.  Of  his  social  thinking  we  shall  have  a 
few  words  to  say  in  detail ;  his  didactic  humour  is  very  unfor- 
tunate :  no  writer  is  less  fitted  for  an  excursion  to  the  impera- 
tive mood.  At  present,  we  only  say,  what  is  so  obvious  as 
scarcely  to  need  saying,  that  his  abstract  understanding  is  so 
far  inferior  to  his  picturesque  imagination  as  to  give  even  to 
his  best  works  the  sense  of  jar  and  incompleteness,  and  to 
deprive  them  altogether  of  the  crystalline  finish  which  is 
characteristic  of  the  clear  and  cultured  understanding. 

Nor  has  Mr.  Dickens  the  easy  and  various  sagacity  which, 
as  has  been  said,  gives  a  unity  to  all  which  it  touches.  He 
has,  indeed,  a  quality  which  is  near  allied  to  it  in  appearance. 
His  shrewdness  in  some  things,  especially  in  traits  and  small 
things,  is  wonderful.  His  works  are  full  of  acute  remarks  on 
petty  doings,  and  well  exemplify  the  telling  power  of  minute 
circumstantiality.  But  the  minor  species  of  perceptive  sharp- 
ness is  so  different  from  diffused  sagacity,  that  the  two  scarcely 
ever  are  to  be  found  in  the  same  mind.  There  is  nothing  less 
like  the  great  lawyer,  acquainted  with  broad  principles  and 
applying  them  with  distinct  deduction,  than  the  attorney's 
clerk  who  catches  at  small  points  like  a  dog  biting  at  flies. 
"  Over-sharpness  "  in  the  student  is  the  most  unpromising 
symptom  of  the  logical  jurist.  You  must  not  ask  a  horse  in 
blinkers  for  a  large  view  of  a  landscape.  In  the  same  way,  a 
detective  ingenuity  in  microscopic  detail  is  of  all  mental 
qualities  most  unlike  the  broad  sagacity  by  which  the  great 
painters  of  human  affairs  have  unintentionally  stamped  the 
mark  of  unity  on  their  productions.  They  show  by  their 
treatment  of  each  case  that  they  understand  the  whole  of  life  ; 
the  special  delineator  of  fragments  and  points  shows  that  he 
understands  them  only.  In  one  respect  the  defect  is  more 
striking  in  Mr.  Dickens  than  in  any  other  novelist  of  the 
VOL.  in.  6 


82  CHARLES  DICKENS 

present  day.  The  most  remarkable  deficiency  in  modern 
fiction  is  its  omission  of  the  business  of  life,  of  all  those  count- 
less occupations,  pursuits,  and  callings  in  which  most  men  live 
and  move,  and  by  which  they  have  their  being.  In  most 
novels  money  grows.  You  have  no  idea  of  the  toil,  the 
patience,  and  the  wearing  anxiety  by  which  men  of  action 
provide  for  the  day,  and  lay  up  for  the  future,  and  support 
those  that  are  given  into  their  care.  Mr.  Dickens  is  not 
chargeable  with  this  omission.  He  perpetually  deals  with  the 
pecuniary  part  of  life.  Almost  all  his  characters  have  de- 
termined occupations,  of  which  he  is  apt  to  talk  even  at  too 
much  length.  When  he  rises  from  the  toiling  to  the  lux- 
urious classes,  his  genius  in  most  cases  deserts  him.  The 
delicate  refinement  and  discriminating  taste  of  the  idling  orders 
are  not  in  his  way ;  he  knows  the  dry  arches  of  London  Bridge 
better  than  Belgravia.  He  excels  in  inventories  of  poor  fur- 
niture, and  is  learned  in  pawnbrokers'  tickets.  But,  although 
his  creative  power  lives  and  works  among  the  middle  class  and 
industrial  section  of  English  society,  he  has  never  painted  the 
highest  part  of  their  daily  intellectual  life.  He  made,  indeed, 
an  attempt  to  paint  specimens  of  the  apt  and  able  man  of 
business  in  Nicholas  Nickleby  ;  but  the  Messrs.  Cheeryble  are 
among  the  stupidest  of  his  characters.  He  forgot  that  breadth 
of  platitude  is  rather  different  from  breadth  of  sagacity.  His 
delineations  of  middle-class  life  have  in  consequence  a  harsh- 
ness and  meanness  which  do  not  belong  to  that  life  in  reality. 
He  omits  the  relieving  element.  He  describes  the  figs  which 
are  sold,  but  not  the  talent  which  sells  figs  well.  And  it  is 
the  same  want  of  diffused  sagacity  in  his  own  nature  which 
has  made  his  pictures  of  life  so  odd  and  disjointed,  and  whi< 
has  deprived  them  of  symmetry  and  unity. 

The  bizarrerie  of  Mr.  Dickens's  genius  is  rendered  moei 
remarkable  by  the  inordinate  measure  of  his  special  excellences. 
The  first  of  these  is  his  power  of  observation  in  detail.  We 
have  heard, — we  do  not  know  whether  correctly  or  incorrectly, 
— that  he  can  go  down  a  crowded  street,  and  tell  you  all  that 
is  in  it,  what  each  shop  was,  what  the  grocer's  name  was,  how 
many  scraps  of  orange-peel  there  were  on  the  pavement.  His 


CHARLES  DICKENS  83 

works  give  you  exactly  the  same  idea.  The  amount  of  detail 
which  there  is  in  them  is  something  amazing, — to  an  ordinary 
writer  something  incredible.  There  are  single  pages  contain- 
ing telling  minutice,  which  other  people  would  have  thought 
enough  for  a  volume.  Nor  is  his  sensibility  to  external  objects, 
though  omnivorous,  insensible  to  the  artistic  effect  of  each. 
There  are  scarcely  anywhere  such  pictures  of  London  as  he 
draws.  No  writer  has  equally  comprehended  the  artistic 
material  which  is  given  by  its  extent,  its  aggregation  of  different 
elements,  its  mouldiness,  its  brilliancy. 

Nor  does  his  genius — though,  from  some  idiosyncrasy  of 
mind  or  accident  of  external  situation,  it  is  more  especially 
directed  to  city  life — at  all  stop  at  the  city  wall.  He  is  es- 
pecially at  home  in  the  picturesque  and  obvious  parts  of 
country  life,  particularly  in  the  comfortable  and  (so  to  say) 
mouldering  portion  of  it.  The  following  is  an  instance ;  if  not 
the  best  that  could  be  cited,  still  one  of  the  best : — 

"  They  arranged  to  proceed  upon  their  journey  next  evening,  as  a 
stage-waggon,  which  travelled  for  some  distance  on  the  same  road  as 
they  must  take,  would  stop  at  the  inn  to  change  horses,  and  the  driver  for 
a  small  gratuity  would  give  Nell  a  place  inside.  A  bargain  was  soon 
struck  when  the  waggon  came  ;  and  in  due  time  it  rolled  away  ;  with  the 
child  comfortably  bestowed  among  the  softer  packages,  her  grandfather 
and  the  schoolmaster  walking  on  beside  the  driver,  and  the  landlady  and 
all  the  good  folks  of  the  inn  screaming  out  their  good  wishes  and  fare- 
wells. 

"  What  a  soothing,  luxurious,  drowsy  way  of  travelling,  to  lie  inside 
that  slowly-moving  mountain,  listening  to  the  tinkling  of  the  horses'  bells, 
the  occasional  smacking  of  the  carter's  whip,  the  smooth  rolling  of  the 
great  broad  wheels,  the  rattle  of  the  harness,  the  cheery  good-nights  of 
passing  travellers  jogging  past  on  little  short-stepped  horses — all  made 
pleasantly  indistinct  by  the  thick  awning,  which  seemed  made  for  lazy 
listening  under,  till  one  fell  asleep  !  The  very  going  to  sleep,  still  with  an 
indistinct  idea,  as  the  head  jogged  to  and  fro  upon  the  pillow,  of  moving 
onward  with  no  trouble  or  fatigue,  and  hearing  all  these  sounds  like  dreamy 
music,  lulling  to  the  senses — and  the  slow  waking  up,  and  finding  one's 
self  staring  out  through  the  breezy  curtain  half-opened  in  the  front,  far  up 
into  the  cold  bright  sky  with  its  countless  stars,  and  downwards  at  the 
driver's  lantern  dancing  on  like  its  namesake  Jack  of  the  swamps  and 
marshes,  and  sideways  at  the  dark  grim  trees,  and  forward  at  the  long  bare 
road  rising  up,  up,  up,  until  it  stopped  abruptly  at  a  sharp  high  ridge  as  if 
there  were  no  more  road,  and  all  beyond  Was  sky — and  the  stopping  at  the 

6* 


84  CHARLES  DICKENS 

inn  to  bait,  and  being  helped  out,  and  going  into  a  room  with  fire  and  candles, 
and  winking  very  much,  and  being  agreeably  reminded  that  the  night  was 
cold,  and  anxious  for  very  comfort's  sake  to  think  it  colder  than  it  was  ! 
What  a  delicious  journey  was  that  journey  in  the  waggon  ! 

"  Then  the  going  on  again— so  fresh  at  first,  and  shortly  afterwards 
so  sleepy.  The  waking  from  a  sound  nap  as  the  mail  came  dashing  past 
like  a  highway  comet,  with  gleaming  lamps  and  rattling  hoofs,  and  visions 
of  a  guard  behind,  standing  up  to  keep  his  feet  warm,  and  of  a  gentleman 
in  a  fur  cap  opening  his  eyes  and  looking  wild  and  stupefied — the  stopping 
at  the  turnpike,  where  the  man  has  gone  to  bed,  and  knocking  at  the  door 
until  he  answered  with  a  smothered  shout  from  under  the  bed-clothes  in 
the  little  room  above,  where  the  faint  light  was  burning,  and  presently 
came  down,  night-capped  and  shivering,  to  throw  the  gate  wide  open,  and 
wish  all  waggons  off  the  road  except  by  day.  The  cold  sharp  interval 
between  night  and  morning — the  distant  streak  of  light  widening  and 
spreading,  and  turning  from  grey  to  white,  and  from  white  to  yellow,  and 
from  yellow  to  burning  red — the  presence  of  day,  with  all  its  cheerfulness 
and  life — men  and  horses  at  the  plough — birds  in  the  trees  and  hedges, 
and  boys  in  solitary  fields  frightening  them  away  with  rattles.  The  coming 
to  a  town — people  busy  in  the  market ;  light  carts  and  chaises  round  the 
tavern  yard  ;  tradesmen"  standing  at  their  doors  ;  men  running  horses  up 
and  down  the  street  for  sale  ;  pigs  plunging  and  grunting  in  the  dirty  dis- 
tance, getting  off  with  long  strings  at  their  legs,  running  into  clean  chemists' 
shops  and  being  dislodged  with  brooms  by  'prentices  ;  the  night-coach 
changing  horses — the  passengers  cheerless,  cold,  ugly,  and  discontented, 
with  three  months'  growth  of  hair  in  one  night — the  coachman  fresh  as 
from  a  bandbox,  and  exquisitely  beautiful  by  contrast : — so  much  bustle,  so 
many  things  in  motion,  such  a  variety  of  incidents — when  was  there  a 
journey  with  so  many  delights  as  that  journey  in  the  waggon  !  "  l 

Or,  as  a  relief  from  a  very  painful  series  of  accompanying 
characters,  it  is  pleasant  to  read  and  remember  the  description 
of  the  fine  morning  on  which  Mr.  Jonas  Chuzzlewit  does  not 
reflect.  Mr.  Dickens  has,  however,  no  feeling  analogous  to 
the  nature-worship  of  some  other  recent  writers.  There  is 
nothing  Wordsworthian  in  his  bent ;  the  interpreting  inspira- 
tion (as  that  school  speak)  is  not  his.  Nor  has  he  the  erudition 
in  difficult  names  which  has  filled  some  pages  in  late  novelists, 
with  mineralogy  and  botany.  His  descriptions  of  Nature  are 
fresh  and  superficial ;  they  are  not  sermonic  or  scientific. 

Nevertheless,  it  may  be  said  that  Mr.  Dickens's  genius  is 
especially  suited  to  the  delineation  of  city  life.     London   is 

1  Old  Curiosity  Shop,  chap.  xlvi. 


CHARLES  DICKENS  85 

like  a  newspaper.  Everything  is  there,  and  everything  is  dis- 
connected. There  is  every  kind  of  person  in  some  houses  ; 
but  there  is  no  more  connection  between  the  houses  than 
between  the  neighbours  in  the  lists  of  "  births,  marriages,  and 
deaths  ".  As  we  change  from  the  broad  leader  to  the  squalid 
police  report,  we  pass  a  corner  and  we  are  in  a  changed  world. 
This  is  advantageous  to  Mr.  Dickens's  genius.  His  memory 
is  full  of  instances  of  old  buildings  and  curious  people,  and  he 
does  not  care  to  piece  them  together.  On  the  contrary,  each 
scene,  to  his  mind,  is  a  separate  scene, — each  street  a  separate 
street.  He  has,  too,  the  peculiar  alertness  of  observation  that 
is  observable  in  those  who  live  by  it.  He  describes  London 
like  a  special  correspondent  for  posterity. 

A  second  most  wonderful  special  faculty  which  Mr.  Dickens 
possesses  is  what  we  may  call  his  vivification  of  character,  or 
rather  of  characteristics.  His  marvellous  power  of  observation 
has  been  exercised  upon  men  and  women  even  more  than  upon 
town  or  country ;  and  the  store  of  human  detail,  so  to  speak, 
in  his  books  is  endless  and  enormous.  The  boots  at  the  inn, 
the  pickpockets  in  the  street,  the  undertaker,  the  Mrs.  Gamp, 
are  all  of  them  at  his  disposal ;  he  knows  each  trait  and  inci- 
dent, and  he  invests  them  with  a  kind  of  perfection  in  detail 
which  in  reality  they  do  not  possess.  He  has  a  very  peculiar 
power  of  taking  hold  of  some  particular  traits,  and  making  a 
character  out  of  them.  He  is  especially  apt  to  incarnate  particu- 
lar professions  in  this  way.  Many  of  his  people  never  speak 
without  some  allusion  to  their  occupation.  You  cannot  separ- 
ate them  from  it.  Nor  does  the  writer  ever  separate  them. 
What  would  Mr.  Mould1  be  if  not  an  undertaker?  or  Mrs. 
Gamp 2  if  not  a  nurse  ?  or  Charley  Bates 3  if  not  a  pickpocket  ? 
Not  only  is  human  nature  in  them  subdued  to  what  it  works 
in,  but  there  seems  to  be  no  nature  to  subdue;  the  whole 
character  is  the  idealisation  of  a  trade,  and  is  not  in  fancy  or 
thought  distinguishable  from  it  Accordingly,  of  necessity, 
such  delineations  become  caricatures.  We  do  not  in  general 
contrast  them  with  reality ;  but  as  soon  as  we  do,  we  are  struck 
with  the  monstrous  exaggerations  which  they  present.  You 

1  In  Martin  Chuzzlewit.  2  Ibid.  3  In  Oliver  Twist. 


86  CHARLES  DICKENS 

could  no  more  fancy  Sam  Weller,  or  Mark  Tapley,  or  the 
Artful  Dodger 1  really  existing,  walking  about  among  common 
ordinary  men  and  women,  than  you  can  fancy  a  talking  duck 
or  a  writing  bear.  They  are  utterly  beyond  the  pale  of  ordin- 
ary social  intercourse.  We  suspect,  indeed,  that  Mr.  Dickens 
does  not  conceive  his  characters  to  himself  as  mixing  in  the 
society  he  mixes  in.  He  sees  people  in  the  street,  doing 
certain  things,  talking  in  a  certain  way,  and  his  fancy  petrifies 
them  in  the  act.  He  goes  on  fancying  hundreds  of  reduplica- 
tions of  that  act  and  that  speech ;  he  frames  an  existence  in 
which  there  is  nothing  else  but  that  aspect  which  attracted  his 
attention.  Sam  Weller  is  an  example.  He  is  a  man-servant, 
who  makes  a  peculiar  kind  of  jokes,  and  is  wonderfully  felici- 
tous in  certain  similes.  You  see  him  at  his  first  introduction  : — 

"  '  My  friend,'  said  the  thin  gentleman. 

"  '  You're  one  o'  the  adwice  gratis  order,'  thought  Sam,  '  or  you 
wouldn't  be  so  werry  fond  o'  me  all  at  once.'  But  he  only  said — *  Well, 
sir?' 

"  '  My  friend,'  said  the  thin  gentleman,  with  a  conciliatory  hem — 
'  have  you  got  many  people  stopping  here,  now  ?  Pretty  busy  ?  Eh  ? ' 

"  Sam  stole  a  look  at  the  inquirer.  He  was  a  little  high-dried  man, 
with  a  dark  squeezed-up  face,  and  small  restless  black  eyes,  that  kept 
winking  and  twinkling  on  each  side  of  his  little  inquisitive  nose,  as  if  they 
were  playing  a  perpetual  game  of  peep-bo  with  that  feature.  He  was 
dressed  all  in  black,  with  boots  as  shiny  as  his  eyes,  a  low  white  neck- 
cloth, and  a  clean  shirt  with  a  frill  to  it.  A  gold  watch-chain  and  seals 
depended  from  his  fob.  He  carried  his  black  kid  gloves  in  his  hands,  not 
on  them  ;  and,  as  he  spoke,  thrust  his  wrists  beneath  his  coat-tails,  with 
the  air  of  a  man  who  was  in  the  habit  of  propounding  some  regular  posers. 

"  '  Pretty  busy,  eh  ?  '  said  the  little  man. 

"  « Oh,  werry  well,  sir,'  replied  Sam,  « we  shan't  be  bankrupts,  and 
we  shan't  make  our  fort'ns.  We  eat  our  biled  mutton  without  capers,  and 
don't  care  for  horse-radish  wen  ve  can  get  beef.' 

"  '  Ah,'  said  the  little  man,  '  you're  a  wag,  ain't  you  ? ' 

"  '  My  eldest  brother  was  troubled  with  that  complaint,'  said  Sam,  { it 
may  be  catching — I  used  to  sleep  with  him.' 

"  '  This  is  a  curious  old  house  of  yours,'  said  the  little  man,  looking 
round  him. 

"  '  If  you'd  sent  word  you  was  a-coming,  we'd  ha'  had  it  repaired,' 
replied  the  imperturbable  Sam. 

"  The  little  man  seemed  rather  baffled  by  these  several  repulses,  and 

1  In  the  Pickwick  Papers,  Martin  Chuzzlewit,  and  Oliver  Twist. 


CHARLES  DICKENS  87 

a  short  consultation  took  place  between  him  and  the  two  plump  gentle- 
men. At  its  conclusion,  the  little  man  took  a  pinch  of  snuff  from  an 
oblong  silver  box,  and  was  apparently  on  the  point  of  renewing  the  con- 
versation, when  one  of  the  plump  gentlemen,  who,  in  addition  to  a  bene- 
volent countenance,  possessed  a  pair  of  spectacles  and  a  pair  of  black 
gaiters,  interfered — 

"  *  The  fact  of  the  matter  is,'  said  the  benevolent  gentleman,  « that 
my  friend  here '  (pointing  to  the  other  plump  gentleman)  '  will  give  you 
half  a  guinea,  if  you'll  answer  one  or  two ' 

"  '  Now,  my  dear  sir — my  dear  sir,'  said  the  little  man,  '  pray  allow 
me — my  dear  sir,  the  very  first  principle  to  be  observed  in  these  cases  is 
this  :  if  you  place  a  matter  in  the  hands  of  a  professional  man,  you  must 
in  no  way  interfere  in  the  progress  of  the  business  ;  you  must  repose 
implicit  confidence  in  him.  Really,  Mr.  '  (he  turned  to  the  other  plump 
gentleman,  and  said) — *  I  forget  your  friend's  name.' 

"  '  Pickwick,'  said  Mr.  Wardle,  for  it  was  no  other  than  that  jolly  per- 
sonage. 

"  '  Ah,  Pickwick — really  Mr.  Pickwick,  my  dear  sir,  excuse  me — I 
shall  be  happy  to  receive  any  private  suggestions  of  yours,  as  amicus 
curies^  but  you  must  see  the  impropriety  of  your  interfering  with  my  con- 
duct in  this  case,  with  such  an  ad  captandum  argument  as  the  offer  of 
half  a  guinea.  Really,  my  dear  sir,  really,'  and  the  little  man  took  an 
argumentative  pinch  of  snuff,  and  looked  very  profound. 

"  '  My  only  wish,  sir,'  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  '  was  to  bring  this  very  un- 
pleasant matter  to  as  speedy  a  close  as  possible.' 

"  '  Quite  right — quite  right,'  said  the  little  man. 

"  '  With  which  view,'  continued  Mr.  Pickwick,  '  I  made  use  of  the 
argument  which  my  experience  of  men  has  taught  me  is  the  most  likely 
to  succeed  in  any  case.' 

"  « Ay,  ay,'  said  the  little  man,  '  very  good,  very  good  indeed  ;  but 
you  should  have  suggested  it  to  me.  My  dear  sir,  I'm  quite  certain  you 
cannot  be  ignorant  of  the  extent  of  confidence  which  must  be  placed  in 
professional  men.  If  any  authority  can  be  necessary  on  such  a  point, 
my  dear  sir,  let  me  refer  you  to  the  well-known  case  in  Barnwell  and ' 

"  '  Never  mind  George  Barnwell,'  interrupted  Sam,  who  had  remained 
a  wondering  listener  during  this  short  colloquy  ;  '  everybody  knows  vat 
sort  of  a  case  his  was,  tho'  it's  always  been  my  opinion,  mind  you,  that 
the  young  'ooman  deserved  scragging  a  precious  sight  more  than  he  did. 
Hows'ever,  that's  neither  here  nor  there.  You  want  me  to  except  of  half 
a  guinea.  Werry  well,  I'm  agreeable  :  I  can't  say  no  fairer  than  that, 
can  I,  sir?'  (Mr.  Pickwick  smiled.)  'Then  the  next  question  is,  what 
the  devil  do  you  want  with  me  ?  as  the  man  said  wen  he  see  the  ghost.' 

"  '  We  want  to  know '  said  Mr.  Wardle. 

"  *  Now,  my  dear  sir — my  dear  sir,'  interposed  the  busy  little  man. 

"  Mr.  Wardle  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  was  silent. 


88 


CHARLES  DICKENS 


"  *  We  want  to  know,'  said  the  little  man  solemnly  ;  '  and  we  ask  the 
question  of  you,  in  order  that  we  may  not  awaken  apprehensions  inside— 
we  want  to  know  who  you've  got  in  this  house  at  present.' 

"  '  Who  there  is  in  the  house  !  '  said  Sam,  in  whose  mind  the  inmates 
were  always  represented  by  that  particular  article  of  their  costume  which 
came  under  his  immediate  superintendence.  *  There's  a  wooden  leg  in 
number  six  ;  there's  a  pair  of  Hessians  in  thirteen  ;  there's  two  pair  of 
halves  in  the  commercial  ;  there's  these  here  painted  tops  in  the  snuggery 
inside  the  bar  ;  and  five  more  tops  in  the  coftee-room.' 

"  '  Nothing  more  ? '  said  the  little  man. 

"  '  Stop  a  bit,'  replied  Sam,  suddenly  recollecting  himself.  '  Yes  ; 
there's  a  pair  of  Wellingtons  a  good  deal  worn,  and  a  pair  o'  lady's  shoes, 
in  number  five.' 

"  *  What  sort  of  shoes  ?  '  hastily  inquired  Wardle,  who,  together  with 
Mr.  Pickwick,  had  been  lost  in  bewilderment  at  the  singular  catalogue  of 
visitors. 

"  '  Country  make,'  replied  Sam. 

"  '  Any  maker's  name  ? ' 

"  '  Brown.' 

"<  Where  of?' 

"  '  Muggleton.' 

"  '  It  is  them,'  exclaimed  Wardle.     '  By  Heavens,  we've  found  them.' 

"  «  Hush  ! '  said  Sam.  <  The  Wellingtons  has  gone  to  Doctors  Com- 
mons.' 

"  '  No,'  said  the  little  man. 

"  '  Yes,  for  a  license.' 

"  '  We're  in  time,'  exclaimed  Wardle.  '  Show  us  the  room  ;  not  a 
moment  is  to  be  lost.' 

"  '  Pray,  my  dear  sir — pray,'  said  the  little  man  ;  '  caution,  caution.' 
He  drew  from  his  pocket  a  red  silk  purse,  and  looked  very  hard  at  Sam 
as  he  drew  out  a  sovereign. 

"  Sam  grinned  expressively. 

" '  Show  us  into  the  room  at  once,  without  announcing  us,'  said  the 
little  man,  '  and  it's  yours.'  "  * 

One  can  fancy  Mr.  Dickens  hearing  a  dialogue  of  this  sort, 
— not  nearly  so  good,  but  something  like  it, — and  immediately 
setting  to  work  to  make  it  better  and  put  it  in  a  book ;  then 
changing  a  little  the  situation,  putting  the  boots  one  step  up 
in  the  scale  of  service,  engaging  him  as  footman  to  a  stout 
gentleman  (but  without  for  a  moment  losing  sight  of  the 
peculiar  kind  of  professional  conversation  and  humour  which 
his  first  dialogue  presents),  and  astonishing  all  his  readers  by 

1  Pickwick  Papers^  chap,  ix. 


CHARLES  DICKENS  89 

the  marvellous  fertility  and  magical  humour  with  which  he 
maintains  that  style.  Sam  Weller's  father  is  even  a  stronger 
and  simpler  instance.  He  is  simply  nothing  but  an  old  coach- 
man of  the  stout  and  extinct  sort :  you  cannot  separate  him 
from  the  idea  of  that  occupation.  But  how  amusing  he  is  ! 
We  dare  not  quote  a  single  word  of  his  talk  ;  because  we 
should  go  on  quoting  so  long,  and  every  one  knows  it  so  well. 
Some  persons  may  think  that  this  is  not  a  very  high  species 
of  delineative  art.  The  idea  of  personifying  traits  and  trades 
may  seem  to  them  poor  and  meagre.  Anybody,  they  may 
fancy,  can  do  that.  But  how  would  they  do  it  ?  Whose 
fancy  would  not  break  down  in  a  page — in  five  lines  ?  Who 
can  carry  on  the  vivification  with  zest  and  energy  and  humour 
for  volume  after  volume  ?  Endless  fertility  in  laughter-causing 
detail  is  Mr.  Dickens's  most  astonishing  peculiarity.  It  requires 
a  continuous  and  careful  reading  of  his  works  to  be  aware  of 
his  enormous  wealth.  Writers  have  attained  the  greatest 
reputation  for  wit  and  humour,  whose  whole  works  do  not 
contain  so  much  of  either  as  are  to  be  found  in  a  very  few 
pages  of  his. 

Mr.  Dickens's  humour  is  indeed  very  much  a  result  of  the 
two  peculiarities  of  which  we  have  been  speaking.  His  power 
of  detailed  observation  and  his  power  of  idealising  individual 
traits  of  character — sometimes  of  one  or  other  of  them,  some- 
times of  both  of  them  together.  His  similes  on  matters  of 
external  observation  are  so  admirable  that  everybody  appre- 
ciates them,  and  it  would  be  absurd  to  quote  specimens  of 
them ;  nor  is  it  the  sort  of  excellence  which  best  bears  to  be 
paraded  for  the  purposes  of  critical  example.  Its  off-hand 
air  and  natural  connection  with  the  adjacent  circumstances  are 
inherent  parts  of  its  peculiar  merit.  Every  reader  of  Mr. 
Dickens's  works  knows  well  what  we  mean.  And  who  is  not 
a  reader  of  them  ? 

But  his  peculiar  humour  is  even  more  indebted  to  his 
habit  of  vivifying  external  traits,  than  to  his  power  of  external 
observation.  He,  as  we  have  explained,  expands  traits  into 
people  ;  and  it  is  a  source  of  true  humour  to  place  these,  when 
so  expanded,  in  circumstances  in  which  only  people — that  is 


90  CHARLES  DICKENS 

complete  human  beings — can  appropriately  act.  The  humour 
of  Mr.  Pickwick's  character  is  entirely  of  this  kind.  He  is  a 
kind  of  incarnation  of  simple-mindedness  and  what  we  may 
call  obvious-mindedness.  The  conclusion  which  each  occur- 
rence or  position  in  life  most  immediately  presents  to  the  un- 
sophisticated mind  is  that  which  Mr.  Pickwick  is  sure  to 
accept.  The  proper  accompaniments  are  given  to  him.  He 
is  a  stout  gentleman  in  easy  circumstances,  who  is  irritated 
into  originality  by  no  impulse  from  within,  and  by  no  stimulus 
from  without.  He  is  stated  to  have  "  retired  from  business  ". 
But  no  one  can  fancy  what  he  was  in  business.  Such  guileless 
simplicity  of  heart  and  easy  impressibility  of  disposition  would 
soon  have  induced  a  painful  failure  amid  the  harsh  struggles 
and  the  tempting  speculations  of  pecuniary  life.  As  he  is 
represented  in  the  narrative,  however,  nobody  dreams  of  such 
antecedents.  Mr.  Pickwick  moves  easily  over  all  the  surface 
of  English  life  from  Goswell  Street  to  Dingley  Dell,  from 
Dingley  Dell  to  the  Ipswich  elections,  from  drinking  milk- 
punch  in  a  wheelbarrow  to  sleeping  in  the  approximate  pound, 
and  no  one  ever  thinks  of  applying  to  him  the  ordinary 
maxims  which  we  should  apply  to  any  common  person  in  life, 
or  to  any  common  personage  in  a  fiction.  Nobody  thinks  it 
is  wrong  in  Mr.  Pickwick  to  drink  too  much  milk-punch  in  a 
wheelbarrow,  to  introduce  worthless  people  of  whom  he  knows 
nothing  to  the  families  of  people  for  whom  he  really  cares  ; 
nobody  holds  him  responsible  for  the  consequences ;  nobody 
thinks  there  is  anything  wrong  in  his  taking  Mr.  Bob  Sawyer 
and  Mr.  Benjamin  Allen  to  visit  Mr.  Winkle,  senior,  and 
thereby  almost  irretrievably  offending  him  with  his  son's 
marriage.  We  do  not  reject  moral  remarks  such  as  these,  but 
they  never  occur  to  us.  Indeed,  the  indistinct  consciousness 
that  such  observations  are  possible,  and  that  they  are  hovering 
about  our  minds,  enhances  the  humour  of  the  narrative.  We 
are  in  a  conventional  world,  where  the  mere  maxims  of  com- 
mon life  do  not  apply,  and  yet  which  has  all  the  amusing 
detail,  and  picturesque  elements,  and  singular  eccentricities  of 
common  life.  Mr.  Pickwick  is  a  personified  ideal ;  a  kind  of 
amateur  in  life,  whose  course  we  watch  through  all  the  circum- 


CHARLES  DICKENS  91 

stances  of  ordinary  existence,  and  at  whose  follies  we  are 
amused  just  as  really  skilled  people  are  at  the  mistakes  of  an 
amateur  in  their  art.  His  being  in  the  pound  is  not  wrong ; 
his  being  the  victim  of  Messrs.  Dodson  is  not  foolish.  "  Al- 
ways shout  with  the  mob,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick.  "  But  suppose 
there  are  two  mobs/'  said  Mr.  Snodgrass.  "Then  shout  with 
the  loudest,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick.  This  is  not  in  him  weakness 
or  time-serving,  or  want  of  principle,  as  in  most  even  of 
ficititious  people  it  would  be.  It  is  his  way.  Mr.  Pickwick 
was  expected  to  say  something,  so  he  said  "  Ah  !  "  in  a  grave 
voice.  This  is  not  pompous  as  we  might  fancy,  or  clever  as 
it  might  be,  if  intentionally  devised  ;  it  is  simply  his  way. 
Mr.  Pickwick  gets  late  at  night  over  the  wall  behind  the  back- 
door of  a  young-ladies'  school,  is  found  in  that  sequestered 
place  by  the  schoolmistress  and  the  boarders  and  the  cook, 
and  there  is  a  dialogue  between  them.1  There  is  nothing  out 
of  possibility  in  this  ;  it  is  his  way.  The  humour  essentially 
consists  in  treating  as  a  moral  agent  a  being  who  really  is  not 
a  moral  agent.  We  treat  a  vivified  accident  as  a  man,  and  we 
are  surprised  at  the  absurd  results.  We  are  reading  about  an 
acting  thing,  and  we  wonder  at  its  scrapes,  and  laugh  at  them 
as  if  they  were  those  of  the  man.  There  is  something  of  this 
humour  in  every  sort  of  farce.  Everybody  knows  these  are 
not  real  beings  acting  in  real  life,  though  they  talk  as  if  they 
were,  and  want  us  to  believe  that  they  are.  Here,  as  in  Mr. 
Dickens's  books,  we  have  exaggerations  pretending  to  comport 
themselves  as  ordinary  beings,  caricatures  acting  as  if  they 
were  characters. 

At  the  same  time  it  is  essential  to  remember,  that  however 
great  may  be  and  is  the  charm  of  such  exaggerated  personifica- 
tions, the  best  specimens  of  them  are  immensely  less  excellent, 
belong  to  an  altogether  lower  range  of  intellectual  achievements, 
than  the  real  depiction  of  actual  living  men.  It  is  amusing  to 
read  of  beings  out  of  the  laws  of  morality,  but  it  is  more  pro- 
foundly interesting,  as  well  as  more  instructive,  to  read  of  those 
whose  life  in  its  moral  conditions  resembles  our  own.  We  see 
this  most  distinctly  when  both  representations  are  given  by  the 

1  Chap.  xvi. 


92  CHARLES  DICKENS 

genius  of  one  and  the  same  writer.  Falstaff  is  a  sort  of  sack- 
holding  paunch,  an  exaggerated  over-development  which  no 
one  thinks  of  holding  down  to  the  commonplace  rules  of  the 
ten  commandments  and  the  statute-law.  We  do  not  think  of 
them  in  connection  with  him.  They  belong  to  a  world  apart. 
Accordingly,  we  are  vexed  when  the  king  discards  him  and 
reproves  him.  Such  a  fate  was  a  necessary  adherence  on 
Shakespeare's  part  to  the  historical  tradition  ;  he  never  probably 
thought  of  departing  from  it,  nor  would  his  audience  have 
perhaps  endured  his  doing  so.  But  to  those  who  look  at  the 
historical  plays  as  pure  works  of  imaginative  art,  it  seems 
certainly  an  artistic  misconception  to  have  developed  so  mar- 
vellous an  unmoral  impersonation,  and  then  to  have  subjected 
it  to  an  ethical  and  punitive  judgment.  Still,  notwithstanding 
this  error,  which  was  very  likely  inevitable,  Falstaff  is  pro- 
bably the  most  remarkable  specimen  of  caricature-representation 
to  be  found  in  literature.  And  its  very  excellence  of  execution 
only  shows  how  inferior  is  the  kind  of  art  which  creates  only 
such  representations.  Who  could  compare  the  genius,  marvel- 
lous as  must  be  its  fertility,  which  was  needful  to  create  a 
Falstaff,  with  that  shown  in  the  higher  productions  of  the  same 
mind  in  Hamlet,  Ophelia,  and  Lear  ?  We  feel  instantaneously 
the  difference  between  the  aggregating  accident  which  rakes  up 
from  the  externalities  of  life  other  accidents  analogous  to  itself, 
and  the  central  ideal  of  a  real  character  which  cannot  show 
itself  wholly  in  any  accidents,  but  which  exemplifies  itself 
partially  in  many,  which  unfolds  itself  gradually  in  wide 
spheres  of  action,  and  yet,  as  with  those  we  know  best  in  life, 
leaves  something  hardly  to  be  understood,  and  after  years  of 
familiarity  is  a  problem  and  a  difficulty  to  the  last.  In  the 
same  way,  the  embodied  characteristics  and  grotesque  exaggera- 
tions of  Mr.  Dickens,  notwithstanding  all  their  humour  and  all 
their  marvellous  abundance,  can  never  be  for  a  moment  com- 
pared with  the  great  works  of  the  real  painters  of  essential 
human  nature. 

There  is  one  class  of  Mr.  Dickens's  pictures  which  may 
seem  to  form  an  exception  to  this  criticism.  It  is  the  delinea- 
tion of  the  outlaw,  we  might  say  the  anti-law,  world  in  Oliver 


CHARLES  DICKENS  93 

Twist.  In  one  or  two  instances  Mr.  Dickens  has  been  so 
fortunate  as  to  hit  on  characteristics  which,  by  his  system  of 
idealisation  and  continual  repetition,  might  really  be  brought 
to  look  like  a  character.  A  man's  trade  or  profession  in  regular 
life  can  only  exhaust  a  very  small  portion  of  his  nature ;  no 
approach  is  made  to  the  essence  of  humanity  by  the  exaggera- 
tion of  the  traits  which  typify  a  beadle  or  an  undertaker. 
With  the  outlaw  world  it  is  somewhat  different.  The  bare 
fact  of  a  man  belonging  to  the  world  is  so  important  to  his 
nature,  that  if  it  is  artistically  developed  with  coherent  acces- 
sories, some  approximation  to  a  distinctly  natural  character 
will  be  almost  inevitably  made.  In  the  characters  of  Bill 
Sykes  and  Nancy  this  is  so.  The  former  is  the  skulking 
ruffian  who  may  be  seen  any  day  at  the  police-courts,  and 
whom  any  one  may  fancy  he  sees  by  walking  through  St. 
Giles's.  You  cannot  attempt  to  figure  to  your  imagination 
the  existence  of  such  a  person  without  being  thrown  into  the 
region  of  the  passions,  the  will,  and  the  conscience  ;  the  mere 
fact  of  his  maintaining,  as  a  condition  of  life  and  by  settled 
profession,  a  struggle  with  regular  society,  necessarily  brings 
these  deep  parts  of  his  nature  into  prominence ;  great  crime 
usually  proceeds  from  abnormal  impulses  or  strange  effort. 
Accordingly,  Mr.  Sykes  is  the  character  most  approaching  to 
a  coherent  man  who  is  to  be  found  in  Mr.  Dickens's  works. 
We  do  not  say  that  even  here  there  is  not  some  undue  heighten- 
ing admixture  of  caricature, — but  this  defect  is  scarcely  thought 
of  amid  the  general  coherence  of  the  picture,  the  painful 
subject,  and  the  wonderful  command  of  strange  accessories. 
Miss  Nancy  is  a  still  more  delicate  artistic  effort.  She  is  an 
idealisation  of  the  girl  who  may  also  be  seen  at  the  police-courts 
and  St.  Giles's ;  as  bad,  according  to  occupation  and  common 
character,  as  a  woman  can  be,  yet  retaining  a  tinge  of  woman- 
hood, and  a  certain  compassion  for  interesting  suffering,  which 
under  favouring  circumstances  might  be  the  germ  of  a  regenerat- 
ing influence.  We  need  not  stay  to  prove  how  much  the 
imaginative  development  of  such  a  personage  must  concern 
itself  with  our  deeper  humanity  ;  how  strongly,  if  excellent,  it 
must  be  contrasted  with  everything  conventional  or  casual  or 


94  CHARLES  DICKENS 

superficial.  Mr.  Dickens's  delineation  is  in  the  highest  degree 
excellent.  It  possesses  not  only  the  more  obvious  merits  belong- 
ing to  the  subject,  but  also  that  of  a  singular  delicacy  of  expres- 
sion and  idea.  Nobody  fancies  for  a  moment  that  they  are 
reading  about  anything  beyond  the  pale  of  ordinary  propriety. 
We  read  the  account  of  the  life  which  Miss  Nancy  leads  with 
Bill  Sykes  without  such  an  idea  occurring  to  us :  yet  when  we 
reflect  upon  it,  few  things  in  literary  painting  are  more  wonder- 
ful than  the  depiction  of  a  professional  life  of  sin  and  sorrow, 
so  as  not  even  to  startle  those  to  whom  the  deeper  forms  of 
either  are  but  names  and  shadows.  Other  writers  would  have 
given  as  vivid  a  picture :  Defoe  would  have  poured  out  even  a 
more  copious  measure  of  telling  circumstantiality,  but  he  would 
have  narrated  his  story  with  an  inhuman  distinctness,  which  if 
not  impure  is  unpure ;  French  writers,  whom  we  need  not  name, 
would  have  enhanced  the  interest  of  their  narrative  by  trading 
on  the  excitement  of  stimulating  scenes.  It  would  be  injustice 
to  Mr.  Dickens  to  say  that  he  has  surmounted  these  tempta- 
tions ;  the  unconscious  evidence  of  innumerable  details  proves 
that,  from  a  certain  delicacy  of  imagination  and  purity  of  spirit, 
he  has  not  even  experienced  them.  Criticism  is  the  more 
bound  to  dwell  at  length  on  the  merits  of  these  delineations, 
because  no  artistic  merit  can  make  Oliver  Twist  a  pleasing 
work.  The  squalid  detail  of  crime  and  misery  oppresses  us 
too  much.  If  it  is  to  be  read  at  all,  it  should  be  read  in  the 
first  hardness  of  the  youthful  imagination,  which  no  touch  can 
move  too  deeply,  and  which  is  never  stirred  with  tremulous 
suffering  at  the  "  still  sad  music  of  humanity  "-1  The  coldest 
critic  in  later  life  may  never  hope  to  have  again  the  apathy  of 
his  boyhood. 

It  perhaps  follows  from  what  has  been  said  of  the  charac- 
teristics of  Mr.  Dickens's  genius,  that  it  would  be  little  skilled 
in  planning  plots  for  his  novels.  He  certainly  is  not  so  skilled. 
He  says  in  his  preface  to  the  Pickwick  Papers  "  that  they  were 
designed  for  the  introduction  of  diverting  characters  and  in- 
cidents ;  that  no  ingenuity  of  plot  was  attempted,  or  even  at 
that  time  considered  feasible  by  the  author  in  connection 

1  Wordsworth,  "  Tintern  Abbey  ". 


CHARLES  DICKENS  95 

with  the  desultory  plan  of  publication  adopted ; "  and  he  adds 
an  expression  of  regret  that  "these  chapters  had  not  been 
strung  together  on  a  thread  of  more  general  interest".  It  is 
extremely  fortunate  that  no  such  attempt  was  made.  In  the 
cases  in  which  Mr.  Dickens  has  attempted  to  make  a  long  con- 
nected story,  or  to  develop  into  scenes  or  incidents  a  plan  in 
any  degree  elaborate,  the  result  has  been  a  complete  failure. 
A  certain  consistency  of  genius  seems  necessary  for  the  con- 
struction of  a  consecutive  plot.  An  irregular  mind  naturally 
shows  itself  in  incoherency  of  incident  and  aberration  of  char- 
acter. The  method  in  which  Mr.  Dickens's  mind  works,  if  we 
are  correct  in  our  criticism  upon  it,  tends  naturally  to  these 
blemishes.  Caricatures  are  necessarily  isolated  ;  they  are  pro- 
duced by  the  exaggeration  of  certain  conspicuous  traits  and 
features ;  each  being  is  enlarged  on  its  greatest  side ;  and  we 
laugh  at  the  grotesque  grouping  and  the  startling  contrast. 
But  that  connection  between  human  beings  on  which  a  plot 
depends  is  rather  severed  than  elucidated  by  the  enhancement 
of  their  diversities.  Interesting  stories  are  founded  on  the 
intimate  relations  of  men  and  women.  These  intimate  relations 
are  based  not  on  their  superficial  traits,  or  common  occupations, 
or  most  visible  externalities,  but  on  the  inner  life  of  heart  and 
feeling.  You  simply  divert  attention  from  that  secret  life  by 
enhancing  the  perceptible  diversities  of  common  human  nature, 
and  the  strange  anomalies  into  which  it  may  be  distorted. 
The  original  germ  of  Pickwick  was  a  "  Club  of  Oddities ". 
The  idea  was  professedly  abandoned ;  but  traces  of  it  are  to 
be  found  in  all  Mr.  Dickens's  books.  It  illustrates  the  pro- 
fessed grotesqueness  of  the  characters  as  well  as  their  slender 
connection. 

The  defect  of  plot  is  heightened  by  Mr.  Dickens's  great, 
we  might  say  complete,  inability  to  make  a  love-story.  A 
pair  of  lovers  is  by  custom  a  necessity  of  narrative  fiction,  and 
writers  who  possess  a  great  general  range  of  mundane  know- 
ledge, and  but  little  knowledge  of  the  special  sentimental 
subject,  are  often  in  amusing  difficulties.  The  watchful  reader 
observes  the  transition  from  the  hearty  description  of  well- 
known  scenes,  of  prosaic  streets,  or  journeys  by  wood  and 


96  .      CHARLES  DICKERS 

river,  to  the  pale  colours  of  ill-attempted  poetry,  to  such  sights 
as  the  novelist  evidently  wishes  that  he  need  not  try  to  see. 
But  few  writers  exhibit  the  difficulty  in  so  aggravated  a  form 
as  Mr.  Dickens.  Most  men  by  taking  thought  can  make  a  lay 
figure  to  look  not  so  very  unlike  a  young  gentleman,  and  can 
compose  a  telling  schedule  of  ladylike  charms.  Mr.  Dickens 
has  no  power  of  doing  either.  The  heroic  character — we  do 
not  mean  the  form  of  character  so  called  in  life  and  action, 
but  that  which  is  hereditary  in  the  heroes  of  novels — is  not 
suited  to  his  style  of  art.  Hazlitt  wrote  an  essay  to  inquii 
"  Why  the  heroes  of  romances  are  insipid  "  ;  and  without  goinj 
that  length  it  may  safely  be  said  that  the  character  of  th< 
agreeable  young  gentleman  who  loves  and  is  loved  should  not 
be  of  the  most  marked  sort.  Flirtation  ought  not  to  be  ai 
exaggerated  pursuit.  Young  ladies  and  their  admirers  should 
not  express  themselves  in  the  heightened  and  imaginative 
phraseology  suited  to  Charley  Bates  and  the  Dodger.  Humour 
is  of  no  use,  for  no  one  makes  love  in  jokes  :  a  tinge  of  insidi- 
ous satire  may  perhaps  be  permitted  as  a  rare  and  occasional 
relief,  but  it  will  not  be  thought  "a  pretty  book,"  if  so  malici- 
ous an  element  be  at  all  habitually  perceptible.  The  broad 
farce  in  which  Mr.  Dickens  indulges  is  thoroughly  out  of  place. 
If  you  caricature  a  pair  of  lovers  ever  so  little,  by  the  necessity 
of  their  calling  you  make  them  ridiculous.  One  of  Sheridan's 
best  comedies l  is  remarkable  for  having  no  scene  in  which  the 
hero  and  heroine  are  on  the  stage  together ;  and  Mr.  Moore 
suggests 2  that  the  shrewd  wit  distrusted  his  skill  in  the  light, 
dropping  love-talk  which  would  have  been  necessary.  Mr. 
Dickens  would  have  done  well  to  imitate  so  astute  a  policy ; 
but  he  has  none  of  the  managing  shrewdness  which  those  who 
look  at  Sheridan's  career  attentively  will  probably  think  not 
the  least  remarkable  feature  in  his  singular  character.  Mr. 
Dickens,  on  the  contrary,  pours  out  painful  sentiments  as  if  he 
wished  the  abundance  should  make  up  for  the  inferior  quality. 
The  excruciating  writing  which  is  expended  on  Miss  Ruth 
Pinch 3  passes  belief.  Mr.  Dickens  is  not  only  unable  to  make 

1  "  School  for  Scandal  ".  2  Life  of  Sheridan,  vol.  i.,  chap.  v. 

3  In  Martin  Chttzzlewit. 


CHARLES  DICKENS  97 

lovers  talk,  but  to  describe  heroines  in  mere  narrative.  As 
has  been  said,  most  men  can  make  a  jumble  of  blue  eyes  and 
fair  hair  and  "pearly  teeth,  that  does  very  well  for  a  young  lady, 
at  least  for  a  good  while ;  but  Mr.  Dickens  will  not,  probably 
cannot,  attain  even  to  this  humble  measure  of  descriptive  art. 
He  vitiates  the  repose  by  broad  humour,  or  disenchants  the  de- 
licacy by  an  unctuous  admiration. 

This  deficiency  is  probably  nearly  connected  with  one  of 
Mr.  Dickens's  most  remarkable  excellences.  No  one  can 
read  Mr.  Thackeray's  writings  without  feeling  that  he  is  per- 
petually treading  as  close  as  he  dare  to  the  border-line  that 
separates  the  world  which  may  be  described  in  books  from  the 
world  which  it  is  prohibited  so  to  describe.  No  one  knows 
better  than  this  accomplished  artist  where  that  line  is,  and 
how  curious  are  its  windings  and  turns.  The  charge  against 
him  is  that  he  knows  it  but  too  well ;  that  with  an  anxious 
care  and  a  wistful  eye  he  is  ever  approximating  to  its  edge, 
and  hinting  with  subtle  art  how  thoroughly  he  is  familiar  with, 
and  how  interesting  he  could  make,  the  interdicted  region  on 
the  other  side.  He  never  violates  a  single  conventional  rule  ; 
but  at  the  same  time  the  shadow  of  the  immorality  that  is 
not  seen  is  scarcely  ever  wanting  to  his  delineation  of  the 
society  that  is  seen.  Every  one  may  perceive  what  is  passing 
in  his  fancy.  Mr.  Dickens  is  chargeable  with  no  such  defect : 
he  does  not  seem  to  feel  the  temptation.  By  what  we  may 
fairly  call  an  instinctive  purity  of  genius,  he  not  only  observes 
the  conventional  rules,  but  makes  excursions  into  topics  which 
no  other  novelist  could  safely  handle,  and,  by  a  felicitous 
instinct,  deprives  them  of  all  impropriety.  No  other  writer 
could  have  managed  the  humour  of  Mrs.  Gamp  without 
becoming  unendurable.  At  the  same  time  it  is  difficult  not 
to  believe  that  this  singular  insensibility  to  the  temptations  to 
which  many  of  the  greatest  novelists  have  succumbed  is  in 
some  measure  connected  with  his  utter  inaptitude  for  delineat- 
ing the  portion  of  life  to  which  their  art  is  specially  inclined. 
He  delineates  neither  the  love-affairs  which  ought  to  be,  nor 
those  which  ought  not  to  be. 

Mr.  Dickens's  indisposition  to  "make  capital"  out  of  the 
VOL.  in.  7 


98  CHARLES  DICKENS 

most  commonly  tempting  part  of  human  sentiment  is  the 
more  remarkable  because  he  certainly  does  not  show  the  same 
indisposition  in  other  cases.  He  has  naturally  great  powers 
of  pathos ;  his  imagination  is  familiar  with  the  common  sort 
of  human  suffering ;  and  his  marvellous  conversancy  with  the 
detail  of  existence  enables  him  to  describe  sick-beds  and 
death-beds  with  an  excellence  very  rarely  seen  in  literature. 
A  nature  far  more  sympathetic  than  that  of  most  authors  has 
familiarised  him  with  such  subjects.  In  general,  a  certain 
apathy  is  characteristic  of  book-writers,  and  dulls  the  efficacy 
of  their  pathos.  Mr.  Dickens  is  quite  exempt  from  this 
defect ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  is  exceedingly  prone  to  a  very 
ostentatious  exhibition  of  the  opposite  excellence.  He  dwells 
on  dismal  scenes  with  a  kind  of  fawning  fondness ;  and  he 
seems  unwilling  to  leave  them,  long  after  his  readers  have  had 
more  than  enough  of  them.  He  describes  Mr.  Dennis  the 
hangman l  as  having  a  professional  fondness  for  his  occupation  : 
he  has  the  same  sort  of  fondness  apparently  for  the  profession 
of  death-painter.  The  painful  details  he  accumulates  are  a 
very  serious  drawback  from  the  agreeableness  of  his  writings. 
Dismal  "light  literature"  is  the  dismallest  of  reading.  The 
reality  of  the  police  reports  is  sufficiently  bad,  but  a  fictitious 
police  report  would  be  the  most  disagreeable  of  conceivable 
compositions.  Some  portions  of  Mr.  Dickens's  books  are 
liable  to  a  good  many  of  the  same  objections.  They  are 
squalid  from  noisome  trivialities,  and  horrid  with  terrifying 
crime.  In  his  earlier  books  this  is  commonly  relieved  at 
frequent  intervals  by  a  graphic  and  original  mirth.  As,  we 
will  not  say  age,  but  maturity,  has  passed  over  his  powers, 
this  counteractive  element  has  been  lessened  ;  the  humour  is 
not  so  happy  as  it  was,  but  the  wonderful  fertility  in  painful 
mtnutzce  still  remains. 

Mr.  Dickens's  political  opinions  have  subjected  him  to  a 
good  deal  of  criticism,  and  to  some  ridicule.  He  has  shown, 
on  many  occasions,  the  desire — which  we  see  so  frequent 
among  able  and  influential  men — to  start  as  a  political  reformer. 
Mr.  Spurgeon  said,  with  an  application  to  himself:  "  If  you've 

1  In  Barnaby  Rudge. 


CHARLES  DICKENS  99 

got  the  ear  of  the  public,  of  course  you  must  begin  to  tell  it  its 
faults ".  Mr.  Dickens  has  been  quite  disposed  to  make  this 
use  of  his  popular  influence.  Even  in  Pickwick  there  are 
many  traces  of  this  tendency ;  and  the  way  in  which  it  shows 
itself  in  that  book  and  in  others  is  very  characteristic  of  the 
time  at  which  they  appeared.  The  most  instructive  political 
characteristic  of  the  years  1825  to  1845  is  the  growth  and 
influence  of  the  scheme  of  opinion  which  we  call  Radicalism. 
There  are  several  species  of  creeds  which  are  comprehended 
under  this  generic  name,  but  they  all  evince  a  marked  reaction 
against  the  worship  of  the  English  constitution  and  the  affec- 
tion for  the  English  status  quo,  which  were  then  the  established 
creed  and  sentiment.  All  Radicals  are  Anti-Eldonites.  This 
is  equally  true  of  the  Benthamite  or  philosophical  radicalism 
of  the  early  period,  and  the  Manchester,  or  "  definite-grievance 
radicalism,"  among  the  last  vestiges  of  which  we  are  now 
living.  Mr.  Dickens  represents  a  species  different  from  either. 
His  is  what  we  may  call  the  "  sentimental  radicalism  "  ;  and 
if  we  recur  to  the  history  of  the  time,  we  shall  find  that  there 
would  not  originally  have  been  any  opprobrium  attaching  to 
such  a  name.  The  whole  course  of  the  legislation,  and  still 
more  of  the  administration,  of  the  first  twenty  years  of  the 
nineteenth  century  was  marked  by  a  harsh  unfeelingness  which 
is  of  all  faults  the  most  contrary  to  any  with  which  we  are 
chargeable  now.  The  world  of  the  "  Six  Acts," 1  of  the 
frequent  executions,  of  the  Draconic  criminal  law,  is  so  far 
removed  from  us  that  we  cannot  comprehend  its  having  ever 
existed.  It  is  more  easy  to  understand  the  recoil  which  has 
followed.  All  the  social  speculation,  and  much  of  the  social 
action  of  the  few  years  succeeding  the  Reform  Bill,  bear  the 
most  marked  traces  of  the  reaction.  The  spirit  which  animates 
Mr.  Dickens' s  political  reasonings  and  observations  expresses 
t  exactly.  The  vice  of  the  then  existing  social  authorities, 
and  of  the  then  existing  public,  had  been  the  forgetfulness  of 

1  Of  23rd  November,  3rd  December,  and  i;th  December,  1819  ;  intro- 
iuced  by  Eldon,  Sidmouth  and  Castlereagh,  to  put  down  sedition,  just  after 
he  Manchester  massacre  and  the  Cato  Street  conspiracy..  (Forrest 
|M  organ.) 

7* 


ioo  CHARLES  DICKENS 

the  pain  which  their  own  acts  evidently  produced, — an  un- 
realising  habit  which  adhered  to  official  rules  and  established 
maxims,  and  which  would  not  be  shocked  by  the  evident 
consequences,  by  proximate  human  suffering.  The  sure  result 
of  this  habit  was  the  excitement  of  the  habit  precisely  opposed 
to  it.  Mr.  Carlyle,  in  his  Chartism,  we  think,  observes  of  the 
poor-law  reform  :  "  It  was  then,  above  all  things,  necessary 
that  outdoor  relief  should  cease.  But  how  ?  What  means 
did  great  Nature  take  for  accomplishing  that  most  desirable 
end  ?  She  created  a  race  of  men  who  believed  the  cessation 
of  outdoor  relief  to  be  the  one  thing  needful."  In  the  same 
way,  and  by  the  same  propensity  to  exaggerated  oppositioi 
which  is  inherent  in  human  nature,  the  unfeeling  obtusen< 
of  the  early  part  of  this  century  was  to  be  corrected  by  an  e: 
treme,  perhaps  an  excessive,  sensibility  to  human  suffering  ii 
the  years  which  have  followed.  There  was  most  adequat 
reason  for  the  sentiment  in  its  origin,  and  it  had  a  great  tasl 
to  perform  in  ameliorating  harsh  customs  and  repealing  dreadfi 
penalties ;  but  it  has  continued  to  repine  at  such  evils  loi 
after  they  ceased  to  exist,  and  when  the  only  facts  that  at 
resemble  them  are  the  necessary  painfulness  of  due  punishmei 
and  the  necessary  rigidity  of  established  law.  Mr.  Dickens  is 
an  example  both  of  the  proper  use  and  of  the  abuse  of  the 
sentiment.  His  earlier  works  have  many  excellent  descriptions 
of  the  abuses  which  had  descended  to  the  present  generation 
from  others  whose  sympathy  with  pain  was  less  tender. 
Nothing  can  be  better  than  the  description  of  the  poor  debtors' 
gaol  in  Pickwick,  or  of  the  old  parochial  authorities  in  Oliver 
Twist.  No  doubt  these  descriptions  are  caricatures,  all  his 
delineations  are  so;  but  the  beneficial  use  of  such  art  can 
hardly  be  better  exemplified.  Human  nature  endures  the 
aggravation  of  vices  and  foibles  in  written  description  better 
than  that  of  excellences.  We  cannot  bear  to  hear  even  the 
hero  of  a  book  for  ever  called  "just"  ;  we  detest  the  recurring 
praise  even  of  beauty,  much  more  of  virtue.  The  moment 
you  begin  to  exaggerate  a  character  of  true  excellence,  you 
spoil  it ;  the  traits  are  too  delicate  not  to  be  injured  by  heighten- 
ing, or  marred  by  over-emphasis.  But  a  beadle  is  made  for 


CHARLES  DICKENS  101 

caricature.  The  slight  measure  of  pomposity  that  humanises 
his  unfeelingness  introduces  the  requisite  comic  element ;  even 
the  turnkeys  of  a  debtors'  prison  may  by  skilful  hands  be 
similarly  used.  The  contrast  between  the  destitute  condition 
of  Job  Trotter  and  Mr.  Jingle  and  their  former  swindling 
triumph  is  made  comic  by  a  rarer  touch  of  unconscious  art. 
Mr.  Pickwick's  warm  heart  takes  so  eager  an  interest  in  the 
misery  of  his  old  enemies,  that  our  colder  nature  is  tempted  to 
smile.  We  endure  the  over-intensity,  at  any  rate  the  unneces- 
sary aggravation,  of  the  surrounding  misery ;  and  we  endure 
it  willingly,  because  it  brings  out  better  than  anything  else 
could  have  done  the  half-comic  intensity  of  a  sympathetic  nature. 
It  is  painful  to  pass  from  these  happy  instances  of  well- 
used  power  to  the  glaring  abuses  of  the  same  faculty  in  Mr. 
Dickens's  later  books.  He  began  by  describing  really  remov- 
able evils  in  a  style  which  would  induce  all  persons,  however 
insensible,  to  remove  them  if  they  could ;  he  has  ended  by 
describing  the  natural  evils  and  inevitable  pains  of  the  present 
state  of  being,  in  such  a  manner  as  must  tend  to  excite  dis- 
content and  repining.  The  result  is  aggravated,  because  Mr. 
Dickens  never  ceases  to  hint  that  these  evils  are  removable, 
though  he  does  not  say  by  what  means.  Nothing  is  easier 
than  to  show  the  evils  of  anything.  Mr.  Dickens  has  not 
unfrequently  spoken,  and,  what  is  worse,  he  has  taught  a 
great  number  of  parrot-like  imitators  to  speak,  in  what  really 
is,  if  they  knew  it,  a  tone  of  objection  to  the  necessary  con- 
stitution of  human  society.  If  you  will  only  write  a  descrip- 
tion of  it,  any  form  of  government  will  seem  ridiculous.  What 
is  more  absurd  than  a  despotism,  even  at  its  best  ?  A  king  of 
ability  or  an  able  minister  sits  in  an  orderly  room  filled  with 
memorials,  and  returns,  and  documents,  and  memoranda. 
These  are  his  world ;  among  these  he  of  necessity  lives  and 
moves.  Yet  how  little  of  the  real  life  of  the  nation  he  governs 
can  be  represented  in  an  official  form !  How  much  of  real 
suffering  is  there  that  statistics  can  never  tell !  how  much  of 
obvious  good  is  there  that  no  memorandum  to  a  minister  will 
ever  mention !  how  much  deception  is  there  in  what  such 
documents  contain !  how  monstrous  must  be  the  ignorance  of 


102  CHARLES  DICKENS 

the  closet  statesman,  after  all  his  life  of  labour,  of  much  that 
a  ploughman  could  tell  him  of!  A  free  government  is  almost 
worse,  as  it  must  read  in  a  written  delineation.  Instead  of 
the  real  attention  of  a  laborious  and  anxious  statesman,  we 
have  now  the  shifting  caprices  of  a  popular  assembly — elected 
for  one  object,  deciding  on  another ;  changing  with  the  turn 
of  debate ;  shifting  in  its  very  composition ;  one  set  of  men 
coming  down  to  vote  to-day,  to-morrow  another  and  often 
unlike  set,  most  of  them  eager  for  the  dinner-hour,  actuated 
by  unseen  influences,  by  a  respect  for  their  constituents,  by  the 
dread  of  an  attorney  in  a  far-off  borough.  What  people  are 
these  to  control  a  nation's  destinies,  and  wield  the  power  of 
an  empire,  and  regulate  the  happiness  of  millions !  Either 
way  we  are  at  fault.  Free  government  seems  an  absurdity, 
and  despotism  is  so  too.  Again,  every  form  of  law  has  a 
distinct  expression,  a  rigid  procedure,  customary  rules  and 
forms.  It  is  administered  by  human  beings  liable  to  mistake, 
confusion,  and  forgetfulness,  and  in  the  long  run,  and  on  the 
average,  is  sure  to  be  tainted  with  vice  and  fraud.  Nothing 
can  be  easier  than  to  make  a  case,  as  we  may  say,  against 
any  particular  system,  by  pointing  out  with  emphatic  carica- 
ture its  inevitable  miscarriages,  and  by  pointing  out  nothing 
else.  Those  who  so  address  us  may  assume  a  tone  of  philan- 
thropy, and  for  ever  exult  that  they  are  not  so  unfeeling  as 
other  men  are  ;  but  the  real  tendency  of  their  exhortations  is 
to  make  men  dissatisfied  with  their  inevitable  condition,  and, 
what  is  worse,  to  make  them  fancy  that  its  irremediable  evils 
can  be  remedied,  and  indulge  in  a  succession  of  vague  striv 
ings  and  restless  changes.  Such,  however — though  in  a  style 
of  expression  somewhat  different — is  very  much  the  tone  with 
which  Mr.  Dickens  and  his  followers  have  in  later  years  made 
us  familiar.  To  the  second-hand  repeaters  of  a  cry  so  feeble 
we  can  have  nothing  to  say ;  if  silly  people  cry  because  they 
think  the  world  is  silly,  let  them  cry ;  but  the  founder  of  the 
school  cannot,  we  are  persuaded,  peruse  without  mirth  the 
lachrymose  eloquence  which  his  disciples  have  perpetrated 
The  soft  moisture  of  irrelevant  sentiment  cannot  have  entirely 
entered  into  his  soul.  A  truthful  genius  must  have  forbidden 


CHARLES  DICKENS  103 

it.  Let  us  hope  that  his  pernicious  example  may  incite  some 
one  of  equal  genius  to  preach  with  equal  efficiency  a  sterner 
and  a  wiser  gospel ;  but  there  is  no  need  just  now  for  us  to 
preach  it  without  genius. 

There  has  been  much  controversy  about  Mr.  Dickens's 
taste.  A  great  many  cultivated  people  will  scarcely  concede 
that  he  has  any  taste  at  all ;  a  still  larger  number  of  fervent 
admirers  point,  on  the  other  hand,  to  a  hundred  felicitous 
descriptions  and  delineations  which  abound  in  apt  expres- 
sions and  skilful  turns  and  happy  images, — in  which  it  would 
be  impossible  to  alter  a  single  word  without  altering  for  the 
worse ;  and  naturally  inquire  whether  such  excellences  in 
what  is  written  do  not  indicate  good  taste  in  the  writer. 
The  truth  is,  that  Mr.  Dickens  has  what  we  may  call  creative 
taste ;  that  is  to  say,  the  habit  or  faculty,  whichever  we  may 
choose  to  call  it,  which  at  the  critical  instant  of  artistic  pro- 
duction offers  to  the  mind  the  right  word,  and  the  right  word 
only.  If  he  is  engaged  on  a  good  subject  for  caricature,  there 
will  be  no  defect  of  taste  to  preclude  the  caricature  from  being 
excellent  But  it  is  only  in  moments  of  imaginative  produc- 
tion that  he  has  any  taste  at  all.  His  works  nowhere  indicate 
that  he  possesses  in  any  degree  the  passive  taste  which  decides 
what  is  good  in  the  writings  of  other  people,  and  what  is  not, 
and  which  performs  the  same  critical  duty  upon  a  writer's 
own  efforts  when  the  confusing  mists  of  productive  imagina- 
tion have  passed  away.  Nor  has  Mr.  Dickens  the  gentle- 
manly instinct  which  in  many  minds  supplies  the  place  of 
purely  critical  discernment,  and  which,  by  constant  association 
with  those  who  know  what  is  best,  acquires  a  second-hand 
perception  of  that  which  is  best.  He  has  no  tendency  to 
conventionalism  for  good  or  for  evil ;  his  merits  are  far  re- 
moved from  the  ordinary  path  of  writers,  and  it  was  not 
probably  so  much  effort  to  him  as  to  other  men  to  step  so 
far  out  of  that  path  :  he  scarcely  knew  how  far  it  was.  For 
the  same  reason,  he  cannot  tell  how  faulty  his  writing  will 
often  be  thought,  for  he  cannot  tell  what  people  will  think. 
A  few  pedantic  critics  have  regretted  that  Mr.  Dickens  had 
not  received  what  they  call  a  regular  education.  And  if  we 


io4  CHARLES  DICKENS 

understand  their  meaning,  we  believe  they  mean  to  regret  that 
he  had  not  received  a  course  of  discipline  which  would 
probably  have  impaired  his  powers.  A  regular  education 
should  mean  that  ordinary  system  of  regulation  and  instruction 
which  experience  has  shown  to  fit  men  best  for  the  ordinary 
pursuits  of  life.  It  applies  the  requisite  discipline  to  each 
faculty  in  the  exact  proportion  in  which  that  faculty  is  wanted 
in  the  pursuits  of  life  ;  it  develops  understanding,  and  memory, 
and  imagination,  each  in  accordance  with  the  scale  prescribed. 
To  men  of  ordinary  faculties  this  is  nearly  essential ;  it  is  the 
only  mode  in  which  they  can  be  fitted  for  the  inevitable  com- 
petition of  existence.  To  men  of  regular  and  symmetrical 
genius  also,  such  a  training  will  often  be  beneficial.  The 
world  knows  pretty  well  what  are  the  great  tasks  of  the 
human  mind,  and  has  learned  in  the  course  of  ages  with  some 
accuracy  what  is  the  kind  of  culture  likely  to  promote  their 
exact  performance.  A  man  of  abilities  extraordinary  in 
degree  but  harmonious  in  proportion  will  be  the  better  for 
having  submitted  to  the  kind  of  discipline  which  has  been 
ascertained  to  fit  a  man  for  the  work  to  which  powers  in  that 
proportion  are  best  fitted ;  he  will  do  what  he  has  to  do  better 
and  more  gracefully  ;  culture  will  add  a  touch  to  the  finish  of 
nature.  But  the  case  is  very  different  with  men  of  irregular 
and  anomalous  genius,  whose  excellences  consist  in  the 
aggravation  of  some  special  faculty,  or  at  the  most  one  or  two. 
The  discipline  which  will  fit  such  a  man  for  the  production  of 
great  literary  works  is  that  which  will  most  develop  the 
peculiar  powers  in  which  he  excels  ;  the  rest  of  the  mind  will 
be  far  less  important ;  it  will  not  be  likely  that  the  cultui 
which  is  adapted  to  promote  this  special  development  will  ah 
be  that  which  is  most  fitted  for  expanding  the  powers 
common  men  in  common  directions.  The  precise  problem 
to  develop  the  powers  of  a  strange  man  in  a  strange  direction. 
In  the  case  of  Mr.  Dickens,  it  would  have  been  absurd  to  have 
shut  up  his  observant  youth  within  the  walls  of  a  college. 
They  would  have  taught  him  nothing  about  Mrs.  Gamp  there ; 
Sam  Weller  took  no  degree.  The  kind  of  early  life  fitted  to 
develop  the  power  of  apprehensive  observation  is  a  brooding 


CHARLES  DICKENS  105 

life  in  stirring  scenes  ;  the  idler  in  the  streets  of  life  knows  the 
streets;  the  bystander  knows  the  picturesque  effect  of  life 
better  than  the  player ;  and  the  meditative  idler  amid  the  hum 
of  existence  is  much  more  likely  to  know  its  sound  and  to 
take  in  and  comprehend  its  depths  and  meanings  than  the 
scholastic  student  intent  on  books,  which,  if  they  represent 
any  world,  represent  one  which  has  long  passed  away, — 
which  commonly  try  rather  to  develop  the  reasoning  under- 
standing than  the  seeing  observation, — which  are  written  in 
languages  that  have  long  been  dead.  You  will  not  train 
by  such  discipline  a  caricaturist  of  obvious  manners. 

Perhaps,  too,  a  regular  instruction  and  daily  experience  of 
the  searching  ridicule  of  critical  associates  would  have  de- 
tracted from  the  pluck  which  Mr.  Dickens  shows  in  all  his 
writings.  It  requires  a  great  deal  of  courage  to  be  a  humorous 
writer ;  you  are  always  afraid  that  people  will  laugh  at  you 
instead  of  with  you  :  undoubtedly  there  is  a  certain  eccentricity 
about  it.  You  take  up  the  esteemed  writers,  Thucydides  and 
the  Saturday  Review  ;  after  all,  they  do  not  make  you  laugh.  It 
is  not  the  function  of  really  artistic  productions  to  contribute 
to  the  mirth  of  human  beings.  All  sensible  men  are  afraid 
of  it,  and  it  is  only  with  an  extreme  effort  that  a  printed  joke 
attains  to  the  perusal  of  the  public :  the  chances  are  many  to 
one  that  the  anxious  producer  loses  heart  in  the  correction  of 
the  press,  and  that  the  world  never  laughs  at  all.  Mr.  Dickens 
is  quite  exempt  from  this  weakness.  He  has  what  a  French- 
man might  call  the  courage  of  his  faculty.  The  real  daring 
which  is  shown  in  the  Pickwick  Papers,  in  the  whole  character 
of  Mr.  Weller  senior,  as  well  as  in  that  of  his  son,  is  immense, 
far  surpassing  any  which  has  been  shown  by  any  other  con- 
temporary writer.  The  brooding  irregular  mind  is  in  its  first 
stage  prone  to  this  sort  of  courage.  It  perhaps  knows  that 
its  ideas  are  "out  of  the  way";  but  with  the  infantine 
simplicity  of  youth,  it  supposes  that  originality  is  an  advantage. 
Persons  more  familiar  with  the  ridicule  of  their  equals  in 
station  (and  this  is  to  most  men  the  great  instructress  of  the 
college  time)  well  know  that  of  all  qualities  this  one  most 
requires  to  be  clipped  and  pared  and  measured.  Posterity, 


106  CHARLES  DICKENS 

we  doubt  not,  will  be  entirely  perfect  in  every  conceivable 
element  of  judgment ;  but  the  existing  generation  like  what 
they  have  heard  before — it  is  much  easier.  It  required  great 
courage  in  Mr.  Dickens  to  write  what  his  genius  has  compelled 
them  to  appreciate. 

We  have  throughout  spoken  of  Mr.  Dickens  as  he  was, 
rather  than  as  he  is  ;  or,  to  use  a  less  discourteous  phrase,  and  we 
hope  a  truer,  of  his  early  works  rather  than  of  those  which  are 
more  recent.  We  could  not  do  otherwise  consistently  with 
the  true  code  of  criticism.  A  man  of  great  genius,  who  has 
written  great  and  enduring  works,  must  be  judged  mainly  by 
them  ;  and  not  by  the  inferior  productions  which,  from  the 
necessities  of  personal  position,  a  fatal  facility  of  composition, 
or  other  cause,  he  may  pour  forth  at  moments  less  favourable 
to  his  powers.  Those  who  are  called  on  to  review  these  in- 
ferior productions  themselves,  must  speak  of  them  in  the  terms 
they  may  deserve ;  but  those  who  have  the  more  pleasant  task 
of  estimating  as  a  whole  the  genius  of  the  writer,  may  confine 
their  attention  almost  wholly  to  those  happier  efforts  which 
illustrate  that  genius.  We  should  not  like  to  have  to  speak  in 
detail  of  Mr.  Dickens's  later  works,  and  we  have  not  done  so. 
There  are,  indeed,  peculiar  reasons  why  a  genius  constituted  as 
his  is  (at  least  if  we  are  correct  in  the  view  which  we  have 
taken  of  it)  would  not  endure  without  injury  during  a  long  life  the 
applause  of  the  many,  the  temptations  of  composition,  and  the 
general  excitement  of  existence.  Even  in  his  earlier  works  it 
was  impossible  not  to  fancy  that  there  was  a  weakness  of  fibre 
unfavourable  to  the  longevity  of  excellence.  This  was  the  effect 
of  his  deficiency  in  those  masculine  faculties  of  which  we  have 
said  so  much, — the  reasoning  understanding  and  firm  far-seeing 
sagacity.  It  is  these  two  component  elements  which  stiffen 
the  mind,  and  give  a  consistency  to  the  creed  and  a  coherence 
to  its  effects, — which  enable  it  to  protect  itself  from  the  rush 
of  circumstances.  If  to  a  deficiency  in  these  we  add  an  extreme 
sensibility  to  circumstances, — a  mobility,  as  Lord  Byron  used 
to  call  it,  of  emotion,  which  is  easily  impressed,  and  still  more 
easily  carried  away  by  impression, — we  have  the  idea  of  a 
character  peculiarly  unfitted  to  bear  the  flux  of  time  and 


CHARLES  DICKENS  107 

chance.  A  man  of  very  great  determination  could  hardly  bear 
up  against  them  with  such  slight  aids  from  within  and  with 
such  peculiar  sensibility  to  temptation.  A  man  of  merely 
ordinary  determination  would  succumb  to  it ;  and  Mr.  Dickens 
has  succumbed.  His  position  was  certainly  unfavourable.  He 
has  told  us  that  the  works  of  his  later  years,  inferior  as  all  good 
critics  have  deemed  them,  have  yet  been  more  read  than  those 
of  his  earlier  and  healthier  years.  The  most  characteristic  part 
of  his  audience,  the  lower  middle-class,  were  ready  to  receive 
with  delight  the  least  favourable  productions  of  genius.  Human 
nature  cannot  endure  this  ;  it  is  too  much  to  have  to  endure  a 
coincident  temptation  both  from  within  and  from  without. 
Mr.  Dickens  was  too  much  inclined  by  natural  disposition  to 
lachrymose  eloquence  and  exaggerated  caricature.  Such  was 
the  kind  of  writing  which  he  wrote  most  easily.  He  found 
likewise  that  such  was  the  kind  of  writing  that  was  read  most 
readily ;  and  of  course  he  wrote  that  kind.  Who  would  have 
done  otherwise?  No  critic  is  entitled  to  speak  very  harshly 
of  such  degeneracy,  if  he  is  not  sure  that  he  could  have  coped 
with  difficulties  so  peculiar.  If  that  rule  is  to  be  observed, 
who  is  there  that  will  not  be  silent?  No  other  Englishman 
has  attained  such  a  hold  on  the  vast  populace  ;  it  is  little, 
therefore,  to  say  that  no  other  has  surmounted  its  attendant 
temptations. 


PARLIAMENTARY  REFORM.1 

(18590 

WE  shall  not  be  expected  to  discuss  in  a  party  spirit  the  subject 
of  parliamentary  reform.     It  has  never  been  objected  to  th< 
National  Review  that  it  is  a  party  organ  ;  and  even  periodical* 
which  have  long  been  such,  scarcely  now  discuss  that  subject 
in  a  party  spirit.     Both  Whigs  and  Conservatives  are  pled^ 
to  do  something,  and  neither  as  a  party  have  agreed  what  the] 
would  do.    We  would  attempt  to  give  an  impartial  criticism  oi 
the  electoral  system  which  now  exists,  and  some  indication  of 
the  mode  in  which  we  think  that  its  defects  should  be  amended. 
It  is  possible,  we  fear,  that  our  article  may  be  long,  and  that 
our  criticism  on  existing  arrangements  may  appear  tedious. 
But  a  preliminary  understanding  is  requisite ;  unless  we  are 
agreed  as  to  what  is  to  be  desired,  we  cannot  hope  to  agree  as 
to  what  is  to  be  done  :  a  clear  knowledge  of  the  disease  must 
precede  the  remedy.     In  business,  no  ingenuity  of  detail  can 
compensate  for  indistinctness  of  design. 

There  is  much  that  may  be  said  against  the  Reform  Act 
of  1832  ;  but,  on  the  whole,  it  has  been  successful.  It  is  a 
commonplace  to  speak  of  the  legislative  improvements  of  the 
last  twenty-five  years,  and  it  would  be  tedious  to  enumerate 
them.  Free  trade,  a  new  colonial  policy,  the  improved  poor- 

1  "  On  the  Electoral  Statistics  of  the  Counties  and  Boroughs  in  Eng- 
land and  Wales  during  the  Twenty-five  Years  from  the  Reform  Act  of  1832 
to  the  Present  Time."  By  William  Newmarch,  one  of  the  Honorary  Sec- 
retaries of  the  Statistical  Society.  Read  before  the  Statistical  Society,  i6th 
June,  1857,  and  printed  in  the  Journal  of  that  Society,  vol.  xx.,  parts  2 
and  3.  We  cannot  speak  too  highly  of  these  most  admirable  statistics. 
No  pains  have  been  spared  to  make  them  complete,  and  extreme  judgment 
has  been  shown  in  the  selection.  When  it  is  not  otherwise  stated,  all  our 
electoral  statistics  are  from  this  source. 

108 


PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  109 

law,  the  Encumbered  Estate  Act  in  Ireland,  the  tithe  commu- 
tation, municipal  reform,  the  tentative  but  most  judicious  sup- 
port of  education,  are  only  some  of  the  results  of  the  reform 
of  the  House  of  Commons.  Scarcely  less  important  is  the 
improvement  which  the  Reform  Bill  has  introduced  into  the 
general  tone  of  our  administration  ;  our  executive  has  become 
purer,  more  considerate,  and  more  humane,  and  it  would  be 
difficult  to  show  that  in  its  ordinary  and  beneficial  action  it  is 
much  weaker.  Nor  is  this  all.  So  much  of  agreement  in 
opinion  as  we  see  around  us  is  perhaps  unexampled  in  a  politi- 
cal age  ;  and  it  is  the  more  singular,  because  the  English  nation 
is  now  considerably  less  homogeneous  in  its  social  structure 
than  it  once  was.  The  prodigious  growth  of  manufactures  and 
trade  has  created  a  new  world  in  the  North  of  England,  which 
contrasts  with  the  south  in  social  circumstances  and  social 
habits :  yet  at  no  former  time  was  there  such  a  difference  as 
there  now  is  between  Lancashire  and  Devonshire.  It  is  im- 
possible not  to  ascribe  this  agreement  to  the  habit  of  national 
discussion  which  the  Reform  Act  has  fostered.  The  scattered 
argument,  the  imperfect  but  perpetual  influence  of  the  press 
and  society,  have  made  us,  perhaps  even  to  an  excessive  de- 
gree, unanimous.  Possibly  we  are  all  too  much  disposed  to 
catch  the  voice  which  is  in  the  air.  Still,  a  little  too  much 
concord  is  better  than  a  little  too  much  discord.  It  is  a  strik- 
ing result,  that  our  present  constitution  has  educed  from  such 
dissimilar  elements  so  much  of  harmony. 

Beneficial,  however,  as  are  these  incidental  results  of  the 
Reform  Bill,  they  are  not  the  most  important  parts  of  its 
success.  This  measure  has,  to  a  considerable  extent,  been 
successful  in  its  design.  The  object  which  its  framers  had  in 
view  was,  to  transfer  the  predominant  influence  in  the  State 
from  certain  special  classes  to  the  general  aggregate  of  fairly 
instructed  men.  It  is  not  perhaps  very  easy  to  prove  upon 
paper  that  this  has  been,  at  least  in  a  very  great  degree,  effected. 
The  most  difficult  thing  to  establish  by  argument  is  an  evident 
fact  of  observation.  There  are  no  statistics  of  opinion  to  which 
we  can  refer,  there  is  no  numerical  comparison  which  will 
establish  the  accordance  of  parliamentary  with  social  opinion. 


1 1 o  PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM 

We  must  trust  to  our  eyes  and  ears,  to  the  vague  but  conclu- 
sive evidence  of  events.  If,  indeed,  public  opinion  had  always 
been  as  unanimous  as  it  now  is,  we  should  have  some  difficulty 
in  ascertaining  the  fact.  When  everybody  thinks  the  same, 
there  is  no  saying  which  is  the  stronger  party.  But  during  the 
last  twenty-six  years  there  have  been  many  periods  at  which 
public  opinion  was  much  divided  and  strongly  excited.  The 
great  legislative  changes  which  have  been  mentioned  were  not 
effected  without  long  and  animated  party  dissension.  The 
policy  of  a  great  country  like  this  has  continually  required  the 
determination  of  critical  questions,  both  at  home  and  abroad  ; 
its  ramified  affairs  have  been  a  never-failing  source  of  contro- 
verted topics.  What  would  have  been  the  sign  if  the  expressed 
opinion  of  Parliament  had  been  contrary  to  the  distinct  opinion 
of  the  country  ?  In  the  present  state  of  the  country  we  should 
not  have  been  long  in  learning  it.  We  should  have  had 
political  meetings,  not  of  one  class  but  all  classes,  clouds  of 
petitions  from  every  quarter,  endless  articles  in  newspapers  ; 
the  cry  would  only  have  died  away  when  the  obnoxious  deci- 
sion was  reversed,  and  the  judgment  of  Parliament  submitted 
itself  to  the  will  of  the  nation.  The  inclination  of  the  House 
of  Commons  is  evidently  not  to  oppose  the  country.  On  the 
contrary,  we  all  know  the  power,  the  undue  power,  possessed 
by  that  part  of  the  press  whose  course  is  supposed  to  indicate 
what  is  likely  to  be  the  common  opinion.  So  far  from  our 
legislators  dissenting  too  often  from  the  expressed  judgment 
of  the  country,  they  are  but  too  much  swayed  by  indications 
of  what  it  probably  will  be.  The  history  of  our  great  legisla- 
tive changes  of  itself  shows  that  the  opinion  of  Parliament  is, 
in  the  main,  coincident  with  that  of  the  nation.  Parliament 
and  the  country  were  converted  at  the  same  time.  Even  the 
history  of  the  corn-law  agitation,  which  is  often  referred  to  as 
indicating  the  contrary,  proves  this  conspicuously.  It  suc- 
ceeded almost  at  the  moment  that  impartial  people,  who  had 
no  interests  on  either  side,  were  convinced  that  it  ought  to 
succeed.  Mr.  Cobden  liked  to  relate,  that  when  he  first  began 
to  dream  of  agitating  the  question,  a  most  experienced  noble- 
man observed  to  him,  "  Repeal  the  corn  laws  !  you  will  repeal 


PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  1 1 1 

the  monarchy  as  soon  ".  The  noble  lord  was  right  in  estimat- 
ing the  tenacity  and  intensity  of  the  protectionist  creed  ;  but 
he  did  not  know,  and  Mr.  Cobden  did,  the  power  of  plain 
argument  on  the  common  mass  of  plain  men,  and  the  certainty 
that  their  opinion,  if  really  changed,  would  suffice  to  change 
the  course  of  our  legislation,  even  in  opposition  to  strong  aris- 
tocratic influence  and  very  rooted  prejudice.  It  has  been  said 
that  Sir  Robert  Peel  owed  his  success  in  life  to  "  being  con- 
verted at  the  conversion  of  the  average  man  "  ;  the  same  in- 
fluences acted  on  his  mind  that  acted  on  the  minds  of  most 
other  people  throughout  the  nation,  and  in  much  the  same 
measure.  He  was,  therefore,  converted  to  new  views  at  the 
same  time  that  most  other  people  were  converted  to  them. 
The  same  may  be  said  of  the  present  Parliament.  Nobody 
would  call  the  reformed  House  of  Commons  original ;  it  is 
never  in  advance  of  the  higher  order  of  cultivated  thought : 
but  every  one  would  agree  that  it  is  pre-eminently  considerate, 
well-judging,  and  convincible  ;  and  when  people  say  this,  they 
mean  that  its  opinions  commonly  coincide  with  their  own. 

In  no  respect  is  the  reality  of  the  accordance  in  opinion 
between  Parliament  and  the  nation  so  convincingly  shown  as 
in  the  sympathy  of  Parliament  with  the  eccentricities  of  public 
opinion.  We  are  constantly  acknowledging  that  "  the  English 
mind  "  is  exclusively  occupied  with  single  questions ;  some- 
i  times  with  one,  and  sometimes  with  another,  but  at  each  time 
I  with  one  only.  If  Parliament  did  not  share  the  same  in-^ 
fluences  as  the  general  body  of  fairly  educated  men,  there 
would  every  now  and  then  be  a  remarkable  contrast  between 
the  subjects  which  interested  Parliament  and  that  which 
occupied  the  nation.  The  intensity  of  our  peculiar  sympathies 
make  this  more  likely.  Satirists  say  that  the  English  nation 
is  liable  to  intellectual  seizures ;  and  so  exclusive  and  so 
restless  is  our  intellectual  absorption,  so  sudden  its  coming, 
so  quick  sometimes  is  its  cessation,  that  there  is  some  signi- 
ficance in  the  phrase.  We  are  struck  with  particular  ideas, 
and  for  the  time  think  of  nothing  else.  It  will  be  found  that 
Parliament,  if  it  be  sitting,  thinks  of  the  same.  No  instance 
of  this  can  be  more  remarkable  than  the  parliamentary  pro- 


1 1 2  PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM 

ceedings  on  Mr.  Roebuck's  motion  for  an  inquiry  into  the 
conduct  of  the  Crimean  campaign.  There  was  great  excite- 
ment in  the  nation  at  the  moment ;  it  has  enabled  the  present 
generation  to  understand  what  historians  did  not  before  under- 
stand— the  fate  of  poor  Admiral  Byng.  The  English  nation 
cannot  bear  failure  in  war.  If  there  had  been  any  one  to  hanj 
at  the  time  Mr.  Roebuck  made  his  motion,  and  he  could 
been  hanged  directly,  certainly  he  would  have  been  hang* 
On  the  other  hand,  the  authority  of  statesmanlike  opinion  ii 
Parliament,  the  weight  of  political  connection,  the  legitimate 
disinclination  to  break  up  a  Government  during  a  dangerous 
crisis,  and — what  is  more  remarkable — the  great  preponder- 
ance of  sound  argument,  were  united  to  influence  Parliament 
not  to  grant  even  an  inquiry.  The  result  showed  that  the 
opinion  of  our  leading  statesmen  was  right,  and  that  the 
arguments  they  produced  were  incontrovertible.  Few  inves- 
tigations that  have  been  commenced  with  so  much  outcry  have 
ever  had  so  trivial  an  effect  Yet,  in  opposition  to  all  these 
influences,  usually  so  omnipotent, — in  opposition  to  the  com- 
bined force  of  personal  feeling  and  abstract  argument, — tl 
House  of  Commons  so  far  accurately  represented  the  senti 
ment  of  the  country  as  to  grant,  and  even  to  insist 
granting,  the  inquiry.  This  Parliamentary  episode  appears  to 
an  instantia  lucifera  on  the  subject ;  it  shows  that,  even  wh< 
we  could  wish  it  otherwise,  the  House  of  Commons  will  ech( 
the  voice  of  the  nation. 

After  all,  there  can  be  no  more  conclusive  evidence  of  tl 
substantial  agreement  between  Parliament  and  the  nation  tl 
the  slight  interest  which  is  taken  by  the  public  in  all  questions 
of  organic  reform.  Every  one  knows  how  the  Reform  Act  of 
1832  was  carried;  no  one  doubted  that  the  public  mind  was 
excited  then  ;  no  fair  person  could  doubt  what  the  de- 
cision of  the  nation  then  was.  The  "insurrection  of  the 
middle  classes,"  as  it  has  been  called,  insured  the  success  of 
the  "  Bill ".  It  was  alleged  by  its  most  reasonable  opponents 
"  that  the  measure  could  not  be  final ;  that  those  on  whom  it- 
was  proposed  to  confer  the  franchise  would,  even  after  the 
passing  of  the  measure,  be  but  small  in  comparison  with  the 


PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  1 1 3 

from  whom  it  would  be  still  withheld ;  that  in  a  few  years  a 
similar  agitation  would  recur,  and  a  similar  necessity  of 
yielding  to  agitation  ;  that  the  storm  of  1832  would  be  a  feeble 
prelude  to  that  of  1842,"  etc.  These  prophecies  were  not 
without  a  species  of  probability,  but  they  have  not  been 
realised.  No  excited  multitude  clamours  for  enfranchisement ; 
the  reality  is  the  reverse  of  the  anticipation. 

Two  defects,  however,  may  be  discerned   in  the  general 
accordance   of  Parliamentary   with    national    opinion.      The 
Parliament  certainly  has  an  undue  bias  towards  the  sentiments 
and  views  of  the  landed  interest.     It  is  not  easy  to  trace  this 
in  immediate  results.     We  have  said  that  we  scarcely  think 
that  it  is  proved  by  the  history  of  the  free-trade  agitation ;  that 
agitation  was   successful,   nearly  if  not  quite,   as   soon  as  it 
should  have  been.     We  may,  indeed,  speculate  on  the  results 
!  which    might    have   occurred    if  the    Irish    famine   had   not 
I  happened,  and  if  Sir  R.  Peel  had  not  formed  a  statesmanlike 
|  judgment  upon  its  consequences ;    we  may  believe  that  there 
'would   in  that  case  have   been    an    opposition    between    an 
educated  nation  converted  by  reasoning  to  the  principles  of 
free  trade,   and  a  majority  in  Parliament  wedded    by    pre- 
judice and  interest  to  protection.     Still,  as  this   is  but  con- 
jecture, we  cannot  cite  it  as  conclusive  evidence.     Nor  is  the 
partiality  to  real  property  in  matters  of  taxation   which   is 
i  occasionally  dwelt  on,  very  easy  to  prove  in  figures.     The 
account  is  at  best  a  complicated  one.     The  exemption  of  land 
from  probate  duty  is  partly  compensated  by  the  succession 
duty,  by  the  land-tax,  by  the   more  severe  pressure  of  the 
income-tax,  and  still  more  by  the  necessary  incidence  of  much 
local  taxation  on  this  kind  of  property.     Still,  a  fair  observer, 
closely  comparing  the  opinion  of  the  House  of  Commons  with 
that  of  the  public  out  of  doors,  will  certainly  observe  some 
signs  of  a  partiality  towards  the  landed  interest  among  our 
legislators.    We  cannot  ascribe  this  to  any  obvious  preponder- 
ance in  number  of  the  county  over  the  borough  seats.    Taking 
population  as  a  test,  it  is  otherwise.    There  are  in  England  and 
Wales  159  county  members,  more  than  double  that  number 
(viz.  335)  of  borough  members;  the  population  of  the  repre- 
VOL.  III.  8 


1 14  PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM 

sented  boroughs  is  7,500,000,  that  of  the  counties  10,500,000, 
consequently  the  represented  boroughs  have  not  as  many 
inhabitants  as  the  counties,  though  they  elect  twice  the  numl 
of  members.  This  test  is,  of  course,  a  most  imperfect  one ; 
but  may  serve  to  show  that  in  mere  arithmetic  the  counties 
are  not  extravagantly  favoured.  The  real  cause  is  the  peculiar 
structure  of  our  county  society.  A  county  member  is  almost 
of  necessity  one  of  the  county  gentry ;  he  must  not  onb 
possess  land,  but  it  must  be  land  in  that  place :  no  one  else  is 
"entitled  to  stand".  On  the  other  hand,  boroughs  return  a 
very  miscellaneous  class  of  members.  Many  important  land- 
owners sit  for  them.  So  great  is  the  variety,  that  no  class  is 
excluded  from  them  altogether.  This  contrast  must  affect  the 
distribution  of  parliamentary  power.  The  county  members 
form  a  peculiar  class  in  the  House  of  Commons,  and  exercise  a 
steady  influence  there  out  of  proportion  to  their  mere  numbers. 
Besides,  so  much  more  of  social  influence  belongs  to  the 
^territorial  aristocracy  than  to  any  other  class,  that  its  weight 
is  indefinitely  increased.  Not  a  few  men  enter  Parliament 
mainly  to  augment  their  social  importance,  and  over  these  the 
unquestioned  possessors  of  social  rank  necessarily  have  great 
power.  A  third  circumstance  contributes  its  effect.  The 
Ministers  of  the  Crown  are  generally  large  landowners.  By 
imperious  social  usage,  they  must  be  men  of  large  property ; 
and  all  opulence  gravitates  towards  the  land.  Political  opul- 
ence does  so  particularly.  Until  recently  there  was  much 
difficulty  in  finding  other  investments  not  requiring  sedulous 
personal  attention,  and  not  liable  to  be  affected  by  political 
vicissitudes.  It  is  of  essential  importance  that  Ministers  of 
State  should  be  persons  at  ease  in  their  worldly  circumstances, 
and  it  is  quite  out  of  the  question  that  they  should  have  any 
share  in  the  administration  of  commercial  enterprises ;  they 
have  enough  to  do  without  that  Their  wealth,  too,  should 
not  be  in  a  form  that  could  expose  them  even  to  the  suspicion 
of  stock-jobbing,  or  of  making  an  improper  use  of  political 
information.  We  have  now  many  kinds  of  property  deben- 
tures, canal  shares,  railway  shares,  etc.,  which  have  these 
advantages  in  nearly  an  equal  degree  with  land  itself;  but 


PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  1 1 5 

the  growth  of  these  is  recent.  It  may  hereafter  have  im- 
portant consequences,  but  it  has  not  as  yet  had  time  to  achieve 
them.  Accordingly  the  series  of  Cabinet  Ministers  presents  a 
nearly  unbroken  rank  of  persons  who  either  are  themselves 
large  landowners,  or  are  connected  closely  by  birth  or  inter- 
marriage with  large  landowners.  This  combination  of  cir- 
cumstances gives  to  real  property  an  influence  in  our  political 
system  greater  than  in  strict  theory  we  should  wish  it  to  have. 
It  is  true  that  the  owners  of  much  land  are  men  of  much 
leisure,  and  the  possession  of  such  property  has  a  sedative 
influence,  which  in  moderation  may  not  be  undesirable ;  but 
the  effective  representation  of  national  opinion  requires  the 
selection  of  members  of  Parliament  from  men  of  various 
occupations,  various  tendencies,  and  various  sympathies.  Public 
opinion  in  a  composite  nation  is  formed  by  the  action  and  re- 
action of  many  kinds  of  minds ;  and  abstractedly  it  seems  a 
defect  that  the  solid  mass  of  county  members,  on  whatever 
side  of  the  house  they  sit,  should  present  features  so  marked 
and  uniform. 

The  second  defect  in  the  accordance  of  Parliamentary  with 
national  opinion  is  but  another  phase  of  the  same  fact.  Too 
little  weight  is  at  present  given  to  the  growing  parts  of  the 
country,  too  much  to  the  stationary.  It  appears  that  the 
county  constituencies  in  England  and  Wales  have  only  in- 
creased, in  the  twenty  years  between  1837  and  1857,  from 
473,000  to  505,000,  that  is,  at  about  6  per  cent.  ;  the  borough 
constituencies,  in  the  same  period,  have  increased  from  321,000 
to  439,000,  or  at  the  rate  of  17  per  cent.  And  it  further 
appears,  as  we  should  expect,  that  the  principal  increase, 
both  in  the  case  of  counties  and  boroughs,  is  not  in  the  purely 
agricultural  districts,  but  in  the  great  scenes  of  manufacturing 
industry  and  in  the  metropolis.  The  growth  of  constituencies, 
according  to  the  present  franchise,  is  a  much  better  test  of 
relative  importance  than  the  mere  growth  of  population ;  it 
indicates  the  increase  of  property,  and  therefore  of  presumable 
intelligence.  These  figures  plainly  indicate,  if  not  an  existing 
defect,  yet  a  source  of  future  defect  in  our  representative  sys- 
tem. If  there  was  a  just  proportion  between  the  two  halves 

8* 


1 1 6  PARLIAMENTAR  V  REFORM 

of  England  in   1832,  there  is  not  that  just  proportion  now. 
In  the  long  run,  public  opinion  will  be  much  more  influenced 
by  the  growing  portion  of  the  country  than  by  the  stationary. 
It  is  an  indistinct  perception  of  this  fact  that  stimulates  whj 
ever   agitation    for    reform    at    present    exists.     The    mam 
facturers  of  Leeds  and  Manchester  do  not  give  levees  anc 
entertainments  to   Mr.  Bright  from    any  attraction    towai 
abstract    democracy;    the    rate-paying   franchise    which    Mi 
Bright  desires  would  place  these  classes  under  the  irresistibl 
control  of  their  work-people.     What  our  great  traders  realb 
desire  is,  their  own  due  weight  in  the  community.     They  fee 
that  the  country  squire  and  the  proprietor  of  a  petty  borough 
have  an  influence  in  the  nation  above  that  which  they  ought 
to  have,  and  greater  than  their  own.     A  system  arranged  a 
quarter  of  a  century  ago  presses  with  irritating  constraint  on 
those  who  have  improved  with  half-magical  rapidity  during 
that  quarter  of  a  century, — is  unduly  favourable  to  those  who 
have  improved  much  less  or  not  at  all. 

Subject,  however,  to  these  two  exceptions,  the  House  of 
Commons  of  the  present  day  coincides  nearly — or  sufficiently 
nearly — in  habitual  judgment  with  the  fairly  intelligent  and 
reasonably  educated  part  of  the  community.  Almost  all 
persons,  except  the  avowed  holders  of  the  democratic  theory, 
would  think  that  this  is  enough.  Most  people  wish  to  see 
embodied  in  Parliament  the  true  judgment  of  the  nation  ;  they 
wish  to  see  an  elected  legislature  fairly  representing — that  is, 
coinciding  in  opinion  with — the  thinking  part  of  the  com- 
munity. What  more,  they  would  inquire,  is  wanted  ?  We 
answer,  that  though  this  is  by  much  the  most  important  j 
requisite  of  a  good  popular  legislature,  it  is  not  absolutely  the  I 
only  one. 

At  present,  the  most  important  function  of  the  representa-  \ 
tive  part  of  our  legislature — the  House  of  Commons — is  the! 
ruling  function.  By  a  very  well-known  progress  of  events,  j 
the  popular  part  of  our  constitution  has  grown  out  of  very 
small  beginnings  to  a  practical  sovereignty  over  all  the  other 
parts.  To  possess  the  confidence  of  the  House  of  Commons 
is  all  that  a  Minister  desires;  the  power  of  the  Crown  is, 


PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  1 1 7 

reduced  to  a  kind  of  social  influence ;  that  of  the  House  of 
Lords  is  contracted  to  a  suspensive  veto.  For  the  exercise 
of  this  ruling  function,  the  substantial  conformity  of  the 
judgment  and  opinion  of  the  House  of  Commons  with  that 
of  the  fairly  cultivated  and  fairly  influential  part  of  the  people 
at  large  is  the  most  important  of  possible  conditions — is,  in 
fact,  the  one  condition  on  which  the  satisfactory  performance 
of  that  function  appears  to  depend.  No  legislature  destitute 
of  this  qualification,  whatever  its  other  merits  may  be,  can 
create  that  feeling  of  diffused  satisfaction  which  is  the  peculiar 
happiness  of  constitutional  countries,  or  can  ensure  that  distinct 
comprehension  of  a  popular  policy  which  is  the  greatest  source 
of  their  strength.  Nothing  can  satisfy  which  is  not  com- 
prehended :  no  policy  can  be  popular  which  is  not  understood. 
This  is  a  truth  of  every-day  observation.  We  are,  nowadays, 
so  familiar  with  the  beneficial  results  of  the  ruling  action  of 
Parliament,  that  we  are  engrossed  by  it ;  we  fancy  that  it  is 
the  sole  duty  of  a  representative  assembly :  yet  so  far  is  this 
from  being  the  case,  that  in  England  it  was  not  even  the 
original  one. 

The  earliest  function  of  a  House  of  Commons  was  un- 
deniably what  we  may  call  an  expressive  function.  In  its 
origin  it  was  (matters  of  taxation  excepted)  a  petitioning 
body ;  all  the  early  statutes,  as  is  well  known,  are  in  this  form  : 
the  Petition  of  Right  is  an  instance  of  its  adoption  in  times 
comparatively  recent  The  function  of  the  popular  part  of 
the  legislature  was  then  to  represent  to  the  king  the  wants  of 
his  faithful  Commons.  They  were  called  to  express  the  feelings 
of  those  who  sent  them  and  their  own.  Of  course,  in  its 
original  form,  this  function  is  obsolete ;  and  if  something  an- 
alogous to  it  were  not  a  needful  element  in  the  duties  of  every 
representative  assembly,  it  would  be  childish  to  refer  to  it. 
But  in  every  free  country  it  is  of  the  utmost  importance — and, 
in  the  long  run,  a  pressing  necessity — that  all  opinions  ex- 
tensively entertained,  all  sentiments  widely  diffused  should  be 
stated  publicly  before  the  nation.  We  may  attribute  the  real 
decision  of  questions,  the  actual  adoption  of  policies,  to  the 
ordinary  and  fair  intelligence  of  the  community,  or  to  the 


1 1 8  PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM 

legislature  which  represents  it.  But  we  must  also  take  care  to 
bring  before  that  fair  intelligence  and  that  legislature  the  senti- 
ments, the  interests,  the  opinions,  the  prejudices,  the  wants,  of 
all  classes  of  the  nation ;  we  must  be  sure  that  no  decision  is 
come  to  in  ignorance  of  real  facts  and  intimate  wants.  The 
diffused  multitude  of  moderate  men,  whose  opinions,  taken  in 
the  aggregate,  form  public  opinion,  are  just  as  likely  to 
tyrannical  towards  what  they  do  not  realise,  inapprehensive 
what  is  not  argued  out,  thoughtless  of  what  is  not  brought 
before  them,  as  any  other  class  can  be.  They  will  judge  well 
of  what  they  are  made  to  understand  ;  they  will  not  be  harsh 
to  feelings  that  are  brought  home  to  their  imagination ;  but 
the  materials  of  a  judgment  must  be  given  them,  the  necessary 
elements  of  imagination  must  be  provided,  otherwise  the  result 
is  certain.  A  free  government  is  the  most  stubbornly  stupid 
of  all  governments  to  whatever  is  unheard  by  its  deciding 
classes.  On  this  account  it  is  of  the  utmost  importance  that 
there  should  be  in  the  House  of  Commons  some  persons  able 
to  speak,  and  authorised  to  speak,  the  wants,  sentiments,  and 
opinions  of  every  section  of  the  community — delegates,  one 
might  almost  say,  of  that  section.  It  is  only  by  argument  in 
the  legislature  that  the  legislature  can  be  impressed ;  it  is  by 
argument  in  the  legislature  that  the  attention  of  the  nation  is 
most  easily  attracted  and  most  effectually  retained. 

If,  with  the  light  of  this  principle,  we  examine  our  present 
system  of  representation,  it  seems  unquestionable  that  it  is 
defective.  We  do  not  provide  any  mode  of  expression  for  the 
sentiments  of  what  are  vaguely  but  intelligibly  called  the  work- 
ing classes.  We  ignore  them.  The  Reform  Act  of  1832 
assumed  that  it  was  expedient  to  give  a  representation  to  the 
wants  and  feelings  of  those  who  live  in  ten-pound  houses,  but 
that  it  was  not  expedient  to  give  any  such  expression  to  the 
wants  and  feelings  of  those  who  live  in  houses  rated  below  that 
sum.  If  we  were  called  to  consider  that  part  of  this  subject, 
we  should  find  much  to  excuse  the  framers  of  that  Act  in  the 
state  of  opinion  which  then  prevailed  and  the  general  circum- 
stances of  the  time.  It  was  necessary  to  propose  a  simple 
measure;  and  this  numerical  demarcation  has  a  trenchant 


5 


PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  1 1 9 

simplicity.  But  if  we  now  considerately  review  our  electoral 
organisation,  we  must  concede  that,  however  perfectly  it  may 
provide  an  appropriate  regulator  for  our  national  affairs,  it 
omits  to  provide  a  befitting  organ  of  expression  for  the  desires 
and  convictions  of  these  particular  classes. 

The  peculiar  characteristics  of  a  portion  of  the  working 
classes  render  this  omission  of  special  importance.     The  agri- 
cultural labourers  may  have  no  sentiments  on  public  affairs ; 
but  the  artisan  classes  have.     Not  only  are  their  circumstances 
peculiar,  and  their  interests  sometimes  different  from  those  of 
the  high  orders  of  the  community — both  which  circumstances 
are  likely  to  make  them  adopt  special  opinions,  and  are  there- 
fore grounds  for  a  special  representation — but  the  habit  of 
mind  which  their  pursuits  and  position  engender  is  of  itself 
not  unlikely  to  cause  some  eccentricity  of  judgment.     Ob- 
servers tell  us  that  those  who  live  by  manual  ingenuity  are 
more  likely  to  be  remarkable  for  originality  than  for  modesty. 
In  the  present  age — and  to  some  extent,  we  must  expect,  in 
every  age — such  persons  must  be  self-taught ;  and  self-taught 
men  are  commonly  characterised  by  a  one-sided  energy  and 
something  of  a  self-sufficient  disposition.     The  sensation  of 
perfection  in  a  mechanical  employment  is  of  itself  not  without 
an  influence  tending  towards  conceit ;  and  however  instructed 
in  definite  learning  energetic  men  in  these  classes  may  become, 
they  are  not  subjected  to  the  insensible  influences  of  cultivated 
life,  they  do  not  live  in  the  temperate  zone  of  society,  which 
soon  chills  the  fervid  ideas  of  unseasonable  originality.     Being 
cooped  up  within  the  narrow  circle  of  ideas  that  their  own 
energy  has  provided,  they  are  particularly  liable  to  singular 
opinions.     This  is  especially  the  case  on  politics.     They  are 
attracted  to  that  subject  in  a  free  country  of  necessity ;  their 
active  intellects  are  in  search  of  topics  for  reflection ;  and  this 
subject  abounds  in  the  very  atmosphere  of  our  national  life,  is 
diffused  in  newspapers,  obtruded  at  elections,  to  be  heard  at 
every  corner  of  the  street.     Energetic  minds  in  this  class  are 
therefore  particularly  likely  to  entertain  eccentric  opinions  on 
political  topics  ;  and  it  is  peculiarly  necessary  that  such  opinions 
should,   by  some  adequate   machinery,   be  stated  and   made 


1 20  PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM 

public.  If  such  singular  views  be  brought  into  daily  collision 
with  ascertained  facts  and  the  ordinary  belief  of  cultivated 
men,  their  worth  can  be  tested,  the  weakness  of  their  fallacious 
part  exposed,  any  new  grain  of  truth  they  may  contain  ap- 
preciated. On  some  subjects  (possibly,  for  example,  on  simple 
questions  of  foreign  policy)  the  views  of  self-taught  men  may 
be  very  valuable,  for  their  moral  instincts  sometimes  have  a 
freshness  rarely  to  be  found.  At  any  rate,  whatever  may  be  the 
abstract  value  of  the  special  sentiments  and  convictions  of  the 
operative  classes,  their  very  speciality  is  a  strong  indication 
that  our  constitution  is  defective  in  providing  no  distinct  out- 
let for  their  expression. 

A  theorist  might  likewise  be  inclined  to  argue  that  the 
Reform  Act  of  1832  was  defective  in  not  providing  an  appro- 
priate organ  for  the  expression  of  opinion  of  the  higher  orders 
of  society.  It  selects  a  ten-pound  householder  for  special 
favour.  In  large  towns,  nay  to  a  certain  extent  in  any  town, 
the  more  cultivated  and  refined  classes,  who  live  in  better 
houses  than  these,  are  practically  disfranchised ;  the  number 
of  their  inferiors  renders  valueless  the  suffrage  conferred  on 
them.  We  remember  some  years  ago  hearing  a  conversation 
between  a  foreigner  and  a  most  accomplished  Englishman,  who 
lived  in  Russell  Square.  The  foreigner  was  expatiating  on  the 
happiness  of  English  people  in  being  governed  by  a  legislature 
in  which  they  were  represented.  The  Russell-Square  scholar 
replied,  "/  am  represented  by  Mr.  Wakley  and  Tom  Dun- 
combe  ".  He  felt  the  scorn  natural  to  a  cultivated  man  in  a 
metropolitan  constituency  at  the  supposition  that  such  repre- 
sentatives as  these  really  expressed  his  views  and  sentiments. 
We  know  how  constantly  in  America,  which  is  something  like 
a  nation  of  metropolitan  constituencies,  the  taste  and  temper 
of  the  electors  excludes  the  more  accomplished  and  leisured 
classes  from  the  legislature,  and  how  vulgar  a  stamp  the  taste 
and  temper  of  those  elected  impresses  on  the  proceedings  of 
its  legislature  and  the  conduct  of  its  administration.  Men  of 
refinement  shrink  from  the  House  of  Representatives  as  from 
a  parish  vestry.  In  England,  though  we  feel  this  in  some 
measure,  we  feel  it  much  less.  Other  parts  of  our  electoral 


PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  1 2 1 

system  now  afford  a  refuge  to  that  refined  cultivation  which  is 
hateful  to  and  hates  the  grosser  opinion  of  the  small  shop- 
keepers in  cities.  Our  higher  classes  still  desire  to  rule  the 
nation  ;  and  so  long  as  this  is  the  case,  the  inherent  tendencies 
of  human  nature  secure  them  the  advantage.  Manner  and 
bearing  have  an  influence  on  the  poor ;  the  nameless  charm  of 
refinement  tells;  personal  confidence  is  almost  everywhere 
more  easily  accorded  to  one  of  the  higher  classes  than  to  one 
of  the  lower  classes.  From  this  circumstance,  there  is  an  in- 
herent tendency  in  any  electoral  system  which  does  not  vulgar- 
ise the  government,  to  protect  the  rich  and  to  represent  the 
rich.  Though  by  the  letter  of  the  law,  a  man  who  lives  in  a 
house  assessed  at  £10  has  an  equal  influence  on  the  constitu- 
tion of  the  legislature  with  a  man  whose  house  is  assessed  at 
£100,  yet,  in  truth,  the  richer  man  has  the  security  that  the 
members  of  Parliament,  and  especially  the  foremost  members 
of  Parliament,  are  much  more  likely  to  be  taken  from  this  class 
than  from  a  poorer  class. 

We  may  therefore  conclude  that  there  is  not  any  ground 
for  altering  the  electoral  system  established  by  the  Reform  Act 
of  1832  on  account  of  its  not  providing  for  the  due  represen- 
tation of  the  more  cultivated  classes.  Indirectly  it  does  so. 
But  we  must  narrowly  watch  any  changes  in  that  system  which 
are  proposed  to  us,  with  the  view  of  seeing  whether  their 
operation  might  not  have  a  tendency  to  impair  the  subtle  work- 
ing of  this  indirect  machinery.  We  must  bear  in  mind  that 
the  practical  disfranchisement  of  the  best  classes  is  the  ascer- 
tained result  of  giving  an  equal  weight  to  high  and  low  in  con- 
stituencies like  the  metropolitan. 

These  considerations  do  not  affect  our  previous  conclusion  as 
to  the  lower  orders.  We  ascertained  that,  however  perfectly 
the  House  of  Commons  under  the  present  system  of  election 
may  coincide  in  judgment  with  the  fairly  educated  classes  of 
the  country,  and  however  competent  it  may  on  that  account 
be  to  perform  the  ruling  function  of  a  popular  legislature,  it 
was  nevertheless  defective  in  its  provision  for  the  performance 
of  the  expressive  functions  of  such  a  legislature  ;  because  it  pro- 
vided no  organ  for  informing  Parliament  and  the  country  of 


1 2  2  PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM 

the  sentiments  and  opinions  of  the  working,  and  especially  of 
the  artisan  classes. 

Another  deficiency  in  the  system  of  representation  now 
existing  is  of  a  different  nature.  It  is  not  only  desirable  that  a 
popular  legislature  should  be  fitted  to  the  discharge  of  its  duties, 
but  also  that  it  should  be  elected  by  a  process  which  occasions 
no  unnecessary  moral  evils.  A  theorist  would  be  inclined 
to  advance  a  step  further.  He  would  require  that  a  popular 
assembly  should  be  elected  in  the  mode  which  would  diffuse 
the  instruction  given  by  the  habitual  possession  of  the  fran- 
chise among  the  greatest  number  of  competent  persons,  and 
which  would  deny  it  to  the  greatest  number  of  unfit  persons. 
But  every  reasonable  theorist  would  hasten  to  add,  that  the 
end  must  never  be  sacrificed  to  the  means.  The  mode  of  elec- 
tion which  is  selected  must  be  one  which  will  bring  together 
an  assembly  of  members  fitted  to  discharge  the  functions  of 
Parliament.  Among  those  modes  of  election,  this  theoretical 
principle  prescribes  the  rule  of  choice ;  but  we  must  not,  under 
its  guidance,  attempt  to  travel  beyond  the  circle  of  those  modes. 
A  practical  statesman  will  be  very  cautious  how  he  destroys  a 
machinery  which  attains  its  essential  object,  for  the  sake  of  an 
incidental  benefit  which  might  be  expected  from  a  different 
machinery.  If  we  have  a  good  legislature,  he  will  say,  let  us 
not  endanger  its  goodness  for  the  sake  of  a  possible  diffusion 
of  popular  education.  All  sensible  men  would  require  that  the 
advocates  of  such  a  measure  should  show  beyond  all  reasonable 
doubt  that  the  extension  of  the  suffrage,  which  they  recommend 
on  this  secondary  ground,  should  not  impair  the  attainment  of 
the  primary  end  for  which  all  suffrage  was  devised.  At  the 
present  moment,  there  certainly  are  many  persons  of  substantial 
property  and  good  education  who  do  not  possess  the  franchise, 
and  to  whom  it  would  be  desirable  to  give  it,  if  they  could  be 
distinguished  from  others  who  are  not  so  competent.  A  man 
of  the  highest  education,  who  does  not  reside  in  a  borough, 
may  have  large  property  in  the  funds,  in  railway  shares,  or  any 
similar  investment ;  but  he  will  have  no  vote  unless  his  house 
is  rated  above  £50.  But,  as  we  have  said,  we  must  not,  from 
a  theoretical  desire  to  include  such  persons  in  our  list  of  electors, 


PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  1 2  3 

run  a  risk  of  admitting  also  any  large  number  of  persons  who 
would  be  unfit  to  vote,  and  thereby  impairing  the  practical 
utility  of  Parliament.  No  such  hesitation  should,  however, 
hold  us  back  when  peculiar  moral  evils  can  be  proved  to  arise 
from  a  particular  mode  of  election.  If  that  be  so,  we  ought  on 
the  instant  to  make  the  most  anxious  search  for  some  other 
mode  of  election  not  liable  to  the  same  objection  :  we  ought  to 
run  some  risk  ;  if  another  mode  of  election  can  be  suggested, 
apparently  equal  in  efficiency,  which  would  not  produce  the 
same  evils,  we  should  adopt  it  at  once  in  place  of  the  other. 
We  must  act  on  the  spirit  of  faith  that  what  is  morally  wrong 
cannot  be  politically  right 

This  objection  applies  in  the  strongest  manner  to  one 
portion  of  our  electoral  system,  namely,  the  smaller  borough 
constituencies.  We  there  entrust  the  franchise  to  a  class  of 
persons  few  enough  to  be  bought,  and  not  respectable 
enough  to  refuse  to  be  bought.  The  disgraceful  exposures 
of  some  of  these  boroughs  before  election  committees  make 
it  probable  that  the  same  abuses  exist  in  others :  doubtless, 
too,  we  do  not  know  the  worst.  The  worst  constituencies 
are  slow  to  petition,  because  the  local  agents  of  both  parties 
are  aware  of  what  would  come  to  light,  and  fear  the  conse- 
quent penalties.  Enough,  however,  is  in  evidence  for  us  to 
act  upon.  Some  of  these  small  boroughs  are  dependent  on 
some  great  nobleman  or  man  of  fortune;  and  this  state  is 
perhaps  preferable  to  their  preserving  a  vicious  independence : 
but  even  this  state  is  liable  to  very  many  objections.  It  is 
most  advantageous  that  the  nominal  electors  should  be  the 
real  electors.  Legal  fictions  have  a  place  in  courts  of  law  ;  it 
is  sometimes  better  or  more  possible  to  strain  venerable 
maxims  beyond  their  natural  meaning  than  to  limit  them  by 
special  enactment :  but  legal  fictions  are  very  dangerous  in 
the  midst  of  popular  institutions  and  a  genuine  moral  excite- 
ment. We  speak  day  by  day  of  "  shams";  and  the  name 
will  be  for  ever  applied  to  modes  of  election  which  pretend  to 
entrust  the  exclusive  choice  to  those  who  are  known  by  every- 
body never  to  choose.  The  Reform  Act  of  1832  was  dis- 
tinctly founded  on  the  principle  that  all  modes  of  election 
should  be  real. 


1 24  PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM 

We  arrive,  therefore,  at  the  result  that  the  system  of  1832 
is  defective,  because  it  established,  or  rather  permitted  to 
continue,  moral  evils  which  it  is  our  duty  to  remove,  if  by 
possibility  they  can  be  removed.  However,  in  that  removal 
we  must  be  careful  to  watch  exactly  what  we  are  doing.  It 
has  been  shown  that  the  letter  of  the  Reform  Act  makes  no 
provision  for  the  special  representation  of  wealth  and  cultiva- 
tion ;  the  representation  which  they  have  is  attained  by  indirect 
means.  The  purchasable  boroughs  are  undoubtedly  favourable 
to  wealth ;  the  hereditary  boroughs  to  men  of  hereditary  culti- 
vation ;  and  we  should  be  careful  riot  to  impair  unnecessarily 
the  influence  of  these  elements  by  any  alteration  we  may 
resolve  upon. 

We  can  now  decide  on  the  result  which  we  should  try  to 
attain  in  a  new  Reform  Bill.  If  we  could  obtain  a  House  of 
Commons  that  should  be  well  elected,  that  should  contain 
true  and  adequate  exponents  of  all  .class  interests,  that  should 
coincide  in  opinion  with  the  fair  intelligence  of  the  country, 
we  shall  have  all  which  we  ought  to  desire.  We  have  satisfied 
ourselves  that  we  do  not  possess  all  these  advantages  now ; 
we  have  seen  that  a  part  of  our  system  of  election  is  grossly 
defective ;  that  our  House  of  Commons  contains  no  adequate 
exponents  of  the  views  of  the  working  classes ;  that  though 
its  judgment  has,  as  yet,  fairly  coincided  with  public  opinion, 
yet  that  its  constitution  gives  a  dangerous  preponderance  to 
the  landed  interest,  and  is  likely  to  fail  us  hereafter  unless  an 
additional  influence  be  given  to  the  more  growing  and  energetic 

L  classes  of  society. 
We  should  think  it  more  agreeable  (and  perhaps  it  would 
be  so  to  most  of  our  readers)  if  we  were  able  at  once  to  pro- 
ceed to  discuss  the  practical  plan  by  which  these  objects 
might  be  effected ;  but  in  deference  to  a  party  which  has  some 
zealous  adherents,  and  to  principles  which,  in  an  indistinct 
shape,  are  widely  diffused,  we  must  devote  a  few  remarks  to 
the  consideration  of  the  ultra-democratic  theory ;  and  as  we 
have  to  do  so,  it  will  be  convenient  to  discuss  in  connection 
with  it  one  or  two  of  the  schemes  which  the  opponents  of  that 
theory  have  proposed  for  testing  political  intelligence, 


PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  1 2  5 

As  is  well  known,  the  democratic  theory  requires  that 
Parliamentary  representation  should  be  proportioned  to  mere 
numbers.  This  is  not,  indeed,  the  proposition  which  is  at 
this  moment  put  forward.  The  most  important  section  of 
democratic  reformers  now  advocate  a  ratepaying  or  household 
franchise ;  but  this  is  either  avowedly  as  a  step  to  something 
further,  or  because  from  considerations  of  convenience  it  is 
considered  better  to  give  the  franchise  only  to  those  whose 
residences  can  be  identified.  But  it  is  easy  to  show  that  the 
ratepaying  franchise  is  almost  equally  liable  with  the  man- 
hood suffrage  to  a  most  important  objection.  That  objection, 
of  course,  is  that  the  adoption  of  the  scheme  would  give  / 
entire  superiority  to  the  lower  part  of  the  community.  No- 
thing is  easier  than  to  show  that  a  ratepaying  franchise  would 
have  that  effect.  In  England  and  Wales — 

The  number  of  houses  assessed  at  ,£10  and  above 

is  computed  to  be    .         .         .         .         .         .  990,000 

„                    at  ,£6  and  under  ;£  10  572,000 

„             „                     under  £6  .         .         .  1,713,°°° 

3,275,000 

More  than  half  the  persons  who  would  be  admitted  by  the 
ratepaying  franchise  are,  therefore,  of  a  very  low  order,  living 
in  houses  under  £6  rent,  and  two-thirds  are  below  £10,  the 
lowest  qualification  admitted  by  the  present  law.  It  therefore 
seems  quite  certain  that  the  effect  of  the  proposed  innovation 
must  be  very  favourable  to  ignorance  and  poverty,  and  very 
unfavourable  to  cultivation  and  intelligence. 

There  used  to  be  much  argument  in  favour  of  the  demo- 
cratic theory,  on  the  ground  of  its  supposed  conformity  with 
the  abstract  rights  of  man.  This  has  j>assed  away ;  but  we 
cannot  say  that  the  reasons  by  which  it  has  been  replaced  are 
more  distinct :  we  think  that  they  are  less  distinct.  We  can 
understand  that  an  enthusiast  should  maintain,  on  fancied 
grounds  of  immutable  morality,  or  from  an  imaginary  con- 
formity with  a  supernatural  decree,  that  the  ignorant  should 
govern  the  instructed ;  but  we  do  not  comprehend  how  any 
one  can  maintain  the  proposition  on  grounds  of  expediency. 
We  might  believe  that  it  was  right  to  submit  to  the  results  of 


1 26  PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM 

such  a  polity  ;  but  those  results,  it  would  seem,  must  be  be- 
yond controversy  pernicious.  The  arguments  from  expediency, 
which  are  supposed  to  establish  the  proposition,  are  never  set 
forth  very  clearly  ;  and  we  do  not  think  them  worth  confuting. 
We  are,  indeed,  disposed  to  believe,  in  spite  of  much  direct 
assertion  to  the  contrary,  that  the  democratic  theory  still  rests 
not  so  much  on  reason  as  on  a  kind  of  sentiment — on  an 
obscure  conception  of  abstract  rights.  The  animation  of  its 
advocates  is  an  indication  of  it.  They  think  they  are  contend- 
ing for  the  "  rights  "  of  the  people  ;  and  they  endeavour  to 
induce  the  people  to  believe  so  too.  We  hold  this  opinion  the 
more  strongly,  because  we  believe  that  there  is  such  a  thing, 
after  all,  as  abstract  right  in  political  organisations.  We  find 
it  impossible  to  believe  that  all  the  struggles  of  men  for  liberty 
— all  the  enthusiasm  it  has  called  forth,  all  the  passionate  emo- 
tions it  has  caused  in  the  very  highest  minds,  all  the  glow  of 
thought  and  rustle  of  obscure  feeling  which  the  very  name 
excites  in  the  whole  mass  of  men — have  their  origin  in  calcu- 
lations of  advantage  and  a  belief  that  such  and  such  arrange- 
ments would  be  beneficial.  The  masses  of  men  are  very  difficult 
to  excite  on  bare  grounds  of  self-interest ;  most  easy  if  a  bold 
orator  tells  them  confidently  they  are  wronged.  The  foundation 
of  government  upon  simple  utility  is  but  the  fiction  of  philoso- 
phers ;  it  has  never  been  acceptable  to  the  natural  feelings  of 
mankind.  There  is  far  greater  truth  in  the  formula  of  the  French 
writers  that  "  le  droit  derive  de  la  capacitc".  Some  sort  of 
feeling  akin  to  this  lurks,  we  believe,  in  the  minds  of  our  re- 
formers ;  they  think  they  can  show  that  some  classes  now  un- 
enfranchised are  as  capable  of  properly  exercising  the  franchise 
as  some  who  have  possessed  it  formerly,  or  some  who  have  it 
now.  The  £,$  householder  of  to-day  is,  they  tell  us,  in  edu- 
cation and  standing  but  what  the  £10  householder  was  in 
1832.  The  opponents  of  the  theory  are  pressed  with  the 
argument,  that  every  fit  person  should  have  the  franchise,  and 
that  many  who  are  excluded  are  as  fit  as  some  who  exercise  it, 
and  from  whom  no  one  proposes  to  take  it  away. 

The  answer  to  the  argument  is  plain.     Fitness  to  govern — 
for  that  is  the  real  meaning  of  exercising  the  franchise  which 


PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  1 2  7 

elects  a  ruling  assembly — is  not  an  absolute  quality  of  any  in- 
dividual. That  fitness  is  relative  and  comparative  ;  it  must 
depend  on  the  community  to  be  governed,  and  on  the  merits 
of  other  persons  who  may  be  capable  of  governing  that  com- 
munity. A  savage  chief  may  be  capable  of  governing  a  savage 
tribe  ;  he  may  have  the  right  of  governing  it,  for  he  may  be 
the  sole  person  capable  of  so  doing  ;  but  he  would  have  no 
right  to  govern  England.  We  must  look  likewise  to  the  com- 
petitors for  the  sovereignty.  Whatever  may  be  your  capacity 
for  rule,  you  have  no  right  to  obtain  the  opportunity  of  exer- 
cising it  by  dethroning  a  person  who  is  more  capable.  You 
are  wronging  the  community  if  you  do :  for  you  are  depriving 
it  of  a  better  government  than  that  which  you  can  give  to  it. 
You  are  wronging  also  the  ruler  you  supersede  ;  for  you  are 
depriving  him  of  the  appropriate  exercise  of  his  faculties.  Two 
wrongs  are  thus  committed  from  a  fancied  idea  that  abstract 
capacity  gives  a  right  to  rule  irrespective  of  comparative  rela- 
tions. The  true  principle  is,  that  every  person  has  a  right  to 
so  much  political  power  as  he  can  exercise  without  impeding  any  / 
other  person  who  would  more  fitly  exercise  such  power.  If  we 
apply  this  to  the  lower  orders  of  society,  we  see  the  reason 
why,  notwithstanding  their  numbers,  they  must  always  be  sub- 
ject— always  at  least  be  comparatively  uninfluential.  Whatever 
their  capacity  may  be,  it  must  be  less  than  that  of  the  higher 
classes,  whose  occupations  are  more  instructive  and  whose 
education  is  more  prolonged.  Any  such  measure  for  enfran- 
chising the  lower  orders  as  would  overpower,  and  consequently 
disfranchise,  the  higher,  should  be  resisted  on  the  ground  of 
"  abstract  right  "  ;  you  are  proposing  to  take  power  from  those 
who  have  the  superior  capacity,  and  to  vest  it  in  those  who  have 
but  an  inferior  capacity,  or,  in  many  cases,  no  capacity  at  all. 
If  we  probe  the  subject  to  the  bottom,  we  shall  find  that  justice 
is  on  the  side  of  a  graduated  rule,  in  which  all  persons  should 
have  an  influence  proportioned  to  their  political  capacity ;  and 
it  is  at  this  graduation  that  the  true  maxims  of  representative 
government  really  aim.  They  wish  that  the  fairly  intelligent 
persons,  who  create  public  opinion,  as  we  call  it,  in  society, 
should  rule  in  the  State,  which  is  the  authorised  means  of  car- 


128 


PARLIAMENTARY  REFORM 


rying  that  opinion  into  action.  This  is  the  body  which  has 
the  greater  right  to  rule  ;  this  is  the  felt  intelligence  of  the 
nation,  "  la  tigitime  aristocratie,  celle  quacceptent  librement  les 
masses,  sur  qui  elle  doit  exercer  son  pouvoir".^ 

It  is  impossible  to  deny  that  this  authority,  in  matters  of 
political  opinion,  belongs  by  right,  and  is  felt  to  belong  in  fact, 
to  the  higher  orders  of  society  rather  than  to  the  lower.  The 
advantages  of  leisure,  of  education,  of  more  instructive  pur- 
suits, of  more  instructive  society,  must  and  do  produce  an 
effect  A  writer  of  very  democratic  leanings  has  observed, 
that  "there  is  an  unconquerable,  and,  to  a  certain  extent, 
beneficial  proneness  in  man  to  rely  on  the  judgment  and 
authority  of  those  who  are  elevated  above  himself  in  rank  and 
riches,  from  the  irresistible  associations  of  the  human  mind ; 
a  feeling  of  respect  and  deference  is  entertained  for  a  superior 
in  station  which  enhances  and  exalts  all  his  good  qualities, 
gives  more  grace  to  his  thoughts,  more  wisdom  to  hfs  opinions, 
more  weight  to  his  judgment,  more  excellence  to  his  virtues. 
.  .  .  Hence  the  elevated  men  of  society  will  always  maintain 
an  ascendency  which,  without  any  direct  exertion  of  influence, 
will  affect  the  result  of  popular  elections ;  and  when  to  this 
are  added  the  capabilities  which  they  possess,  or  ought  to 
possess,  from  their  superior  intelligence,  of  impressing  their 
own  opinions  on  other  classes  it  will  be  evident  that  if  any  sort 
of  control  were  justifiable,  it  would  be  superfluous  for  any  good 
purpose."  2  There  are  individual  exceptions  ;  but  in  questions 
of  this  magnitude  we  must  speak  broadly :  and  we  may  say 
that  political  intelligence  will  in  general  exist  rather  in  the 
educated  classes  than  in  the  less  educated,  rather  in  the  rich 
than  the  poor;  and  not  only  that  it  will  exist,  but  that  it 
will,  in  the  absence  of  misleading  feelings,  be  felt  by  both 
parties  to  exist. 

We  have  quoted  the  above  passage  for  more  reasons  than 
one.  It  not  only  gives  an  appropriate  description  of  the 
popular  association  of  superiority  in  judgment  with  superiority 

1  M.  Guizot,  Essai  sur  les  Origines  du  Gouvernement  representatif. 

2  Bailey  on  Representative  Government ;    quoted  in  Sir  G.  Lewis's 
"  Essay  on  the  Influence  of  Authority  on  Matters  of  Opinion,"  p.  228. 


PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  129 

in  station,  but  it  draws  from  the  fact  of  that  association  an 
inference  which  would  be  very  important  if  it  were  correct. 
It  says,  in  substance,  that  as  the  higher  orders  are  felt  by  the 
lower  to  be  more  capable  of  governing,  they  will  be  chosen  by 
the  lower,  if  the  latter  are  left  free  to  choose ;  that,  therefore, 
no  matter  how  democratic  the  government — in  fact,  the  more 
democratic  the  government,  the  surer  are  the  upper  orders  to 
lead.  But  experience  shows  that  this  is  an  error.  If  the 
acquisition  of  power  is  left  to  the  unconscious  working  of  the 
natural  influences  of  society,  the  rich  and  the  cultivated  will 
certainly  acquire  it ;  they  obtain  it  insensibly,  gradually,  and 
without  the  poorer  orders  knowing  that  they  are  obtaining  it. 
But  the  result  is  different  when,  by  the  operation  of  a  purely 
democratic  constitution,  the  selection  of  rulers  is  submitted  to 
the  direct  vote  of  the  populace.  The  lower  orders  are  then 
told  that  they  are  perfectly  able  to  judge ;  demagogues  assert 
it  to  them  without  ceasing :  the  constitution  itself  is  appealed 
to  as  an  incontrovertible  witness  to  the  fact ;  as  it  has  placed 
the  supreme  power  in  the  hands  of  the  lower  and  more 
numerous  classes,  it  would  be  contravening  it  to  suppose  that 
the  real  superiority  was  in  the  higher  and  fewer.  Moreover, 
when  men  are  expressly  asked  to  acknowledge  their  superiors, 
they  are  by  no  means  always  inclined  to  do  so.  They  do  not 
object  to  yield  a  mute  observance,  but  they  refuse  a  definite 
act  of  homage.  They  will  obey,  but  they  will  not  say  that 
they  will  obey.  In  consequence,  history  teaches  that  under 
a  democratic  government  those  who  speak  the  feelings  of  the 
majority  themselves,  have  a  greater  chance  of  being  chosen  to 
rule,  than  any  of  the  higher  orders,  who,  under  another  form 
of  government,  would  be  admitted  to  be  the  better  judges. 
The  natural  effect  of  such  a  government  is  to  mislead  the  poor.  ^ 

We  have  no  room  to  notice  the  specific  evils  which  would 
accrue  from  the  adoption  of  an  unmixedly  democratic  con- 
stitution. One,  however,  which  has  not  been  quite  appreciated 
follows  naturally  from  the  remarks  we  have  made.  There  is 
a  risk  of  vulgarising  the  whole  tone,  method,  and  conduct  of 
public  business.  We  see  how  completely  this  has  been  done 
in  America ;  a  country  far  more  fitted,  at  least  in  the  northern 
VOL.  III.  9 


136  PARLIAMEtfTAR  V  REFORM 

States,  for  the  democratic  experiment  than  any  old  country 
can  be.  Nor  must  we  imagine  that  this  vulgarity  of  tone  is  a 
mere  external  expression,  not  affecting  the  substance  of  what 
is  thought,  or  interfering  with  the  policy  of  the  nation.  No 
defect  really  eats  away  so  soon  the  political  ability  of  a  nation. 
A  vulgar  tone  of  discussion  disgusts  cultivated  minds  with  the 
subject  of  politics ;  they  will  not  apply  themselves  to  master 
a  topic  which,  besides  its  natural  difficulties,  is  encumbered 
with  disgusting  phrases,  low  arguments,  and  the  undisguised 
language  of  coarse  selfishness.  We  all  know  how  we  should 
like  to  interfere  in  ward  elections,  borough  politics,  or  any 
public  matter  over  which  a  constant  habit  of  half-educated 
discussion  has  diffused  an  atmosphere  of  deterring  associations. 
A  high  morality,  too,  shrinks  with  the  inevitable  shyness  of 
superiority  from  intruding  itself  into  the  presence  of  low 
debates.  The  inevitable  consequence  of  vulgarising  our 
Parliament  would  be  the  deterioration  of  public  opinion,  not 
only  in  its  more  refined  elements,  but  in  all  the  tangible  benefits 
we  derive  from  the  application  to  politics  of  thoroughly  cul- 
tivated minds. 

We  can  only  allude  briefly  to  the  refutation  of  the  purely 
democratic  theory  with  which  the  facts  of  English  history 
supply  us.  It  is  frequently  something  like  pedantry  when 
reference  is  made  to  the  origin  of  the  House  of  Commons  as  a 
source  of  data  for  deciding  on  the  proper  constitution  for  it 
now.  What  might  have  been  a  proper  constitution  for  it  when 
it  was  an  inconsiderable  part  of  the  government,  may  be  a  most 
improper  one  now  that  it  is  the  ruling  part.  Still,  one  brief 
remark  may  be  advanced  as  to  the  early  history  of  our  re- 
presentative system,  which  will  have  an  important  reference  to 
the  topic.  "  Whilst,"  writes  one  of  our  soundest  constitutional 
antiquaries,  "  boroughs  were  thus  reluctant  to  return  members, 
and  burgesses  disinclined  to  serve  in  that  capacity,  the  sheriffs 
assumed^  right  of  sending  or  omitting  precepts  at  their  pleasure. 
Where  boroughs  were  unwilling  or  unable  to  send  representa- 
tives, the  sheriff,  from  favour  or  indulgence,  withheld  the  pre- 
cept, which  in  strictness  he  was  bound  to  issue,  and  thus  ac- 
quired a  discretionary  power  of  settling  what  places  were  to 


PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  1 3 1 

elect,  and  what  places  were  not  to  elect,  members  of  Parliament. 
In  his  return  to  the  writ  of  summons,  he  sometimes  reported 
that  he  had  sent  his  precept  to  a  borough,  but  had  received  no 
answer  to  it.  Sometimes  he  asserted  without  the  slightest 
regard  to  truth,  that  there  were  no  more  cities  or  boroughs  in 
his  bailiwick  than  those  mentioned  in  his  return.  At  other 
times  he  qualified  this  assertion  by  adding  that  there  were 
none  fit  to  send  members  to  Parliament,  or  that  could  be  in- 
duced to  send  them.  No  notice  seems  ever  to  have  been 
taken  of  these  proceedings  of  the  sheriffs ;  nor  is  there  the 
slightest  ground  for  suspecting  that  in  the  exercise  of  his  dis- 
cretionary power  he  was  directed  by  any  secret  instructions 
from  the  king  and  council :  "  I  have  never  seen  or  heard,"  says 
Brady,  "  of  any  particular  directions  from  the  king  and  council 
or  others  to  the  sheriffs,  for  sending  their  precepts  to  this  or 
that  borough  only  and  not  to  others  ".  "Provided  there  was  a 
sufficient  attendance  of  members  for  the  public  business,  the 
government  seem  to  have  been  indifferent  to  the  number  that  came^ 
or  to  the  number  of  places  from  which  they  were  sent"^  The 
public  business  of  that  time  was  different  from  the  public 
business  which  is  now  transacted  by  Parliament ;  but  we  may 
paraphrase  the  sentence  into  one  that  is  applicable  to  us.  Pro- 
vided we  have  a  House  of  Commons  coinciding  in  opinion  with 
the  general  mass  of  the  public,  and  containing  representatives 
competent  to  express  the  peculiar  sentiments  of  all  peculiar 
classes,  we  have  provided  for  our  "public  business";  we  need 
not  trouble  ourselves  much  further,  we  shall  have  attained  all 
reasonable  objects  of  desire,  and  established  a  polity  with 
which  we  may  be  content. 

The  most  obvious  way  of  attempting  this  is,  to  represent, 
or  attempt  to  represent,  intelligence  directly.  The  simplest 
plan  of  embodying  public  opinion  in  a  legislature,  is  to  give  a 
special  representation  in  that  legislature,  to  the  politically  in- 
telligent persons  who  create  that  opinion.  To  attain  this  end 
directly  is,  however,  impossible.  There  is  no  test  of  intellig- 
ence which  a  revising  barrister  could  examine,  on  which  attor- 
neys could  argue  before  him.  The  absurdity  of  the  idea  is 

1  Allen  on  Parliamentary  Reform,  1832. 
9*  ' 


1 3  2  PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM 

only  rendered  more  evident  by  the  few  proposals  which  are 
made  in  the  hope  of  realising  it.  Mr.  Holyoake  proposes  that 
the  franchise  should  be  given  to  those  who  could  pass  a  political 
examination ;  an  examination,  that  is,  in  some  standard  text- 
book— Mill's  Principles  of  Political  Economy,  or  some  work  of 
equal  reputation.  But  it  does  not  need  to  be  explained  that 
this  would  enfranchise  extremely  few  people  in  a  country. 
Only  a  few  persons  give,  or  can  give,  a  scientific  attention  to 
politics  ;  and  very  many  who  cannot,  are  in  every  respect  com- 
petent to  give  their  votes  as  electors,  and  even  to  serve 
representatives.  It  is  probable  that  the  adoption  of  such  ai 
examination  suffrage,  in  addition  to  the  kinds-of  suffrage  whicl 
exist  now,  would  not  add  one  per  cent,  to  the  present  con- 
stituencies ;  and  that  if  it  were  made  a  necessary  qualificatioi 
for  the  possession  of  a  vote,  we  should  thereby  disfranchh 
ninety-nine  hundredths  of  the  country.  A  second  propoj 
with  the  same  object  is,  to  give  votes  to  all  members  ol 
"  learned  societies  ".  But  this  would  be  contemptibly  futile. 
There  is  no  security  whatever  that  members  of  learned  societies 
should  be  really  learned.  They  are  close  corporations ;  and 
the  only  check  on  the  admission  of  improper  persons  in  future 
is  the  discretion  of  those  who  have  been  admitted  already. 
At  present  most  members  of  such  societies  undoubtedly  have 
an  interest  in  the  objects  for  which  they  were  formed ;  but 
create  a  political  motive,  and  a  skilful  Parliamentary  agent  will 
soon  fill  the  lists  with  the  names  of  persons  not  celebrated  for 
scientific  learning,  but  who  know  how  to  vote  correctly  upon 
occasion.  The  idea  of  a  direct  representation  of  intelligence 
wholly  fails  from  the  non-existence  of  a  visible  criterion  of 
that  intelligence.  All  that  can  be  done  in  this  direction  must 
be  effected  by  a  gradual  extension  of  the  principle  which  has 
given  members  to  our  universities.  No  one  can  obtain  ad- 
mission to  these  bodies  without  a  prolonged  course  of  study, 
or  without  passing  a  strict  examination  in  several  subjects. 
This  is  a  kind  of  franchise  not  to  be  manufactured ;  it  is  only 
obtained  as  a  collateral  advantage,  by  persons  who  are  in  pur- 
suit of  quite  different  objects.  Such  bodies,  however,  are 
obviously  few,  and  such  kinds  of  franchise  are  necessarily 


PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  1 33 

limited.  But  they  should  be  extended  as  far  as  possible ;  and 
as  many  such  bodies  as  can  be  found  will  tend  to  supply  us 
with  an  additional  mode  of  giving  a  representation  to  cultiva- 
tion and  refinement — an  object  which  we  noticed  as  one  of  the 
desirable  ends  apparently  least  provided  for  by  the  letter  of 
our  present  system.1 

The  criteria  by  which  a  franchise  can  be  determined 
must  have  two  characteristics.  They  must  be  evident  and 
conspicuous — tests  about  which  there  can  be  no  question. 
Our  registration  courts  cannot  decide  metaphysical  niceties  ; 
our  machinery  must  be  tough,  if  it  is  to  stand  the  wear  and 
tear  of  eager  contests.  Secondly,  as  we  have  explained,  such 
criteria  must  be  difficult  to  manufacture  for  a  political  object. 
Our  tests  must  not  be  counterfeited,  and  they  must  be  con- 
spicuous. These  two  requirements  nearly  confine  us  to  a 
property  qualification.  Property  is,  indeed,  a  very  imperfect 
test  of  intelligence ;  but  it  is  some  test.  If  it  has  been 
inherited,  it  guarantees  education ;  if  acquired,  it  guarantees 
ability.  Either  way  it  assures  us  of  something.  In  all 
countries  where  anything  has  prevailed  short  of  manhood 
suffrage,  the  principal  limitation  has  been  founded  on  criteria 
derived  from  property.  And  it  is  very  important  to  observe 
that  there  is  a  special  appropriateness  in  the  selection. 
Property  has  not  only  a  certain  connection  with  general 
intelligence,  but  it  has  a  peculiar  connection  with  political 
intelligence.  It  is  a  great  guide  to  a  good  judgment  to  have 

1  In  relation  to  this  subject,  we  must  call  special  attention  to  the  claims 
of  the  University  of  London  and  of  the  Scotch  Universities  to  representa- 
tion in  Parliament.  The  former  University  had  a  distinct  pledge  from 
the  Government  which  founded  it  that  it  should  be  placed  on  an  equality 
in  every  respect  with  Oxford  and  Cambridge.  And  such  Universities 
would  not  only  introduce  additional  representatives  of  intellectual  culture 
into  the  House  of  Commons,  but  representatives  also  of  free  intellectual 
culture,  as  distinguished  from  the  representatives  of  the  ecclesiastical  cul- 
ture of  the  older  Universities.  Mr.  Bright  has  reproached  the  members 
for  Oxford  and  Cambridge  Universities  with  their  habitual  antagonism  to 
Reform.  This  is,  we  fear,  a  true  accusation.  At  a  time  when  educational 
questions  are  engrossing  a  larger  and  larger  share  of  public  attention,  an 
adequate  representation  of  liberal  intellectual  culture  is  most  desirable  in 
the  House  of  Commons. 


1 34  PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM 

much  to  lose  by  a  bad  judgment.  Generally  speaking,  the 
welfare  of  a  country  will  be  most  dear  to  those  who  are  well 
off  there.  Some  considerations,  it  is  true,  may  limit  this 
principle :  great  wealth  has  an  emasculating  tendency ;  the 
knowledge  that  they  have  much  at  stake  may  make  men 
timid  in  action,  and  too  anxious,  for  the  successful  discharge 
of  high  duties :  still  the  broad  conclusion  is  unaffected,  that 
the  possession  of  property  is  not  only  an  indication  of  general 
mind,  but' has  a  peculiar  tendency  to  generate  political  mind. 

Similar  considerations  limit  the  kinds  of  property  to  be 
selected.  Our  property  qualification  must  be  conspicuous  and 
uncreatable.  Real  property — houses  and  land — on  which  our 
present  qualification  is  based,  possess  these  elements  in  a  pre- 
eminent degree.  We  think,  however,  that  they  are  not  the 
only  kinds  of  property  which  now  in  a  sufficient  degree  pos- 
sess these  requirements.  They  probably  were  so  formerly; 
but  one  of  the  most  important  alterations  in  our  social  con- 
dition is  the  change  in  the  nature  of  much  of  our  wealth. 
The  growth  of  what  lawyers  call  personal  property  has  of  late 
years  been  enormous.  Railway  shares,  canal  shares,  public 
funds,  bank  shares,  debentures  without  number,  are  only 
instances  of  what  we  mean.  Great  industrial  undertakings 
are  a  feature  in  our  age,  and  it  is  fitting  that  a  share  in  them 
should  give  a  franchise  as  much  as  an  estate  in  land.  Two 
conditions  only  would  be  necessary  to  be  observed.  First, 
the  property  must  be  substantial,  as  it  is  called ;  that  is  to 
say,  it  should  be  remunerative.  Property  which  does  not 
yield  an  income  is  not  sufficiently  tangible  for  the  purposes 
of  a  qualification  :  men  of  business  may  say  it  is  about  to  yield 
a  dividend ;  but  this  is  always  open  to  infinite  argument. 
It  would  be  necessary  to  provide  that  the  business  property 
to  be  represented  should  have  been  for  a  moderate  period- 
say  three  years — properly  remunerative;  no  one  should 
register  for  such  property  unless  it  had  for  that  period  paid 
a  regular  interest.  Secondly,  such  property  should  have 
been  in  the  possession  of  the  person  wishing  to  register  an 
account  of  it  for  at  least  an  equal  previous  period.  This  is 
necessary  to  prevent  the  creation  of  fictitious  votes.  Real 


PARLTAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  1 3  5 

property  is,  indeed,  exposed  to  this  danger;  but  the  occu- 
pancy of  houses  and  lands  is  a  very  visible  fact,  and  acts  of 
ownership  over  the  soil  are  tolerably  well  known  on  the  spot. 
It  is  therefore  somewhat  difficult  to  create  fictitious  tenancies 
or  freeholds.  In  the  case  of  share-property  there  is  no  equal 
check.  The  only  precaution  which  can  be  taken  is,  to  make 
the  pecuniary  risk  of  those  who  try  to  create  such  votes  as 
large  as  possible.  If  it  be  required  that  the  property  be 
registered  for  a  moderate  period  in  the  company's  books 
as  belonging  to  the  person  who  claims  to  vote  in  respect 
of  it,  that  person  must  have  during  that  time  the  sole  right 
to  receive  the  dividends,  and  the  shares  will  be  liable  for  all 
his  debts.  If  a  real  owner  chooses  to  put  a  nominal  one  in 
this  position,  he  does  it  at  the  risk  of  both  principal  and 
income. 

We  have,  then,  arrived  at  the  end  of  another  division 
of  our  subject.  We  have  shown  that  the  democratic  theory 
is  erroneous,  and  that  the  consequences  of  acting  upon  it 
would  be  pernicious.  We  have  discussed  the  most  plausible 
schemes  which  have  been  suggested  for  testing  political  in- 
telligence, and  we  have  found  reason  to  think  that  a  property 
qualification  is  the  best  of  those  modes.  It  has  incidentally 
appeared  that  the  property  qualification  which  at  present 
exists  in  England  is  defective,  because  it  only  takes  cognis- 
ance of  a  single  kind  of  property.  We  may  now  resume  the 
thread  of  our  discussion,  which  we  laid  aside  to  show  the 
errors  of  the  democratic  theory.  We  proceed  to  indicate  how 
the  defects  which  have  been  proved  to  be  parts  of  our  existing 
system  of  representation  can  be  remedied  without  impairing 
its  characteristic  excellence,  without  destroying  a  legislature 
which  is  in  tolerable  conformity  with  intelligent  opinion. 

The  first  defect  which  we  noticed  was,  that  the  existing 
system  takes  no  account  of  the  views  and  feelings  of  the 
working  classes,  and  affords  no  means  for  their  expression. 
How,  then,  can  this  be  supplied  ?  It  is  evident  that  this  end 
can  only  be  approached  in  two  ways :  we  may  give  to  the 
working  classes  a  little  influence  in  all  constituencies,  or  we 
may  give  them  a  good  deal  of  influence  in  a  few  constituencies. 


136  PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM 

By  the  conditions  of  the  problem  they  are  to  have  some  power 
in  the  country,  but  not  all  the  power ;  and  these  are  the  only 
two  modes  in  which  that  end  can  be  effected. 

The  objection  to  the  first  plan  is  in  the  nature  of  a 
dilemma.  Either  your  arrangements  give  to  the  working 
classes  a  sufficient  power  to  enable  them  to  decide  the  choice 
of  the  member,  or  they  do  not.  If  they  do,  they  make  these 
classes  absolute  in  the  State.  If  the  Degree  of  influence  which 
you  grant  to  them  in  every  constituency  is  sufficient  to  enable 
them  to  choose  the  representative  for  that  constituency,  you 
have  conferred  on  these  inferior  classes  the  unlimited  control 
of  the  nation.  On  the  other  hand,  if  the  degree  of  influence 
you  give  to  the  poorer  classes  is  not  sufficient  to  enable  them 
to  control  the  choice  of  any  members,  you  have  done  nothing. 
There  will  be  no  persons  in  Parliament  inclined  by  nature  and 
empowered  by  authority  to  express  their  sentiments ;  their 
voice  will  be  as  much  unheard  in  Parliament  as  it  is  now.  If 
the  poor  are  to  have  a  diffused  influence  in  all  constituencies, 
it  must  be  either  a  great  one  or  a  small  one.  A  small  one 
will  amount  only  to  the  right  of  voting  for  a  candidate  who  is 
not  elected ;  a  great  one  will,  in  reality,  be  the  establishment 
of  democracy. 

We  shall  see  the  truth  of  this  remark  more  distinctly  if  we 
look  a  little  in  detail  at  one  or  two  of  the  plans  which  are 
proposed  with  this  object.  Perhaps  the  most  remarkable  of 
these  is  that  which  is  at  present  in  operation  in  Prussia.  The 
suffrage  there  is  very  diffused ;  it  amounts  to  something  very 
like  manhood  suffrage.  But  the  influence  of  the  lower  classes 
is  limited  in  this  way :  the  constituency  is  divided  into  classes 
according  to  the  amount  of  direct  taxation  they  respectively 
pay.  The  names  of  those  voters  who  pay  the  highest  amount 
of  tax  are  put  together  till  a  third  part  of  the  whole  amount  of 
direct  taxes  paid  by  the  electoral  district  has  been  reached. 
These  form  the  first  class.  Again,  as  many  names  are  taken 
as  will  make  up  another  third  of  the  same  total  taxation ;  and 
these  form  the  second  class.  The  third  class  is  formed  of  all 
the  rest,  and  each  class  has  an  equal  vote.  By  this  expedient 
a  few  very  rich  persons  in  class  i,  and  a  moderate  number  of 


PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  137 

moderately  rich  persons  in  class  2,  have  each  of  them  as  much 
influence  as  the  entire  number  of  the  poorer  orders  in  class  3. 
In  Prussia  a  system  of  double  representation  has  also  been 
adopted,  and  for  that  purpose  the  constituency  is  divided  into 
sections.  But  we  need  not  confuse  ourselves  with  prolix 
detail ;  the  principle  is  all  which  is  to  the  purpose.  The  effect 
of  the  plan  is  evident ;  it  is  equivalent  to  giving  to  the  work- 
ing classes  one-third  of  the  influence  in  every  constituency,  and 
no  more  than  one-third.  But  it  is  evident  that  this  arrange- 
ment not  only  gives  no  security  for  the  return  of  a  satisfactory 
spokesman  for  the  lower  orders,  but  that  it  provides  that  no 
such  spokesman  shall  be  returned.  The  two  superior  classes 
are  two-thirds  of  the  constituency,  and  they  will  take  effectual 
care  that  no  member  animated  solely  with  the  views  of  the 
other  third  shall  ever  be  elected.  So  far  as  class  feeling  goes, 
the  power  given  to  the  lower  orders  is  only  the  power  of 
voting  in  a  perpetual  minority.  Undoubtedly,  in  case  of  a 
division  between  the  two  superior  classes,  the  lower  orders 
would  hold  the  balance  ;  they  would  have  the  power  in  all  con- 
stituencies of  deciding  who  should  and  who  should  not  be  the 
member.  But  this  is  not  the  kind  of  influence  which  we 
have  shown  it  to  be  desirable  that  the  lower  orders  should 
possess.  Nothing  can  be  more  remote  from  their  proper 
sphere  than  the  position  of  arbitrator  between  the  conflicting 
views  of  two  classes  above  them.  We  wish  that  they  should 
have  a  few  members  to  express  their  feelings ;  we  do  not  wish 
that  they  should  decide  on  the  critical  controversies  of  their 
educated  fellow-subjects — that  they  should  determine  by  a 
casting  and  final  vote  the  policy  of  the  nation. 

Another  plan  suggested  is,  that  the  lower  orders  should 
have  a  single  vote,  and  that  persons  possessed  of  property 
should  have  a  second  vote.  But  statistics  show  that  the 
power  which  this  would  g  ve  to  the  lower  orders  would  be 
enormous.  For  example,  if  it  should  be  enacted  that  all 
persons  living  in  houses  rated  at  less  than  £10  shall  have 
one  vote,  and  that  those  living  in  houses  rated  at  more  than 
£10,  two  votes,  we  should  have — 


1 38  PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM 

990,000  livmgjn  houses  of  £10  and  more  than  j     wkh  Ij98o>ooo  voteSj 
2,280,000  living  in  houses  under  ^10  .         .         .     with  2,280,000  votes  ; 

giving  a  clear  majority  throughout  the  country  to  the  lowest 
class  of  ratepayers ;  and  that  majority  would  of  course  be 
much  augmented  if  we  conferred  (as  the  advocates  of  manhood 
suffrage  propose)  a  vote  on  every  adult  male  in  the  country, 
whether  he  paid  rates  or  not  The  inevitable  effect  of  this 
plan  would  be  to  give  an  authoritative  control  to  the  poorer 
classes.  We  might,  indeed,  try  to  obviate  this  by  giving  a 
still  greater  number  of  votes,  say  three  or  four,  to  the  richer 
class ;  but  then  we  should  reduce  the  poorer  class  to  an  im- 
potent minority  throughout  the  country.  In  the  first  case, 
they  would  have  the  power  of  returning  nearly  all  the  members 
of  the  legislature ;  in  the  second,  they  would  not  as  a  class,  or 
with  an  irresistible  influence,  return  any. 

Another  scheme,  proposed  with  this  object,  at  least  in  part, 
is  the  "  representation  of  minorities,"  as  it  is  commonly  called. 
This  is  to  be  attained  by  the  ingenious  device  of  making  the 
number  of  votes  to  be  possessed  by  each  constituent  less  than 
the  number  of  members  to  be  returned  by  the  constituency.1 
The  consequence  is  inevitable :  an  ascertainable  minority  of 
the  constituency,  by  voting  for  a  single  candidate  only,  can 
effectually  secure  his  election.  Thus,  if  the  number  of  members 
is  three  and  the  number  of  votes  two,  any  fraction  of  the 
constituency  greater  than  two-fifths  can  be  sure  of  returning  a 
member,  if  they  are  in  earnest  enough  on  the  matter  to  vote 
for  him  only.  The  proof  of  this  is,  that  a  minority  of  two- 
fifths  will  have  exactly  as  many  votes  to  give  to  one  member 
as  the  remaining  three-fifths  have  to  give  to  each  of  three 
members.  If  the  constituency  be  5000,  a  minority  of  two- 
fifths  of  the  electors,  or  2000,  would  have  2000  votes  to  give 
to  a  single  candidate ;  the  remaining  3000  would  have  only 
6000  votes  to  divide  between  three  candidates,  which  is  only 
2000  for  each.  A  minority  at  all  greater  than  2000,  there- 

1  This  was  the  sche  me  actually  adopted  in  the  ReformBill  of  1867,  in 
the  case  of  all  constituencies  returning  more  than  two  members. — ED. 


PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  139 

fore,  would,  if  it  managed  properly,  be  certain  to  return  a 
member.  The  objection  to  this  plan  is,  that  it  would  rather 
tend  to  give  us  a  Parliament  principally  elected  by  the  lower 
orders,  with  special  members  among  them  to  express  the 
sentiments  of  the  wealthier  classes,  than  a  Parliament  gener- 
ally agreeing  with  the  wealthier  classes,  and  containing  special 
representatives  for  the  lower :  the  principal  representation  is 
almost  by  express  legislation  given  to  the  more  numerous 
classes ;  a  less  to  the  minority.  It  would  not  solve  the  prob- 
lem of  giving  a  certain  power  to  the  lower  orders,  and  yet  not 
giving  them  a  predominant  power.  In  the  case  which  we 
have  supposed  of  a  constituency  with  three  members  and  two 
votes,  the  minority  also  would  be  a  larger  one  than  the  richer 
classes  can  permanently  hope  to  constitute  in  the  country. 
Two-fifths  of  a  great  town  must  necessarily  include  many  of 
the  poorer,  less  cultivated,  and  less  competent.  We  must 
remember,  also,  that  the  disproportion  in  number  between  rich 
and  poor,  even  between  the  decidedly  poor  and  the  rather 
wealthy,  tends  to  augment.  Society  increases  most  rapidly  at 
its  lower  end ;  the  wide  base  extends  faster  than  the  narrower 
summit.  At  present  persons  living  in  "  ten-pound  houses," 
or  upwards,  are  something  like  21  per  cent,  of  the  adult  males 
in  the  nation,  and  about  30  per  cent,  of  the  rate-paying 
population.  But  in  process  of  time  the  inevitable  increase  of 
the  humbler  orders  will  reduce  them  to  a  far  more  scanty  pro- 
portion. The  operation  of  the  plan  might  become  even  more 
defective  if  it  were  combined,  as  is  often  proposed,  with  an 
increase  of  the  number  of  members  returned  by  the  constituen- 
cies to  which  it  is  to  be  applied.  If  four  members  were  given 
to  a  populous  constituency,  and  each  elector  were  to  have  three 
votes,  it  would  require  that  the  minority  should  be  more  than 
three-sevenths1  of  the  constituency,  to  enable  it  to  be  certain 
of  returning  a  candidate.  The  rich  and  educated  cannot  ex- 

1  The  rule  is,  that  a  minority,  to  be  certain  of  electing  its  candidate, 
must  be  more  than  that  fraction  of  the  constituency,  which  may  be  ex- 
pressed as  follows  : — 

The  number  of  votes. 
The  number  of  members   +  the  number  of  votes. 


140  PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM 

pect  to  remain  so  large  a  fraction  of  the  nation  as  this ;  they 
are  not  so  now. 

The  most  plausible  way  of  embodying  the  minority  prin- 
ciple in  action  would  be  to  give  only  one  vote  to  each  person, 
and  only  two  members  to  the  constituency.  In  this  case,  any 
minority  greater  than  one-third  of  the  constituency  would  be 
sure  of  returning  a  member ;  and  as  this  fraction  is  smaller 
than  those  we  have  mentioned,  it  would  evidently  be  more 
suitable  to  the  inevitable  fewness  of  the  rich  and  intelligent. 
But  even  this  plan  would  give  half  the  members  of  the  country 
to  the  least  capable  class  of  voters ;  and  it  would  have  the 
additional  disadvantage  of  establishing  a  poor-class  member 
and  rich-class  member  side  by  side  in  the  same  constituency, 
which  would  evidently  be  likely  to  excite  keen  jealousy  and 
perpetual  local  bitterness. 

We  believe,  indeed,  that  it  was  an  after-thought  in  the 
advocates  of  "  minority  representation,"  to  propose  it  as  a 
means  of  giving  some,  but  not  too  much,  representation  to 
the  poor.  Its  name  shows  that  it  was  originally  devised  as  a 
means  of  giving  a  representation  to  minorities  as  such.  The 
extreme  case  used  to  be  suggested  of  a  party  which  had  a  very 
large  minority  in  every  constituency,  but  which  had  not  a 
majority  in  any,  and  had  not  therefore  any  share  in  the  repre- 
sentation. It  cannot  be  denied  that  such  a  case  might  occur : 
but  if  the  constituencies  be,  as  they  should  be,  of  varied  kinds, 
it  is  very  unlikely  ;  and  in  politics,  any  contingency  that  is  very 
unlikely  ought  never  to  be  thought  of;  the  problems  of  practical 
government  are  quite  sufficiently  complicated,  if  those  who 
have  the  responsibility  of  solving  them  deal  only  with  diffi- 
culties which  are  imminent  and  dangers  which  are  probable. 
But  in  the  actual  working  of  affairs,  and  irrespectively  of  any 
case  so  extreme  as  that  which  is  put  forward,  the  elimination  of 
minorities  which  takes  place  at  general  elections  is  a  process 
highly  beneficial.  It  is  decidedly  advantageous  that  every 
active  or  intelligent  minority  should  have  adequate  spokesmen 
in  the  legislature  ;  but  it  is  often  not  desirable  that  it  should  be 
represented  there  in  exact  proportion  to  its  national  import- 
ance. A  very  considerable  number  of  by  no  means  unim- 


PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  141 

portant  persons  rather  disapproved  of  the  war  with  Russia ; 
but  their  views  were  very  inadequately  represented  in  the 
votes  of  Parliament,  though  a  few  able  men  adequately  ex- 
pressed their  characteristic  sentiments.  And  this  was  as  it 
should  be.  The  judgment  of  the  Parliament  ought  always  to 
be  coincident  with  the  opinion  of  the  nation  ;  it  is  extremely 
important  that  it  should  not  be  less  decided.  Very  frequently 
it  is  of  less  importance  which  of  two  courses  be  selected  than  <Jf .  < 
that  the  one  which  is  selected  should  be  consistently  adhered 
to  and  energetically  carried  through.  If  every  minority  had 
exactly  as  much  weight  in  Parliament  as  it  has  in  the  nation, 
there  might  be  a  risk  of  indecision.  Members  of  Parliament 
are  apt  enough  to  deviate  from  the  plain  decisive  path,  from 
vanity,  from  a  wish  to  be  original,  from  a  nervous  conscien- 
tiousness. They  are  subject  to  special  temptations,  which 
make  their  decisions  less  simple  and  consistent  than  the 
nation's.  We  need  a  counteracting  influence ;  and  it  will  be 
no  subject  for  regret  if  that  influence  be  tolerably  strong.  It 
is,  therefore,  no  disadvantage,  but  the  contrary,  that  a  diffused 
minority  in  the  country  is  in  general  rather  inadequately  re- 
presented. A  strong  conviction  in  the  ruling  power  will  give 
it  strength  of  volition.  The  House  of  Commons  should  think 
as  the  nation  thinks ;  but  it  should  think  so  rather  more 
strongly,  and  with  somewhat  less  of  wavering. 

It  was  necessary  to  discuss  this  aspect  of  the  minority  prin- 
ciple, though  it  may  seem  a  deviation  from  the  investigation 
into  the  best  mode  of  giving  a  due  but  not  an  undue  influence 
to  the  working  classes.  The  advocates  of  that  principle  gen- 
erally consider  its  giving  a  proper,  and  not  more  than  a  proper, 
degree  of  power  to  the  poor  as  a  subordinate  and  incidental 
advantage  in  a  scheme  which  for  other  reasons  ought  to  be 
adopted  ;  it  was  therefore  desirable  to  prove  that  no  such  other 
reasons  exist,  as  well  as  that  it  would  very  imperfectly,  if  at  all, 
tend  to  place  the  working  classes  in  the  position  we  desire. 

Some  persons  have  imagined  that  the  enfranchisement  of 
all  the  lower  orders  may  be  obtained  without  its  attendant 
consequence,  the  disfranchisement  of  other  classes,  by  means 
of  the  system  of  "  double  representation,"  which  gives  to  the 


1 4  2  PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM 

primary  electors  only  the  power  of  nominating  certain  choosers, 
or  secondary  electors,  who  are  to  select  the  ultimate  representa- 
tive. This  proposal  was  made  by  Hume  many  years  ago  ;  it 
formed  part  of  more  than  one  of  the  earlier  French  constitu- 
tions ;  and  it  is  now  being  tried,  as  we  have  observed,  in 
Prussia.  We  have  an  example  of  its  effects  likewise  in  a  part 
of  the  constitution  of  the  United  States.  Although,  therefore, 
we  may  not  have  quite  so  full  a  trial  of  the  proposed  machinery 
as  we  could  wish,  we  have  some  experience  of  it.  The  most 
obvious  objection  to  it  is,  that  it  gives  to  the  working  classes 
the  theoretical  supremacy  as  much  as  a  scheme  of  single  repre- 
sentation. Whether  the  working  classes  choose  the  member 
of  Parliament,  or  whether  they  choose  an  intermediate  body 
who  are  to  choose  the  member,  their  power  of  selection  will  be 
equally  uncontrolled,  the  overwhelming  advantage  derived  from 
their  numbers  will  be  the  same.  It  is  alleged  that  the  working 
classes  will  be  more  fit  to  choose  persons  who  would  exercise 
an  intermediate  suffrage  ;  that  they  could  choose  persons  in 
their  own  neighbourhood  well  known  to  them,  and  for  whom 
they  had  a  respect ;  and  that  the  ultimate  representative  nomi- 
nated by  these  local  worthies  would  be  a  better  person  than 
the  working  classes  would  have  nominated  themselves  at  first. 
And  in  quiet  times,  and  before  a  good  machinery  of  elec- 
tioneering influence  had  been  organised,  we  are  inclined  to 
believe  that  such  would  be  the  effect.  The  working  classes 
might,  in  the  absence  of  excitement  and  artificial  stimulus, 
choose  persons  whom  they  knew  to  be  better  judges  than  them- 
selves ;  and,  in  accordance  with  the  theory  of  the  scheme,  would 
give  to  them  a  bond  fide  power  of  independent  judgment.  But 
in  times  of  excitement  this  would  not  be  the  case.  The 
primary  electors  can,  if  they  will,  require  from  the  secondary  a 
promise  that  they  will  choose  such  and  such  members  ;  they 
can  exact  a  distinct  pledge  on  the  subject,  and  give  their  votes 
only  to  those  who  will  take  that  pledge.  This  is  actually  the 
case  in  the  election  of  the  President  in  the  United  States.  As 
a  check  on  the  anticipated  inconveniences  of  universal  suffrage, 
the  framers  of  the  federal  constitution  provided  that  the  Presi- 
dent should  be  chosen  by  an  electoral  college  elected  by  uni- 


PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  1 43 

versal  suffrage,  and  not  by  the  nation  at  large  directly.  In 
practice,  however,  the  electoral  college  is  a  "sham".  Its 
members  are  only  chosen  because  they  will  vote  that  Mr. 
Buchanan  be  President,  or  that  Colonel  Fremont  be  President ; 
no  one  cares  to  know  anything  else  about  them.  There  is  no 
debate  in  the  college,  no  exercise  of  discretionary  judgment : 
they  travel  to  Washington,  and  give  their  vote  in  a  "  sealed 
envelope,"  and  they  have  no  other  duty  to  perform.  Accord- 
ing to  these  votes  the  President  is  elected.  Such,  indeed, 
appears  the  natural  result  wherever  the  lower  orders  take  a 
strong  interest  in  the  selection  of  the  ultimate  members  for  the 
constituency.  They  have  the  power  of  absolutely  determining 
the  choice  of  those  members  ;  and  when  they  care  to  exercise 
it,  they  will  exercise  it.  In  Prussia,  as  it  would  appear  from 
the  newspaper  narrative  of  the  recent  elections,  a  real  choice 
has  been  exercised  by  the  Wahlmanner—  the  secondary  elec- 
tors. But  a  few  years  of  experience  among  a  phlegmatic 
;  people  are  not  a  sufficient  trial ;  there  are  as  yet  no  parlia- 
mentary agents  at  Berlin.  In  this  country,  as  in  America,  an 
effectual  stimulus  would  soon  be  applied  to  the  primary  elec- 
tors. If  twenty  intermediate  stages  were  introduced,  the  result 
would  be  identical  :  a  pledge  would  be  exacted  at  every  stage ; 
the  primary  body  would  alone  exercise  a  real  choice,  and  the 
member  would  be  the  direct  though  disguised  nominee  of  the 
lower  orders.  This  scheme  would  everywhere,  in  critical  times, 
and  in  electioneering  countries  at  all  times,  give  to  the  demo- 
cracy an  uncontrolled  power. 

An  expedient  has,  it  is  true,  been  proposed  for  preventing 
this.  It  has  been  suggested  that  the  secondary  electors — the 
electoral  college  in  the  American  phrase— should  have  other 
duties  to  perform  besides  that  of  electing  the  representative. 
Suppose,  for  example,  that  the  electors  at  large  chose  a  muni- 
cipal town  council,  and  that  the  latter  elected  the  representative 
of  the  town  in  the  legislature ;  it  is  thought  that  persons  with 
good  judgment  would  be  chosen  to  ensure  the  due  performance 
of  the  municipal  duties,  and  that  a  good  member  of  Parliament 
would  be  selected  by  the  bond  fide  choice  of  those  persons  with 
good  judgment.  The  scheme  would  be  far  too  alien  to  English 


144  PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM 

habits  and  traditions  to  be  seriously  proposed  for  adoption  by 
this  country  even  if  its  abstract  theory  were  sound  ;  but  there 
is  an  obvious  objection  of  principle  to  it.  The  local  duties  of 
a  municipal  council  are  too  different  from  that  of  selecting 
parliamentary  representative  to  be  properly  combined  wit 
them.  We  should  probably  have  a  town  council  of  politi 
partisans,  as  was  the  case  before  the  Municipal  Reform  Act 
and  the  uninteresting  local  duties  would  be  sacrificed  to  t 
more  interesting  questions  of  the  Empire.  In  the  real  ope 
tion  of  the  scheme  very  much  would  depend  on  the  time  a 
which  the  town  council  was  elected.  If  it  were  elected  simul 
taneously  with  the  general  election  of  members  of  Parliamen 
nobody  would  think  of  anything  but  the  latter.  The  town 
councillors  would  be  chosen  to  vote  for  the  borough  member, 
and  with  no  regard  to  any  other  consideration.  We  should 
have  a  fictitious  electoral  college,  with  the  added  inconvenience 
that  it  would  be  expected  to  perform  duties  for  which  it  was 
not  selected,  and  to  which  it  would  be  entirely  ill-suited.  On 
the  other  hand,  if  the  town  council  were  elected  when  the  Par 
liamentary  election  was  not  thought  of,  we  might,  in  times 
fluctuating  opinion,  have  a  marked  opposition  between  t 
opinion  of  the  town  council  and  the  opinion  of  the  consti- 
tuency. In  an  excitable  country — and  every  country  which 
takes  a  regular  interest  in  politics  becomes  excitable — no  such 
opposition  would  be  endured.  It  would  be  monstrous  that 
the  member  for  London  at  a  critical  epoch,  say  when  a  ques- 
tion of  war  or  peace  was  pressing  for  decision,  should  be  nomi- 
nated by  a  town  council  elected  some  time  before,  when  no 
such  question  was  even  thought  of.  There  used  in  the  ante- 
Reform  Bill  times  to  be  occasional  riots  when  the  close  cor- 
porations, with  whom  the  exclusive  suffrage  in  many  boroughs 
then  rested,  made  a  choice  not  approved  of  by  the  population 
of  the  town.  If  this  was  the  case  when  the  borough  coun- 
cillors were  only  exercising  an  immemorial  right,  it  will  be  much 
more  likely  to  be  so  when  they  are  but  recently  nominated 
agents,  deriving  their  whole  authority  from  the  dissentients, 
and  making  an  unpopular  choice  in  the  express  name  of  an 
angry  multitude.  We  may  therefore  dismiss  the  proposed 


! 


PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  145 

expedient  of  double  representation  with  the  remark,  that  if 
the  intermediate  body  be  elected  with  little  reference  to  its 
electoral  functions,  it  will  be  little  fitted  for  such  functions  ; 
and  if  it  is  elected  mainly  with  reference  to  them,  it  will  have 
no  independent  power  of  choice,  but  be  bound  over  to  elect 
the  exact  person  whom  its  constituents  have  decided  to  favour. 
A  much  more  plausible  proposal  is  suggested  by  the  re- 
commendation which  we  made  some  pages  back — that  the 
principle  which  assigns  the  franchise  to  those  who  can  show  a 
property  qualification  should  not  be  confined  to  real  estate, 
but  be  extended  to  every  kind  of  property  that  yielded  an 
income  and  was  owned  bond  fide.  A  considerable  number  of 
the  working  classes  possess  savings ;  not  large,  it  is  true,  when 
contrasted  with  middle-class  opulence,  but  still  most  important 
to,  and  most  valued  by,  those  who  have  hoarded  them  during 
a  lifetime.  The  total  accumulation  is  likewise  very  large  when 
set  down  in  the  aggregate.  It  has  been  suggested  that  a  suff- 
rage conferred  on  the  owners  of  moneyed  property  would  of 
itself  enfranchise  the  most  thrifty  and  careful  of  the  working 
classes ;  and  that,  as  these  would  probably  be  the  best  judging 
of  their  class,  it  would  be  needless  to  inquire  as  to  the  mode 
in  which  any  others  could  obtain  the  franchise.  There  may 
be  a  question  whether  we  do  wish  simply  to  find  representa- 
tives for  the  best  of  the  working  classes.  We  are  not  now 
seeking  legislators  who  will  exercise  a  correct  judgment,  but 
rather  spokesmen  who  will  express  popular  sentiments.  We 
need  not,  however,  dwell  on  this,  as  there  is  a  more  conclusive 
objection  to  the  plan  proposed  Unfortunately,  the  savings  of 
the  working  classes  are  not  invested  in  a  form  which  would  be 
suitable  for  political  purposes.  The  most  pressing  need  of  the 
poor  is  a  provision  for  failing  health  and  for  old  age.  They 
most  properly  endeavour  to  satisfy  this  by  subscribing  to 
"  benefit  societies  "  or  other  similar  clubs,  which,  in  considera- 
tion of  a  certain  periodical  payment,  guarantee  support  during 
sickness,  or  a  sum  of  money  in  case  of  decease.  Now  this  life 
and  health  insurance  wants  all  the  criteria  of  a  good  property 
qualification.  There  is  no  test  of  its  bond  fides.  Simulated 
qualifications  might  be  manufactured  by  any  skilful  attorney. 
VOL.  III.  10 


146  PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM 

The  periodical  payment  might  be  easily  repaid  on  pretence  of 
sickness  ;  and  it  would  be  perfectly  impossible  for  any  revising 
barrister  to  detect  the  fraud.     There  would  be  no  security  that 
the  periodical  premium  even  belonged  to  the  poor  man;   it 
might  be  lent  him,  and  with  little  risk,  by  his  richer  neighbour. 
Electioneering  has  conquered  many  difficulties.     It  would  be 
easy  to  have  an  understanding  that  the  secretary  to  the  society, 
the  clerk  of  the  electioneering  attorney,  should  see  that  the 
premium  was  soon  repaid,  in  name  to  the  poor  subscriber,  and 
in  fact  to  the  vote-making  capitalist.     The  finances  of  some 
of  these  societies  have  never  been  in  the  best  order ;  and  there 
would  be  very  great  difficulty  in  tracking  even  a  gross  election- 
eering fraud.     Perhaps  no  practical  man  will  question  but  that 
the  manipulation  of  a  borough  attorney  would  soon  change 
the  character  of  a  "benefit  society";  it  would  cease  to  be,  as 
now,  the  repository  of  the  real  savings  of  the  best  working 
men  ;  it  would  become  a  cheap  and  sure  machinery  for  creating 
votes  in  the  name  of  the  most  corruptible.     So  large  a  portion 
of  the  savings  of  thrifty  operatives  are  most  properly  laid  by  in 
these  insurance  associations,  that  it  is  scarcely  likely  that  a 
moneyed  property  qualification  would  give  a  vote  to  a  con- 
siderable proportion  even  of  the  very  best  of  them.     A  few 
would  be  admitted  by  giving  the  franchise  to  those  who  left  a 
certain  sum  in  a  savings  bank  for  a  certain  time ;  but,  to  pre- 
vent fraud,  that  time  must  be  considerable,  and  careful  returns, 
prepared  for  Lord  John  Russell's  Reform  Bill,  are  said  to  show 
that  the  number  enfranchised  would  be  even  fewer  than  might 
have  been  expected.     At  any  rate,  it  would  not  be  safe  to  rely 
on  such  a  franchise  for  creating  a  Parliamentary  organ  for  the 
lower  classes.     Those  enfranchised  by  it  would  be  scattered 
through  a  hundred  constituencies.    There  would  be  no  certainty 
that  even  one  member  in  the  House  would  speak  their  senti- 
ments.     Moreover,   we  have  doubts  whether  a  constituency 
composed  only  of  operatives  who  had  a  considerable  sum  in 
the  savings   bank   after  providing,  as  in  all   likelihood  they 
would  have  done,  for  the  wants  of  their  families  in  case  of 
their  death  and  sickness,  would  not  rather  have  the  feelings  of 
petty  capitalists  than  of  skilled  labourers.     Those  who  have 


PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  147 

just  risen  above  a  class  can  scarcely  be  relied  on  for  giving 
expression  to  its  characteristic  opinions.  However,  as  it  would 
be  scarcely  possible  to  create  such  a  constituency,  there  is  no 
reason  for  prolonging  an  anticipatory  discussion  on  its  tenden- 
cies. On  the  whole,  therefore,  we  must,  though  rather  against 
our  wishes,  discard  the  idea  of  creating  a  working-class  fran- 
chise by  an  extension  of  the  suffrage  qualification  to  all  kinds 
of  property.  A  careful  examination  appears  to  show  that  we 
could  not  obtain  in  that  way  a  characteristic  expression  for  the 
wants  of  the  masses. 

These  are  the  principal  schemes  which  have  been  proposed 
for  adding  to  the  legislature  some  proper  spokesmen  of  the 
wants  of  the  lower  classes  by  giving  to  those  classes  some 
influence  in  every  constituency.  Our  survey  of  them  has  con- 
firmed the  anticipation  with  which  we  set  out.  The  dilemma 
remains.  Either  the  influence  is  great  enough  to  determine 
the  choice  of  the  member,  or  it  is  not :  if  it  is  not,  no  spokes- 
men for  the  working  classes  will  be  elected ;  if  it  is,  no  one  not 
thoroughly  imbued  with  the  views  and  sentiments  of  the  lower 
orders  would  be  chosen, — we  should  have  a  democracy. 

As  this,  the  first  of  the  only  two  possible  expedients, 
has  failed  us,  we  turn  with  anxiety  to  the  second.  Since 
it  does  not  seem  possible  to  procure  spokesmen  for  the  work- 
ing classes  by  a  uniform  franchise  in  all  constituencies,  is  it 
possible  to  do  so  by  a  varying  franchise,  which  shall  give 
votes  according  to  one  criterion  in  one  town,  and  to  another 
criterion  in  another  town?  It  evidently  is  possible.  Whether 
there  are  any  countervailing  objections  is  a  question  for  dis- 
cussion, but  of  the  possibility  there  cannot  be  a  doubt.  If 
all  the  adult  males  in  Stafford  have  votes,  then  the  member 
for  Stafford  will  be  elected  by  universal  suffrage ;  he  will  be 
the  organ  of  the  lower  orders  of  that  place.  Supposing  that 
place  to  be  subject  in  this  respect  to  no  important  local 
anomaly,  the  lower  orders  there  will  be  like  the  corresponding 
classes  elsewhere.  By  taking  a  fair  number  of  such  towns, 
we  may  secure  ourselves  from  the  mischievous  results  of  local 
irregularities ;  we  can  secure  a  fair  number  of  spokesmen  for 
the  lower  orders.  * 

10* 


148  PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM 

The  scheme  is  not  only  possible,  but  has  been  tried,  and 
in  this  country.  Before  the  Reform  Bill  of  1832  there  was 
a  great  disparity  in  the  suffrage  qualification  of  different  con- 
stituencies. "A  variety  of  rights  of  suffrage,"  said  Sir  James 
Mackintosh,  in  iSiS,1  "is  the  principle  of  the  English  repre- 
sentation ; "  and  he  went  on  to  enumerate  the  various  modes 
in  which  it  might  be  obtained — by  freehold  property,  by 
burgage  tenure,  by  payment  of  scot  and  lot,  etc.  The 
peculiar  circumstances  of  1832  made  it  necessary,  or  seem- 
ingly necessary,  to  abolish  these  contrasted  qualifications. 
Great  abuses  prevailed  in  them,  and  it  would  have  been  diffi- 
cult to  adjust  remedies  for  the  removal  of  those  abuses.  The 
great  requirement  of  the  moment  was  a  simple  bill.  During 
a  semi-revolution  there  was  no  time  for  nice  reasonings. 
Something  universally  intelligible  was  to  be  found.  The 
enthusiasm  of  the  country  must  be  concentrated  "on  the 
whole  bill  and  nothing  but  the  bill ".  We  must  not  judge  the 
tumult  of  that  time  by  the  quietude  of  our  own. 

At  a  calmer  moment  the  more  philosophic  of  liberal 
statesmen  were,  however,  aware  of  the  advantages  of  the 
machinery  which  they  were  afterwards  compelled  to  destroy. 
The  essay  of  Sir  James  Mackintosh,  to  which  we  have  referred, 
appeared  in  the  Edinburgh  Review,  and  was  considered  at  the 
time  as  an  authoritative  exposition  of  liberal  doctrine :  and 
almost  the  whole  of  it  is  devoted  to  a  proof  that  this  system 
of  varying  qualification  is  preferable,  not  only  to  universal 
suffrage,  but  to  any  uniform  "right  of  franchise".  On  the 
point  we  are  particularly  considering,  he  says  :  "  For  resistance 
to  oppression,  it  is  peculiarly  necessary  that  the  lower,  and  in 
some  places  the  lowest,  classes  should  possess  the  right  of 
suffrage.  Their  rights  would  otherwise  be  less  protected  than 
those  of  any  other  class  :  for  some  individuals  of  every  other 
class  would  generally  find  admittance  into  the  legislature ;  or, 
at  least,  there  is  no  other  class  which  is  not  connected  with 
some  of  its  members.  Some  sameness  of  interest,  and  some 
fellow-feeling,  would  therefore  protect  every  other  class,  even 

^Edinburgh  Review,  No.  LXL,  article  "Universal  Suffrage";  an 
admirable  essay,  singularly  worth  reading  at  present. 


PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  149 

if  not  directly  represented.  But  in  the  uneducated  classes,  none 
can  either  sit  in  a  representative  assembly,  or  be  connected  on 
an  equal  footing  with  its  members.  The  right  of  suffrage, 
therefore,  is  the  only  means  by  which  they  can  make  their 
voice  heard  in  its  deliberations.  They  also  often  send  to  a 
representative  assembly  members  whose  character  is  an  im- 
portant element  in  its  composition — men  of  popular  talents, 
principles,  and  feelings ;  quick  in  suspecting  oppression,  bold 
in  resisting  it ;  not  thinking  favourably  of  the  powerful  ;  listen- 
ing, almost  with  credulity,  to  the  complaints  of  the  humble 
and  the  feeble ;  and  impelled  by  ambition,  where  they  are  not 
prompted  by  generosity,  to  be  the  champions  of  the  defenceless. 
It  is  nothing  to  say  that  such  men  require  to  be  checked  and 
restrained  by  others  of  a  different  character  ;  this  may  be 
truly  said  of  every  other  class.  It  is  to  no  purpose  to  observe, 
that  an  assembly  exclusively  composed  of  them  would  be  ill 
fitted  for  the  duties  of  legislation  ;  for  the  same  observation 
would  be  perfectly  applicable  to  any  other  of  those  bodies 
which  make  useful  parts  of  a  mixed  and  various  assembly." 
Sir  James  had  evidently  the  words  of  the  member  for  West- 
minister sounding  in  his  ears.  His  words  are  not  an  expres- 
sion of  merely  speculative  approbation  ;  they  are  a  copy  from 
the  life. 

An  authority  still  more  remarkable  remains.  Lord  John 
Russell,  in  1821,  expressed  a  very  decided  opinion  on  the 
advantages  of  having  a  different  scale  of  property  qualification 
in  different  places,  and  rather  boldly  grappled  with  an  obvious 
objection  to  it.  We  quote  the  passage:  "All  parts  of  the 
country,  and  all  classes  of  the  people,  ought  to  have  a  share 
in  elections.  If  this  is  not  the  case,  the  excluded  part  or  class 
of  the  nation  will  become  of  no  importance  in  the  eyes  of  the 
rest :  its  favour  will  never  be  courted  in  the  country,  and  its 
interests  will  never  be  vigilantly  guarded  in  the  legislature. 
Consequently,  in  proportion  to  the  general  freedom  of  the 
community  will  be  the  discontent  excited  in  the  deprived  class 
by  the  sentence  of  nullity  and  inactivity  pronounced  upon 
them.  Every  system  of  uniform  suffrage  except  universal 
contains  this  dark  blot.  And  universal  suffrage,  in  pretend- 


ISO  PARL1AMENTAR  Y  REFORM 

ing  to  avoid  it,  gives  the  whole  power  to  the  highest  and  the 
lowest,  to  money  and  to  multitude ;  and  thus  disfranchises  the 
middle  class — the  most  disinterested,  the  most  independent, 
and  the  most  unprejudiced  of  all.  It  is  not  necessary,  how- 
ever, although  every  class  ought  to  have  an  influence  in 
elections,  that  every  member  of  every  class  should  have  a 
vote.  A  butcher  at  Hackney,  who  gives  his  vote  perhaps 
once  in  twelve  years  at  an  election  for  the  county  of  Middle- 
sex, has  scarcely  any  advantage  over  another  butcher  at  the 
same  place  who  has  no  vote  at  all.  And  even  if  he  had,  the 
interest  of  the  State  is  in  these  matters  the  chief  thing  to  be 
consulted ;  and  that  is  as  well  served  by  the  suffrage  of  some 
of  each  class,  as  by  that  of  all  of  each  class."  The  necessary 
effect  of  the  Act  of  1832  has  been  to  make  us  forget  the  value 
of  what  the  authors  of  it  considered  a  most  beneficial  part  of 
our  representative  system.  That  such  great  statesmen  should 
have  pronounced  such  panegyrics  on  the  diversity  of  qualifica- 
tions in  different  constituencies,  when  it  was  a  living  reality 
before  their  eyes,  shows  at  least  that  it  is  practicable  and 
possible. 

The  plan  is,  indeed,  liable  to  several  objections :  it  is  not 
to  be  expected  that  in  a  complicated  subject  any  scheme  which 
is  absolutely  free  even  from  serious  inconveniences  could  be 
suggested.  By  far  the  most  popular  objection  is  that  which 
Lord  John  Russell  noticed  in  the  passage  we  have  just  cited. 
There  is  a  sense  of  unfairness  in  the  project.  Why  should  an 
artisan  in  Liverpool  have  a  vote,  and  an  artisan  in  Macclesfield 
no  vote?  Why  should  the  richer  classes  in  one  constituency 
be  disfranchised  by  the  wholesale  admission  of  their  poorer 
neighbours,  and  the  richer  classes  in  another  constituency  not 
be  so  disfranchised  ?  The  answer  is  suggested  by  a  portion  of 
our  preceding  remarks.  No  one  has  a  right,  as  we  have  seen, 
to  any  portion  of  political  power  which  he  cannot  exercise 
without  preventing  some  others  from  exercising  better  that  or 
some  greater  power.  If  all  the  operatives  in  the  great  towns 
were  enfranchised,  they  would  prevent  the  higher  classes  from 
exercising  any  power :  and  this  is  the  reply  to  the  unenfran- 
chised artisan  in  Macclesfield.  If  there  were  no  representatives 


PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  1 5 1 

of  the  working  classes  in  Parliament,  its  measures  might  be  less 
beneficial,  and  its  debates  would  be  imperfect ;  the  higher  classes 
in  some  great  towns  must  have  less  power  than  in  some  other 
great  towns,  because  a  uniform  suffrage  impedes  the  beneficial 
work  of  Parliament,  and  prevents  the  ruling  legislature  from 
exercising  its  nearly  omnipotent  power  well  and  justly.  To 
have  a  good  Parliament,  we  must  disfranchise  some  good  con- 
stituents. Perhaps,  indeed,  the  whole  difficulty  is  overrated. 
We  see  every  day  that,  so  far  as  the  middle  classes  are  con- 
cerned, it  is  of  no  perceptible  consequence  to  the  individual 
whether  he  has  a  vote  or  not :  it  is  of  great  consequence  to  him 
that  the  supreme  legislature  should  accord  with  the  views  of 
his  class  and  himself;  but  whether  he  has  voted  for  any  par- 
ticular member  of  that  legislature  is  a  trifle.  We  never  dream 
in  society  of  asking  whether  the  person  we  are  talking  to  has 
a  vote  or  not.  Both  live,  and  live  equally,  in  the  atmosphere 
of  politics.  Similarly,  it  is  of  great  importance  to  the  lower 
classes  that  their  feelings  should  be  sufficiently  expressed  in 
Parliament ;  but  which  of  them  votes  for  the  person  who  should 
express  them  is  of  no  consequence  at  all.  The  non- voter  ought 
to  take  as  much  interest  in  politics  as  the  voter.  When  all  of 
a  class  cannot  exercise  power  without  impeding  a  more  qualified 
class,  we  may  select,  from  considerations  of  convenience,  those 
members  of  the  less  qualified  class  who  are  to  have  power. 
There  is  no  injustice  in  allowing  expediency  to  adjust  the  claims 
of  persons  similarly  entitled 

It  may  also  be  objected  that  this  plan  of  representing  the 
lower  classes  does  not  give  them  the  general  instruction  which 
the  exercise  of  the  suffrage  is  supposed  to  bestow.  An  unen- 
franchised artisan  in  Macclesfield  is  not  educated  by  giving  the 
suffrage  to  an  artisan  in  Manchester.  But  it  is  a  mistake  to 
suppose  that  there  is  much,  if  any,  instruction  in  the  personal 
exercise  of  the  franchise.  Popular  elections  have  no  doubt  a 
didactic  influence  on  the  community  at  large ;  they  diffuse  an 
interest  in  great  affairs  through  the  country ;  but  the  elevating 
effect  of  giving  a  vote  is  always  infmitesimally  small.  Among 
the  lower  classes  it  is  a  question  whether  the  risk  of  moral 
deterioration  does  not  quite  balance  the  hope  of  moral  elevation. 


1 5  2  PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM 

Popular  institutions  educate  by  the  intellectual  atmosphere 
which  they  constantly  create,  and  not  by  the  occasional  decisions 
which  they  require.  And  were  it  otherwise,  intellectual  instruc- 
tion is  but  a  secondary  benefit  of  popular  government ;  and  we 
must  not  throw  away,  in  the  hope  of  increasing  it,  the  primary 
advantage  of  being  well  governed.  We  believe  too  that,  in  fact, 
mere  existence  under  a  good  government  is  more  instructive 
than  the  power  of  now  and  then  contributing  to  a  bad  govern- 
ment. 

We  are  more  afraid  of  the  objection  that  this  inequality  of 
suffrage  in  otherwise  similar  constituencies  is  an  anomaly  which 
may  grow  up  imperceptibly,  as  it  did  before  the  Reform  Bill, 
but  cannot  now  be  created  de  novo.  We  admit  the  difficulty : 
we  are  well  aware  that  this  inequality,  like  every  other  expe- 
dient in  politics  to  which  the  objections  are  apparent  and  the 
advantages  latent,  is  far  easier  to  preserve  than  to  originate. 
But  when  great  interests  are  at  stake,  we  should  only  give  up 
that  which  is  impossible ;  what  is  merely  difficult  should  be 
done.  Moreover,  a  little  examination  will,  we  think,  show  that 
the  obstacles  are  far  slighter  than  they  might  seem  at  first  sight. 

From  this  point  of  view  it  is  worth  remarking,  that  the 
inequality  of  suffrage  qualification  to  a  certain  extent  still 
exists.  The  effect  of  the  Reform  Act  has  been  to  hide  and 
diminish,  but  not  to  annihilate,  the  inequalities  which  existed 
before.  The  constituencies  in  which  these  inequalities  existed 
were  naturally  opposed  to  their  abolition,  and  a  compromise 
was  effected.  All  persons  duly  qualified  to  vote  on  the  7th 
June,  1832,  were  to  retain  their  right  for  life,  subject  to  certain 
conditions  of  residence  and  registration.  In  all  boroughs, 
likewise,  in  which  freedom  of  the  borough,  whether  acquired 
by  birth  or  servitude  prescriptively,  gave  a  vote,  that  franchise 
was  to  a  certain  extent  retained.  The  freemen  of  such  bor- 
oughs have  votes  now  just  as  before,  and  freedom  can  be 
acquired  in  the  same  way:  no  change  on  this  point  was 
effected  in  1832,  except  that  a  borough  franchise  so  obtained 
is  forfeited  by  non-residence  in  the  borough.  The  number  of 
these  anomalous  votes  is  still  very  considerable.  Mr.  New- 
march  has  shown  that  in  1853  it  amounted  to  60,565,  which 


PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  1 53 

is  more  than  one-seventh  of  400,000,  the  number  (or  nearly 
so)  of  borough  electors  at  that  time.  We  have  therefore  a 
very  considerable  amount  of  inequality  in  our  present  system  ; 
we  should  scarcely  propose  to  increase  it,  but  to  distribute  it 
more  usefully. 

The  freemen  of  Coventry,  Derby,  Leicester,  are  not  a  class 
of  whom  we  wish  to  undertake  the  defence;  and  in  many 
towns  the  existence  of  those  old  rights  is  a  recognised  nuis- 
ance. We  are  not  prepared  to  approve  all  anomalies  in  our 
representation.  Our  principles  are  especially  opposed  to  the 
enfranchisement  of  favoured  individuals  in  minor  towns — few 
enough  to  be  bought,  corruptible  enough  to  wish  to  be  bought  ; 
who  are  not  in  general  the  majority  of  the  constituency,  but 
who  exercise  important  influence  because  they  can  throw  in  a 
purchasable  balance  of  votes  on  critical  occasions ;  who  are  in 
no  respect  fair  representatives  of  the  working  classes,  who  do 
not  return  to  the  House  a  single  fit  person  willing  to  be  spokes- 
man for  them.  We  argue  merely  that  the  effect  of  the  Act  of 
1832  has  only  been  to  diminish  the  inequality  of  suffrage 
qualification  before  existing ;  and  by  no  means  to  establish, 
even  if  a  single  act  of  Parliament  could  have  so  done,  the 
erroneous  principle  that  there  is  to  be  no  inequality. 

But  the  most  effectual  way  of  showing  that  it  is  possible 
to  create  de  novo  a  beneficial  variety  of  property  qualifications, 
is  to  point  out  how  it  can  be  done.  If  it  be  admitted  that  we 
should  found  working-class  constituencies,  it  is  clear  that  we 
should  found  them  where  the  working  classes  live.  This  is  of 
course  in  the  great  seats  of  industry,  where  work  is  plentiful 
and  constant.  Those  who  reside  in  such  towns  are  likewise 
the  most  political  part  of  the  class :  the  agricultural  labourers, 
scattered  in  rural  parishes,  with  low  wages  and  little  know-^/ 
ledge,  have  no  views  and  no  sentiments  which  admit  of  Parlia- 
mentary expression  ;  they  have  no  political  thoughts.  If  we 
wish  to  give  due  expression,  and  not  more  than  due  ex- 
pression, to  the  ideas  of  the  democracy,  we  must  select  some 
few  of  the  very  largest  towns,  where  its  characteristic  elements 
are  most  congregated.  It  would  have  been  more  fortunate  if 
these  towns  had  acquired  such  a  franchise  prescriptively ;  but 


1 54  PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM 

it  would  have  been  all  but  miraculous  if  such  had  been  the 
case.  Many  of  our  greatest  towns  are  situated  in  what,  in 
more  purely  agricultural  times,  were  very  uninfluential  dis- 
tricts ;  we  must  not  expect  an  hereditary  franchise  for  newly- 
created  interests.  As  it  is  necessary  to  have  a  rule  of  selection, 
the  best  which  can  be  suggested  is  the  rule  of  population ;  we 
would  propose,  therefore,  that  in  the  very  largest  towns  in 
England 1  there  should  be  what  Mr.  Bright  advocates  for  all 
towns,  a  rate- paying  franchise.  If  this  were  extended  to  all 
towns  having  more  than  75,000  inhabitants,  it  would  include 
at  present  London,  Liverpool,  Manchester,  the  Tower  Hamlets, 
Marylebone,  Finsbury,  Bristol,  Birmingham,  Lambeth,  West- 
minster, Leeds,  Sheffield,  Wolverhampton,  Southwark,  Green- 
wich, Bradford,  Newcastle-on-Tyne,  and  Salford.  If  there 
were  a  bond  fide  representation  of  the  working  classes  in  these 
towns,  they  could  not  complain  of  a  class  disfranchisement ; 
there  would  be  adequate  spokesmen  for  them.  A  member 
speaking  the  voice  of  places  where  such  numbers  of  operatives 

1  It  may,  indeed,  be  objected  that  these  large  constituencies  are  just 
the  ones  in  which  a  rate-paying  franchise  would  have  the  most  conclusivel 
democratic  effect ;  and  that  if  we  concede  it  as  to  these,  it  is  not  wortl 
while  to  resist  it  with  respect  to  others  in  which  we  might  hope,  by  tht 
influence  of  wealth  and  social  standing,   to  counteract  more  or  less  its 
democratic  tendency.     But  facts  show  that  in  an  immense  number 
constituencies  these  influences  could  not  control  that  tendency  effectually. 
If  an  Act  giving  votes  to  all  rate-payers  be  ever  passed,  it  will  probabl] 
be  accompanied  by  a  readjustment  of  the  electoral  districts  on  a  dei 
cratic  principle,  which  would  augment  the   influence  of  mere  numbei 
But  we  need  not  consider  this,  since  the  introduction  of  the  rate-paying 
franchise  into  our  present  constituencies  would  introduce  a  new  element 
much  too  large  to  be  easily  managed  by  indirect  influences.     It  is 
course  not  known  exactly  how  large  that  new  element  would  be  ;  but  vei 
careful  tables  have  been  compiled  of  the  number  of  inhabited  houses  ii 
our  present  boroughs  ;  and  as  the  number  of  women  rated  in  respect 
them  is  no  doubt  small,  all  but  a  minute  fraction  of  such  houses  woulc 
give  a  qualification  to  a  male  voter.     Now  it  appears  that  in  all  except 
ten  borough  constituencies  the  number  of  inhabited  houses  was  in  185: 
and  doubtless  is  still,  more  than  double  that  of  the  present  electors  ; 
consequently  the  new  element  which  would  be  introduced  would  greatl) 
preponderate  over,  and  in  fact  disfranchise,  the  old.     It  is  evident  that  il 
would  be  very  difficult  to  manage  so  many  new  voters  by  any  indii 
influences. 


PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  155 

are  congregated,  could  speak  the  sentiments  of  that  class  with 
authority.  No  one  could  be  unaware  that  the  constituency  in 
these  large  towns  was  ultra-democratic.  The  representation 
of  the  lower  orders  would  be  conspicuous  as  well  as  effectual. 

Nor  would  the  number  of  representatives  so  given  to  the 
lower  classes  be  sufficient  to  deteriorate  the  general  character 
of  the  legislature.  It  would  not  amount  to  forty  for  England 
and  Wales,  or  to  fifty  for  the  United  Kingdom  ;  a  considerable 
number,  no  doubt,  but  not  sufficient  to  destroy  the  represen- 
tative character  of  a  house  of  658  members.  The  House  of 
Commons  would  still  represent  the  educated  classes  as  a 
whole;  its  opinion  would  still  be  their  opinion;  the  perfor-  ! 
mance  of  its  ruling  function  would  be  unimpaired  ;  and  that  of 
its  expressive  function  would  be  improved. 

We  have  dwelt  so  long  on  this  part  of  our  subject,  that  we 
shall  not  be  able  to  devote  as  much  space  as  we  could  wish  to 
the  explanation  of  the  mode  in  which  we  think  the  remaining 
defects  of  our  representative  system  should  be  remedied.  We 
can  only  state  briefly  a  few  of  the  most  important  considera- 
tions. 

The  first  of  those  defects,  which  we  specified  at  the  outset, 
is  the  existence  of  small  boroughs,  which  are  either  in  the 
hands  of  individual  proprietors  or  have  become  in  the  process 
of  time  nests  of  corruption.  We  need  not  specify  examples  ; 
the  fact  is  sufficiently  familiar.  Indeed,  all  small  boroughs  in 
the  course  of  years  must  rapidly  tend  towards  one  or  other  of 
these  fates.  A  great  deal  of  wealth  in  this  country  seeks  to 
invest  itself  politically.  A  small  borough  of  this  sort  neces- 
sarily contains  a  considerable  number  of  corruptible  individuals  ; 
year  by  year  skilful  Parliamentary  agents  ascertain  who  these 
individuals  are,  and  buy  them.  The  continual  temptation  is 
too  much  for  shop-keeping  humanity ;  with  every  election  the 
number  of  purchasable  votes  tends  to  increase:  one  would 
not  have  yielded,  only  he  wanted  a  new  shop  front ;  another, 
who  is  proof  against  plate-glass,  desires  money  to  put  out  his 
son  in  the  world.  Gradually  an  atmosphere  of  corruption 
closes  over  the  borough,  and  men  of  the  world  cease  to  expect 
purity  from  it.  The  only  way  in  which  this  sort  of  retail 


1 5  6  PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM 

purchase  can  be  escaped  is  by  a  wholesale  purchase.  A  rich 
proprietor  may  buy  a  large  majority  of  vote-conferring  pr< 
perties  in  the  borough,  and  so  become  despotic  in  the  town. 
Each  presentation  (to  borrow  a  phrase  from  the  Church)  is 
not  in  that  case  sold  on  the  day  of  election,  because  the  ad- 
vowson  has  been  bought  before  by  some  one  who  has  a  use 
for  it. 

We  may  escape,  then,  the  necessity  of  ascertaining  the 
electoral  corruption  of  particular  boroughs,  and  lay  it  down  as 
a  general  condition  of  permanent  purity  that  a  constituency 
should  contain  a  fixed  number — five  hundred,  suppose,  electors. 
It  is  quite  true  that  this  remedy  is  not  certainly  effectual : 
there  are  many  boroughs,  where  the  enfranchised  constituency 
exceeds  this  number,  in  which  the  elections  are  not  at  all  what 
we  should  wish.  But  the  tendency  of  such  a  measure  is  plain. 
It  prevents  the  wholesale  purchase  by  the  neighbouring 
proprietors,  because  it  makes  the  property  too  large  for 
ordinary  wealth  to  buy.  It  tends  to  prevent  the  retail  purchase 
by  increasing  the  supply  of  votes — which  always  lessens  their 
market  value,  and  in  very  many  cases  reduces  it  below  the 
price  which  will  tempt  ordinary  voters  to  corruption.  The 
expedient  is  not  a  perfectly  effectual  one,  but  at  least  it  is  a 
considerable  palliative. 

What,  then,  is  to  be  done  with  boroughs  below  the  pre- 
scribed limits  ?  There  are  in  England  and  Wales  about  sixty- 
seven  members,  elected  by  forty-two  of  such  boroughs.  What 
course  would  it  be  wisest  to  take  with  respect  to  such  seats  ? 
The  most  easy  plan  in  theory  is  to  annihilate  them  at  once,  t( 
have  a  new  schedule  A  of  places  disfranchised.  But  it 
easier  to  write  such  a  recommendation  in  an  essay  than  tc 
carry  the  enactment  in  practice.  These  seats  have  the  pn 
tective  instincts  of  property.  Money  has  been  spent  01 
many  of  them  for  a  course  of  years  :  in  all  of  them  the  present 
electors  would  vote  nearly  as  a  man  against  the  abolition  oi 
"  themselves  ".  The  strenuous  resistance  of  the  members  foi 
such  seats  must  be  expected  to  any  bill  which  should  propo< 
to  abolish  them  in  toto.  And  such  resistance  would  be  th( 
more  effectual,  because  in  all  likelihood  it  would  be  indirect. 


PARLIAMENTAR  V  REFORM  1 5  7 

The  interested  members,  unless  a  sinister  policy  were  un- 
usually wanting  in  its  characteristic  acuteness,  would  not  risk 
a  division  on  the  unpleasant  question  of  abolishing  or  not 
abolishing  their  own  seats.  They  would  throw  the  probably 
decisive  weight  of  their  votes  into  the  scale  most  inconvenient 
to  the  Government  proposing  that  abolition  ;  would  combine 
with  every  strong  opposition  to  it ;  in  the  present  state  of 
parties,  would  soon  reduce  it  to  a  minority.  A  proposal  to 
disfranchise  many  boroughs  would  soon  issue  in  the  resignation 
of  the  proposing  Government 

We  must  therefore  assume  that  for  the  present,  to  some 
considerable  extent,  the  influence  of  such  boroughs  must  con- 
tinue to  exist  In  1832  there  was  a  popular  feeling  which 
carried  everything  before  it  Now  all  we  can  hope  to  carry  is 
a  compromise.  As  a  compromise,  the  best  expedient  which 
we  can  suggest  is  to  combine  such  boroughs.  The  English 
respect  for  vested  interests  would  preclude  the  popularity  of  a 
sweeping  Act ;  but  the  English  liking  for  a  moderate  expedient 
would  be  a  strong  support  to  any  measure  that  could  be  so 
called.  The  effect  of  such  a  combination  would  probably  be 
in  great  part  to  set  the  joint  constituency  free  from  the  yoke 
of  great  proprietors.  If  Lord  A  is  supreme  in  borough  <z,  and 
Mr.  B  in  town  b,  a  and  b  combined  will  probably  be  controlled 
by  neither.  The  local  feeling  of  b  will  resist  Lord  A  ;  that  of 
a  would  be  rigid  to  the  enticements  of  Mr.  B.  If  one  of  the 
burghs  should  be  "independent,"  that  is  to  say,  purchased 
voter  by  voter  at  each  election,  its  inhabitants  would  probably 
rather  be  purchased  by  any  one  than  by  the  proprietor  of  the 
antagonistic  borough.  We  are  aware  that  these  are  not  very 
attractive  considerations  ;  but  what  are  we  to  do  ?  Us  ont  des 
canons.  We  must  make  the  best  terms  we  can  with  constitu- 
encies which  we  cannot  hope  entirely  to  destroy. 

We  shall  be  asked  why  we  group  these  existing  boroughs 
with  one  another,  instead  of  combining  them  with  new  towns 
not  now  possessed  of  the  borough  franchise,  which  are  there- 
fore at  present  comparatively  uncorrupt  We  admit  that,  in 
some  individual  cases,  there  may  be  conclusive  reasons  for 
taking  the  latter  course ;  but  we  think  that  there  are  political 


1 5  8  PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM 

arguments  which    should  disincline  us  from   adopting  it  in 
general. 

We  saw  reason  to  believe  that  the  principal  defects  of  our 
House  of  Commons,  as  a  ruling  assembly,  were  an  excessive 
bias  to  the  landed  interest,  and  an  insufficient  sympathy  with 
the  growing  interests  of  the  country.  On  this  account  it  is 
desirable  not  to  take  from  the  county  constituencies  all  the 
liberalising  element  which  they  at  present  possess ;  on  the 
contrary,  it  would  be  desirable,  if  possible,  to  increase  it.  We 
should,  however,  weaken  that  liberal  element  very  materially 
if,  in  our  extreme  desire  to  remedy  borough  corruption,  we 
extracted  from  the  constituency  of  the  counties  the  inhabitants 
of  all  their  larger  towns.  The  effect  of  Mr.  Locke  King's 
proposal  to  reduce  the  county  franchise  from  £$o  to  £10,  if 
it  should  be  adopted,  as  it  probably  will  be,  will  be  to  aug- 
ment the  county  influence  of  the  towns  which  have  no  borough 
member.  We  must  not  counteract  this  tendency.  As  we 
think  it  desirable  to  diminish  the  sectarian  character  of  our 
county  members,  we  must  not  adopt  the  most  effectual  of  all 
schemes  for  preserving  it  unimpaired — we  must  not  absorb 
into  the  boroughs  all  other  influences  save  those  of  the  country 
gentlemen. 

Our  second  reason  for  preferring  to  combine  the  very  small 
boroughs  with  one  another  rather  than  to  unite  each  of  them 
with  some  town  at  present  unenfranchised  is,  that  we  wish  t< 
diminish  the  number  of  seats  for  such  constituencies.  If  we 
annexed  new  elements  to  each  of  them,  there  would  be  a 
plausible  argument  for  not  diminishing  their  number.  But, 
as  has  been  explained,  we  wish  to  provide  a  more  ampl< 
representation  for  the  growing  districts  of  the  country ;  am 
there  is  a  very  general  and  well-grounded  opinion  that  the 
House  of  Commons  is  already  quite  sufficiently  numerous. 
In  order,  therefore,  to  increase  the  representation  of  the  pro- 
gressive parts  of  England  in  the  proportion  which  seems  de- 
sirable, we  must  take  from  the  decaying  or  stationary  towns 
of  the  less  active  parts  of  the  country  the  right  of  sending 
members  which  they  have  now.  On  a  great  scale,  the  same 
plan  was  adopted  in  1832  :  it  was  then  necessary  to  remedy 


PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  159 

great  evil ;  and  therefore  it  was  necessary  that  the  number  of 
seats  disfranchised  should  be  great,  and  the  number  of  newly 
enfranchised  towns  considerable  also.  As  we  have  shown,  no 
such  enormous  evil  remains  at  present  to  be  remedied.  The 
judgment  of  Parliament  coincides  fairly,  if  not  precisely,  with 
the  opinion  of  the  nation.  All  we  have  to  correct  is,  a  slight 
bias  in  one  direction,  and  a  perceptible  but  not  extreme  de- 
ficiency of  sympathy  in  another.  The  changes  we  have  to 
make,  therefore,  may  be  slight  in  comparison  with  those  of 
1832;  still,  so  important  is  it  that  Parliament  should  really 
coincide  in  opinion  with  the  nation,  that  we  should  take  account 
of  the  beginnings  of  a  discrepancy ;  while  the  topic  of  reform 
in  our  electoral  system  is  definitely  before  the  public,  we  should 
take  the  opportunity  of  correcting  the  undue  inclination  of  the 
legislature  towards  the  less  active,  and  its  contrast  of  feeling 
(which  though  slight  is  real)  to  the  more  active  part  of  the 
community. 

We  are  the  more  certain  that  it  is  advisable  to  make  some 
such  change  as  this,  because,  as  we  have  before  observed,  we 
believe  this  uneasy  consciousness  of  the  less  perfect  representa- 
tion of  the  progressive  elements  in  the  nation,  as  compared 
with  the  unprogressive,  to  be  the  secret  source  of  almost  all 
the  slight  popular  enthusiasm  which  now  exists  in  favour  of 
reform.  The  external  form  of  what  is  proposed  is,  indeed, 
different ;  the  principal,  as  well  as  the  most  popular,  suggestion 
is  one  for  the  representation  of  the  working  classes.  We  have 
no  doubt  that  those  who  are  at  the  head  of  that  movement,  as 
well  as  those  who  join  in  it,  quite  believe  that  such  is  their  true 
object.  But  it  is  at  least  an  odd  undertaking  to  be  headed  by 
master  manufacturers.  Whatever  view  we  may  take  of  the 
effects  of  universal  or  of  rate-paying  franchise  on  other  parts  of 
the  nation,  there  can  be  little  question  that  its  influence  would 
be  detrimental  to  the  power  of  opulent  capitalists.  We  must 
alter  the  world  before  there  ceases  to  be  some  opposition  of 
feeling  (there  is  often  a  momentary  opposition  of  interest) 
between  the  mill-owner  and  his  work-people.  In  the  days  of 
the  short-time  agitation  both  parties  understood  this  perfectly. 
Even  now  a  Parliament  of  capitalists  would  probably  propose 


1 60  PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM 

to  repeal  the  ten-hours'  bill ;  a  Parliament  of  working  men 
would  very  likely  desire  to  extend  its  principle.  To  say  the 
least,  it  is  strange  that  the  characteristic  men  of  one  class 
should  be  so  ready  to  throw  all  power  into  the  hands  of  the 
other. 

A  letter  from  Mr.  Bright  himself  to  a  Manchester  associa- 
tion puts  the  matter  in  a  different  light.     "  On  a  great  occasion," 
he  tells  us,  "  like  the  one  now  before  the  country,  there  will 
differences  of  opinion.     Some  think  one  extent  of  franchij 
better  than  another.     Some  are  for  a  £6  rental ;  some  are  fc 
a  £5  rental ;  you  are  for  the  extension  of  the  right  of  voting 
to  every  man.     Now  I  prefer  to  establish  the  Parliamentai 
suffrage  on  the  basis  which  has  been  tried  for  some  centuri< 
in  our  parishes,  and  which  has  been  adopted  at  a  recent  peri< 
in  our  poor-law  unions  and   in  our  municipal  governments 
with  some  needless  restriction,  with  regard  to  the  munici] 
franchise,  which  I  would  not  introduce  into  our  Parliamentai 
franchise.     The  more  public  opinion   is   freely  and   honestb 
expressed,  the  more  distinctly  will  a  government,  engaged 
preparing  a  Reform  Bill,  be  able  to  discover  which  is  the  point 
likely  to  be  most  satisfactory  to  the  public.     I  consider  these 
differences  of  opinion  on  the  subject  as  of  trifling  importance 
when  compared  with  the  question  of  the  distribution  of  seats 
and  members.     This  is  the  vital  point  in  the  coming  bill ;  and 
unless  it  be  well  watched,  you  may  get  any  amount  of  suffrage, 
and  yet  find,  after  all,  that  you  have  lost  the  substance,  and 
are  playing  merely  with  the  shadow  of  popular  representation." 

This  at  least  is  an  intelligible  doctrine.  A  redistribution  of 
seats  in  proportion  to  population  would  indisputably  be  most 
advantageous  to  Mr.  Bright  and  his  associates.  Some  of  their 
school  have  made  a  calculation  that  sixty-three  boroughs,  return- 
ing eighty-five  members,  have  not,  taken  together,  as  many  elec- 
tors as  Manchester,  which  returns  but  two.  And,  independently 
of  extreme  cases,  it  is  quite  indisputable  that  the  large  towns  and 
crowded  populations  of  Lancashire  and  the  West  Riding  would, 
in  any  grouping  based  on  electoral  numbers,  assume  a  propor- 
tionate magnitude  that  would  be  quite  different  from  that 
which  they  have  at  present.  If  such  a  readjustment  could  be 


PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  1 6 1 

carried,  and  the  present  franchise  retained,  the  followers  of  Mr. 
Bright  would  be  one  of  the  most  numerous  divisions  of  the 
House  of  Commons.  It  is  true  that  the  advantage  of  their 
success  must  be  shared  with  the  class  most  antagonistic  to 
them  in  feeling.  The  county  representation  would  have  to  be 
extended  if  electoral  numbers,  or  any  mere  numbers,  were  to 
be  taken  as  the  guide  to  a  new  adjustment.  But  Mr.  Bright 
probably  does  not  fear  a  conflict  with  Mr.  Newdegate.  We 
can  well  understand  that  he  should  esteem  the  lowering  of  the 
franchise,  which  would  impair  his  power,  less  important  than  a 
reapportionment  of  members,  which  must  increase  it. 

We  can  spare  but  a  few  words  to  show  the  unsoundness  of 
the  principle  on  which  the  proposed  readjustment  is  to  be 
based  ;  and  we  would  hope  that  only  a  few  words  are  needed. 
Mr.  Bright  considers  it  an  obvious  absurdity  that  a  consti- 
tuency of  1000  electors  should  return  a  member,  and  that 
another  constituency  with  5000  should  return  but  one  member 
also.  Such  a  variety  is  nevertheless  primd  facie  beneficial :  it 
would  be  a  probable  sign  of  the  complete  imperfection  of  an 
electoral  organisation  if  every  constituency  in  it  were  equally 
numerous.  All  such  systems  must  tend  to  give  undue  pre- 
ponderance to  some  classes,  and  to  deny,  not  only  substantial 
influence,  but  even  bare  expression,  to  the  views  of  other  classes. 
If  the  nation  be  homogeneous,  equal  patches  of  population 
will  tend  to  return  similar  members.  The  more  numerous  the 
constituency,  the  more  likely  is  this  to  be  the  result.  Thousand 
A  may  differ  from  Thousand  B  ;  but  Million  A  will  assuredly 
be  identical  with  Million  B.  The  doctrine  of  chances  forbids 
us  to  expect  contrasted  representatives  from  constituencies  with 
a  family  likeness.  If,  indeed,  the  nation  should  not  be  homo- 
geneous, but  should  contain  two  very  numerous  classes  of  un- 
like tendencies,  whose  harmony  is  preserved  by  the  continual 
arbitration  of  less  numerous  classes  intermediate  between  them, 
the  result  of  an  equal  division  of  electoral  districts  would  be 
different,  and  it  would  be  worse.  Each  of  the  intermediate 
classes  would  be  merged  in  one  of  the  larger.  We  may,  how- 
ever, look  at  the  living  operation,  and  not  at  the  bare  theory. 
We  have  mentioned  the  contrast  between  Mr.  Bright  and  Mr, 
VOL,  III.  II 


1 6  2  PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM 

Newdegate.  What  is  it  that  prevents  the  continual  disturb- 
ance of  Parliamentary  peace  between  two  classes  of  men  so 
dissimilar  as  the  members  for  counties — especially  purely 
agricultural  counties — and  members  for  manufacturing  cities  ? 
Obviously  the  existence  of  the  intermediate  elements,  of  mem- 
bers sent  up  by  agricultural  towns,  which  contain  industrial 
elements,  and  by  smaller  manufacturing  towns,  which  have  no 
notion  of  being  offered  in  sacrifice  to  the  populace  of  great 
cities.  An  electoral  system  composed  of  "  population  sec- 
tions "  would  not  give  us  a  representative  assembly  adapted  to 
the  performance  of  either  of  its  two  functions.  A  House  of 
Commons  so  elected  would  not  represent  the  public  opinion  of 
the  country,  and  therefore  could  not  rule  it  as  it  should  be 
ruled.  The  impartial  and  arbitrating  element  would  be  defi- 
cient And,  as  has  been  explained,  this  complete  deficiency 
in  the  qualities  necessaiy  to  a  ruling  legislature  would  not  be 
compensated  by  any  excellence  in  the  qualities  necessary  to 
secure  a  good  expression  of  the  grievances  and  opinions  of  all 
classes.  Old  English  good  sense  selected  a  town  to  send  re- 
presentatives separately  from  a  county  in  which  it  was  situated 
because  it  saw  there  the  conspicuous  focus  of  separate  feelings, 
separate  interests,  possibly  separate  complaints.  Our  new 
reformers  would  undo  this  wise  arrangement.  They  would 
(at  least,  such  is  the  logical  tendency  of  their  argument)  destroy 
those  bounds  and  limits  to  constituencies  which  secure  a  char- 
acter to  the  constituency  ;  they  would  represent  the  shipping 
interest  by  throwing  Hull  into  the  county  of  York  arid  Grimsby 
into  the  county  of  Lincoln  :  distinct  definition  is  all  that  is 
necessary  to  disprove  such  ideas. 

Paradoxical  as  it  may  sound,  the  evident  untenableness  of 
Mr.  Bright's  views  gives  them  a  claim  on  our  attention.  It  is 
an  indication  of  social  unsoundness  that  men  of  ability  and 
energy  sincerely  advocate  very  absurd  theories,  and  are  able  to 
collect  considerable  audiences  to  applaud  those  theories.  We 
may  speak  of  our  national  contentment ;  but  the  answer  comes, 
What,  then,  do  these  people  complain  of?  We  must  not  rest 
satisfied  with  a  mere  refutation  of  the  doctrines  which  are 
avowed,  or  an  exposition  of  the  mischievous  consequences  of 


PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  163 

the  plans  proposed  There  are  certain  theories  of  political 
philosophy  which  supply  ready  arguments  against  almost  every 
state  of  society  which  has  been  able  to  maintain  a  long  exis- 
tence. These  heresies  float  among  the  most  ordinary  ideas  of 
mankind,  and  are  ready  without  the  least  research  to  the  hand 
of  whoever  may  believe  that  he  wants  them.  Latent  discon- 
tent with  the  existing  form  of  government  catches  hastily  at 
whatever  justifies  it ;  it  seeks  in  these  old  forms  of  false  doc- 
trine a  logical  basis  for  itself.  One  of  these  heresies  is  the 
purely  democratic  theory  of  government ;  it  has  very  rarely 
indeed  been  adopted  as  a  guide  to  action,  but  its  existence  is 
nearly  as  old  as  political  speculation.  In  every  age  and  country 
a  class  which  has  not  as  much  power  as  it  thinks  it  ought  to 
have  snatches  at  the  notion  that  all  classes  ought  to  have  equal 
power.  Such  an  "  uneasy  class  "  believes  that  it  ought  to  have 
as  much  power  as  the  class  which  is  in  possession  ;  and  not 
liking  to  put  forward  even  to  itself  a  selfish  claim  of  individual 
merit,  it  tries  to  found  its  pretensions  on  the  "  equal  rights 
of  all  mankind  ".  Mr.  Burke  described  the  first  East  Indian 
nabobs  as  "  Jacobins  almost  to  a  man,"  because  they  did  not 
find  their  social  position  "  proportionate  to  their  new  wealth  ". 
We  cannot  fail  to  observe  that  the  new  business  wealth  of  the 
present  day  (of  which  Mr.  Bright  is  the  orator  and  mouth- 
piece) has  a  tendency  to  democracy  for  the  same  reason.  Such 
a  symptom  in  the  body  politic  is  an  indication  of  danger.  So 
energetic  a  class  as  the  creators  of  Manchester  need  to  be  con- 
ciliated ;  their  active  intelligence  has  rights  which  assuredly  it 
will  make  heard.  The  great  political  want  of  our  day  is  a 
capitalist  conservatism.  If  we  could  enlist  the  intelligent  crea- 
tors of  wealth  in  the  ranks  of  those  who  would  give  their  due 
influence  to  intelligence  and  property,  we  should  have  almost 
secured  the  stability  of  our  constitution  ;  we  should  have  paci- 
fied its  most  dangerous  assailants  ;  we  should  count  them 
among  our  most  active  allies.  If  the  transfer  of  a  moderate 
number  of  seats  in  Parliament  from  boroughs,  which  scarcely 
profess  to  exercise  an  independent  choice  of  representatives,  to 
large  and  growing  towns  would  only  in  a  subordinate  degree 
conduce  to  this  effect,  such  a  transfer  should  be  made,  There 

II* 


1 64  PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM 

would  still  be  enough  of  smaller  constituencies  for  all  purposes 
that  are  useful. 

We  have,  therefore,  completed  our  task.  We  have  shown 
the  defects  which  our  present  system  of  representation  seems 
to  contain  ;  and  we  have  endeavoured  to  indicate  the  mode  in 
which  those  defects  might,  we  think,  be  remedied.  The  sub- 
ject is  one  of  great  complexity  and  extent,  and  very  difficult 
to  discuss  within  the  limits  of  an  article.  To  be  considered 
profitably,  it  must  be  considered  as  a  whole  ;  and  it  will  be 
evident  from  our  own  pages  how  much  space  any  attempt  to 
discuss  the  entire  topic  necessarily  requires.  Whatever  errors 
of  detail  may  be  found  in  our  opinions,  we  cannot  doubt  that 
our  general  purpose  has  been  correct.  A  real  statesman  at  tl 
present  day  must  endeavour  to  enlarge  the  influence  of  the 
growing  parts  of  the  nation,  as  compared  with  the  stationary 
to  augment  the  influence  of  the  capitalist  classes,  but  to  with- 
stand the  pernicious  theories  which  some  of  them  for  the 
moment  advocate  ;  to  organise  an  expression  for  the  desires  of 
the  lower  orders,  but  to  withstand  even  the  commencement  of 
a  democratic  revolution. 


NOTE. 

i8//fc  February -,   1859. 

There  are  some  points  suggested  by  the  previous  discussion 
which  I  was  unable  from  want  of  space,  to  treat  as  I  should 
have  wished ;  and  some,  too,  which  have  been  brought  out 
more  clearly  by  the  events  of  the  last  few  weeks.  I  gladly, 
therefore,  make  use  of  the  opportunity  afforded  me  by  the 
republication  of  the  foregoing  essay  to  make  some  additional 
remarks. 

A  striking  and  most  healthy  symptom  in  the  public  mind 
in  reference  to  Reform  just  now  is  its  freshness.  In  former 
times  the  Tory  party  never  thought  about  the  matter.  One  of 
their  traditional  tenets,  as  a  party,  was  an  opposition  to  Reform ; 
and  all  who  desired  a  further  change  than  that  of  1832  were  in 
their  eyes  Radicals  and  Democrats.  The  subject  was  not 
for  argument  The  Liberals,  on  the  other  hand,  had  a  vague 


PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  165 

kind  of  abstract  idea  that  the  franchise  must  be  extended  some 
time  or  other.  They  would  have  been  shocked  to  hear  them- 
selves called  Democrats ;  but  when  they  talked  about  Reform, 
their  language,  as  far  as  it  had  a  meaning  at  all,  had  a  demo- 
cratic meaning.  It  was  imagined  that  as  soon  as  the  "  masses  >r 
had  acquired  a  certain  minimum  of  education,  they  would  have 
a  claim  of  right  to  be  enfranchised  ;  and  it  was  overlooked  that 
in  practice  this  would  be  equivalent  to  the  disfranchisement  of 
all  other  classes,  and  would  give  the  lower  orders  the  uncon- 
trolled guidance  of  the  community.  At  present  the  state  of 
public  opinion  is  infinitely  more  hopeful.  The  Tories  have  been 
stimulated  to  the  consideration  of  the  subject.  As  a  govern- 
ment of  their  own  is  to  propose  a  Reform  Bill,  it  is  impossible 
any  longer  to  regard  the  topic  as  beyond  the  range  of  per- 
mitted speculation.  The  Liberals  likewise  have  been  rather 
rudely  awakened  to  the  unpleasant  consequences  of  their  former 
ideas.  Mr.  Bright,  more  than  any  one  else,  should  have  the 
credit  of  arousing  the  present  liberal  reaction  against  demo- 
cracy. He  has  propounded  in  a  definite  plan  what  was  before 
an  intangible  idea.  The  subject  has  come  within  the  range  of 
practical  English  thought  almost  for  the  first  time ;  and,  as 
usual,  the  tone  of  habitual  discussion  on  it  has  deepened  and 
improved.  A  feeling  of  sympathy  for  intelligent  working 
people  is  perhaps  stronger  than  ever,  and  there  is  every  wish 
that  they  should,  if  possible,  have  some  power  in  the  commun- 
ity ;  but  there  is  a  distinct  and  settled  determination  that  they 
shall  not  have  all  the  power. 

I  have  dwelt  so  fully  on  this  part  of  the  subject  in  the 
preceding  essay,  that  it  is  not  necessary  for  me  now  to  resume 
the  general  discussion  of  it.  The  public  mind  is  in  a  much 
more  likely  mood  to  entertain  what  appear  to  me  to  be  just 
ideas  than  it  ever  was  before,  or  that  I  could  have  hoped  it 
would  be  now.  There  are  one  or  two  incidental  remarks,  how- 
ever, which  it  is  necessary  to  make  on  the  subject. 

The  most  telling  objection  to  the  expedient  suggested  in  the 
foregoing  essay  for  representing  the  working  classes — viz.  that 
of  lowering  the  qualification  so  as  to  include  them  in  the  great 
seats  of  industry,  but  not  elsewhere — is,  that  it  sacrifices  the 


1 66  PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM 

political  power  of  the  higher  classes  in  those  important  places. 
The  higher  classes  in  Manchester  cannot  be  expected  to  like 
that  they  should  be  disfranchised  by  the  wholesale  enfranchise- 
ment of  the  working  men  in  Manchester.  That  it  should  ever 
be  pleasant,  it  would  be  impossible  to  hope ;  but  there  are 
some  considerations  which  tend,  I  think,  to  make  it  less  un- 
pleasant than  might  be  imagined  at  first  sight. 

In  the  first  place,  a  great  deal  of  the  anticipated  calamity 
has  happened,  and  is  being  endured.  The  creators  of  the 
wealth  of  Manchester — and  when  I  speak  of  Manchester,  I 
only  do  so  because  it  stands  out  in  the  public  mind  as  a  type 
and  symbol  of  cities  of  the  class — are  not  the  ten-pound  house- 
holders who  return  its  members.  These  are  the  small  shop- 
keepers and  petty  dealers,  who  swarm  and  congregate  about 
every  great  commercial  place ;  but  who  bear  to  the  merchants 
and  manufacturers  of  those  places  much  the  same  relation  that 
the  sutlers  of  a  camp  bear  to  its  disciplined  army.  In  London, 
where  the  geographical  division  of  industrial  pursuits  is  un- 
usually evident,  there  are  whole  constituencies  composed 
nearly  exclusively  of  these  rather  mean  attendants  on  com- 
mercial civilisation.  The  Tower  Hamlets  contain  very  little 
else ;  and  any  one  can  see  by  walking  through  them  how  little 
their  population  has  of  the  cultivated  energy  and  enlarged 
acuteness  commonly  to  be  found  in  a  great  merchant.  In 
other  towns — Liverpool  is  a  strong  contrast  in  this  respect 
to  London — this  attendant  community  of  inferior  dealers 
resides  in  the  closest  proximity  to  the  most  important  mer- 
cantile offices — in  the  focus  of  business  transactions.  The 
effect  of  the  Act  of  1832  has  been  to  throw  the  representation 
of  the  large  trading  towns  into  the  hands  of  these  inferior 
traders,  whose  vicinity  to  the  greater  ones  is  inevitable,  and 
whose  numbers  are  overwhelming.  A  portion  of  the  higher 
class  of  traders  sympathise  in  the  views  of  the  lower  ;  this 
portion  assume  to  be  the  leaders  of  the  place,  and  give  to  per- 
sons at  a  distance  an  idea  of  its  tendencies  quite  different  from 
what  would  be  desired  by  the  higher  citizens  in  general.  There 
has  always  been  an  anti- Manchester  party  at  Manchester. 
The  school  which  Mr.  Bright  represents  has  not  the  undisputed 


PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  1 6 7 

lead  among  the  manufacturing  and  mercantile  men  of  the 
north  which  they  are  commonly  thought  to  have.  The  most 
cultivated  people  there  are  perhaps  generally  opposed  to 
it.  The  highest  and  best  class  of  the  traders  in  great  com- 
mercial towns  are  already  disfranchised,  and  it  would,  in 
reality,  be  better  for  them  that  it  should  be  thoroughly  under- 
stood to  be  so.  At  present  the  world  imagines  that  their 
present  representatives  express  their  feelings,  and  state  their 
opinions.  If  the  representation  of  such  places  were  avowedly 
and  constitutionally  in  the  hands  of  the  working  classes,  it 
would  be  understood  that  the  higher  traders  had  no  voice. 
Those  of  them — and  they  are  a  very  large  number — who  have 
none  now  would  be  great  gainers,  because  they  would  no  longer 
have  the  vexation  of  being  thought  to  sympathise  with  per- 
sons to  whom  they  are  emphatically  opposed.  The  reason  is 
different  with  respect  to  the  prevailing  party  in  those  boroughs, 
but  the  conclusion  is  the  same.  So  far  are  Mr.  Bright's  fol- 
lowers from  protesting  against  the  wholesale  admission  of  the 
class  of  voters  just  below  them,  that  they  are  clamorous  in 
favour  of  that  admission.  If  the  adoption  of  a  rate-paying 
franchise  is  supported  by  any  part  of  the  country,  it  is  by  the 
constituencies  of  the  very  largest  towns.  There  is  no  hard- 
ship in  giving  to  them  the  boon  which  they  demand  for  every 
one. 

If,  however,  it  should  be  found  that  the  higher  classes  of 
the  largest  towns  exceedingly  disliked  the  evident  disfranchise- 
ment  which  would  be  the  certain  consequence  of  extending 
the  borough  franchise  in  such  towns  to  the  lower  orders,  it 
would  not  be  by  any  means  impossible  to  find  practicable  plans 
of  preserving  to  them  an  effectual  franchise.  The  first  of 
these  plans  is  the  creation  of  what  may  be  called  suburban 
constituencies.  The  greater  part  of  our  merchants  and  traders, 
even  the  higher  part  of  our  shopkeepers,  have  long  since 
deserted  the  straitened  dwellings  over  the  shop  and  the  count- 
ing-house which  contented  their  fathers.  They  have  residences 
in  country  districts  near  their  places  of  business  ;  all  round  our 
largest  cities  there  is  a  network  of  them.  Many  constituencies 
could  be  found  in  the  environs  of  our  great  cities  where  the 


1 68  PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM 

rich,  comfortable,  and  intellectual  business  classes  reside  in 
very  great  numbers,  and  where  they  would  be  far  more  likely 
to  predominate,  and  to  have  an  effectual  voice  in  the  selection 
of  members  of  Parliament,  than  under  the  present  suffrage 
system  they  are,  or  can  be,  in  the  great  seats  of  industry  them- 
selves. Such  classes  would  benefit  exceedingly  by  conceding 
to  the  working  classes  the  undisputed  command  of  the  repre- 
sentation of  the  great  town  itself,  if  they  could  thereby  obtain 
a  real  representation  for  themselves  at  their  own  homes.  That 
which  they  have  now — so  numerous  are  the  meaner  house- 
holders— is  rather  a  vexing  mockery  than  a  desirable  reality; 
what  they  would  obtain  would  be  a  substantial  and  effectual 
influence  on  the  legislature.  If  it  were  necessary,  it  would  be 
easy  to  provide  that  the  representation  should  be  really  in  the 
hands  of  the  higher  class  by  fixing  the  property  qualification 
for  a  vote  at  a  higher  point  than  usual  (at  £20,  suppose) ;  but 
I  rather  apprehend  that  this- expedient,  though  quite  defensible, 
and  by  no  means  intrinsically  undesirable,  would  not  be  abso- 
lutely necessary,  as  the  number  of  the  higher  classes  residing 
in  well-selected  suburban  constituencies  would  give  them,  under 
a  ten-pound  franchise,  an  effectual  superiority. 

A  second  plan,  which  is  not  inconsistent  with  the  first,  but 
rather  supplementary  to  it,  is  a  development  of  the  suggestion 
that  personal  property  should  be  made  the  basis  and  criterion 
of  a  qualification  as  well  as  real  property.  The  first  step  to 
carry  this  into  practice  raises  the  question:  for  what  con- 
stituency is  this  qualification  to  give  a  vote  ?  Railway  deben- 
tures and  the  public  funds  have  no  locality  ;  if  they  are  to  give 
a  vote,  they  may  do  so  for  one  place  as  well  as  for  another.  I 
would  propose  to  give  the  voter  himself  a  choice  on  this  point 
If  he  had  the  power  of  registering  himself  on  the  ground  of 
a  monied-property  qualification  within  a  certain  circle  of  con- 
stituencies— say  to  any  one  situated  at  not  more  than  fifty 
miles  from  his  usual  place  of  abode — he  could  transfer  his  vote 
to  that  one  where  it  was  most  wanted,  and  would  be  most 
effectual.  The  higher  classes  in  the  largest  constituencies — 
practically  disfranchised  as  they  almost  are  now,  and  as  they 
would  be  quite  if  the  suggestions  I  have  ventured  to  make 


PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  169 

were  adopted — might  find  a  satisfactory  refuge  in  the  smaller 
constituencies  of  the  neighbourhood,  whose  numbers  they 
would  augment,  and  whose  composition  they  would  materially 
improve.  In  general,  too,  the  creation  of  a  transferable  con- 
stituency, by  conferring  the  suffrage  on  the  possessors  of  non- 
local wealth  as  such,  would  be  a  material  strengthening  of  the 
educated  classes  as  opposed  to  the  non-educated,  because  it 
would  give  the  former  an  opportunity  of  concentrating  their 
power  where  it  would  tell  most,  while  the  power  of  the  lower 
classes  would  be  dispersed,  and  inseparably  attached  to  certain 
places. 

Both  of  these  are  expedients  for  giving  to  the  disfranchised 
upper  classes  of  the  most  numerous  constituencies  power  else- 
where than  in  these  constituencies ;  two  other  expedients  may 
be  mentioned,  by  which  they  might  still  retain  considerable 
influence  in  them. 

The  first  of  these  is  a  modification  of  the  "  minority 
principle".  It  has  been  shown  in  the  preceding  essay,  by 
arguments  which  are  to  my  own  mind  conclusive,  that  this 
ingenious  expedient  would  not  of  itself  solve  the  problem  of 
giving  to  the  working  classes  a  certain  number  of  spokesmen  in 
Parliament  without  conferring  on  them  the  supreme  authority 
in  the  State.  The  working  classes  are  the  enormous  majority 
in  the  country  ;  if  the  franchise  is  universally  lowered  so  as  to 
include  them  in  every  constituency,  they  will  be  masters  of  the 
country.  By  means  of  the  minority  principle  a  certain  power 
may  be  preserved  to  some  fraction  more  or  less  of  the  con- 
stituency, according  to  circumstances  ;  but  the  great  preponder- 
ance will  be  with  the  majority  still.  In  the  case  usually  sup- 
posed of  a  constituency  with  three  members,  in  which  each 
constituent  has  nevertheless  but  two  votes,  a  minority  at  all 
greater  than  two-fifths  of  the  constituency  could  return  one 
member,  if  they  pleased  it,  with  complete  certainty  ;  but  the 
corresponding  majority  of  a  trifle  less  than  three-fifths  would 
return  two  members  with  equal  certainty.  The  influence  of 
the  majority  would  still  be  double  the  influence  of  the  minority. 
So  far  from  this  principle  giving  to  the  working  classes  a  few 
members  and  no  more,  it  gives  the  greater  number  to  them, 


1 70  PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM 

and  only  a  few  in  comparison  to  the  rich.  But  though  this 
expedient  does  not  of  itself  give  the  solution  of  the  problem 
of  which  we  are  in  search,  it  gives  us  the  means  of  alleviating 
the  inconvenience  attaching  to  what  we  have  found  to  be  one 
solution  of  that  problem.  We  may  by  means  of  the  minority 
principle  give  a  voice  to  the  rich  in  the  exceptional  con- 
stituencies in  which  it  has  been  proposed  to  lower  the  fran- 
chise so  as  to  include  the  working  men.  In  these  constituencies 
we  only  wish  to  give  the  rich  some  power ;  it  is  the  principle 
of  the  proposal  to  give  the  greater  power  to  their  inferiors. 

One  of  the  modes  in  which  the  minority  principle  might 
be  made  use  of  for  this  purpose  has  an  appearance  of  equality 
which  would  be,  I  should  imagine,  attractive  to  consistent 
democrats.  It  is  proposed  that,  no  matter  what  the  number 
of  members  for  the  constituency  may  be,  no  elector  shall  have 
more  than  one  vote.  As  has  been  previously  pointed  out, 
this  is  by  far  the  most  efficacious  form  of  the  minority  prin- 
ciple, because  the  minority  to  which  it  gives  a  member  is 
smaller  than  it  is  under  any  other  modification  of  that  prin- 
ciple. If  there  were  only  two  members  for  a  constituency,  a 
minority  at  all  exceeding  one-third  might  be  certain  of  return- 
ing a  single  member.  I  cannot,  indeed,  imagine  that  in  this 
form  the  principle  could  ever  be  adopted  or  even  seriously 
advocated.  No  one  would  say  that  one-third  plus  one  of  the 
nation  was  entitled  to  as  much  voice  in  its  deliberations  and 
decisions  as  two-thirds  minus  one  of  it.  A  small  minority,  as 
such,  and  no  matter  how  composed,  could  never  claim  to  have 
as  much  power  as  a  large  majority,  the  members  of  which 
might,  for  aught  which  appears,  be  equally  intelligent.  Nor, 
even  if  we  supposed  the  minority  to  be  the  rich  and  educated, 
and  the  majority  the  poor  and  ignorant,  would  the  result  be 
satisfactory.  The  error  would  then  be  in  the  other  direction  : 
the  ignorant  majority  would  in  that  case  have  as  much  power 
as  the  instructed  minority,  which  is  exactly  what  we  desire 
that  they  should  not  have.  Like  all  other  modifications  of 
the  minority  principle,  this  one  fails  as  an  anti-democratic 
expedient  applicable  to  the  whole  country.  It  would  be  most 
dangerous  to  lower  very  greatly  the  franchise  throughout  the 


PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  1 7 1 

country,  in  reliance  on  its  efficacy  in  precluding  a  despotism  of 
the  uneducated.  But  if  the  franchise  be  only  extended  to 
the  working  classes  in  certain  exceptional  constituencies,  the 
adoption  of  the  rule  that  no  elector  should  have  more  than  a 
single  vote  might  in  them  be  very  beneficial.  Suppose  that 
three  members  were  assigned  to  such  constituencies,  and  that 
no  elector  possessed  more  than  a  single  vote,  a  moderate  frac- 
tion (one- fourth  of  the  constituency  plus  one)  could  always  be 
sure  of  returning  a  member,  and  the  remaining  part  of  the 
constituency  (three-fourths  minus  one)  would  return  the  other 
two.  If  the  higher  classes  of  a  great  town  were  really  united, 
and  used  their  legitimate  influence  with  zeal,  they  could  always 
command  somewhat  more  than  a  quarter  of  the  constituency : 
they  would  be  secure  of  returning  a  representative  to  the 
legislature  as  well  as  their  inferiors. 

The  same  end  would  be  reached  by  the  adoption  of  what 
is  called  the  "cumulative  vote"  in  these  exceptional  con- 
stituencies. By  this  is  simply  meant  that  the  elector  should 
be  permitted  to  give  all  his  votes  to  a  single  member  if  he 
pleases :  thus,  if  the  members  to  be  elected  for  the  constituency 
be  three,  and  each  elector  have  three  votes,  he  would  be  en- 
abled to  give  all  his  votes  to  any  one  candidate,  instead  of  being 
compelled,  as  at  present,  either  to  distribute  them  among  three 
candidates,  or  abstain  from  using  some  of  them.  By  means  of 
this  expedient  also,  a  minority  at  all  greater  than  one-quarter 
could  with  certainty  return  a  member ;  and  the  effect  in  that 
respect  would  be  of  course  the  same  as  if  that  result  had  been 
attained  by  the  other  expedient.  I  cannot  but  think,  however, 
that  the  latter  mode  is  very  preferable  in  other  respects.  Mr. 
J.  S.  Mill  says  very  justly  that  the  principle  of  giving  the  elec- 
tor fewer  votes  than  there  are  members  to  be  elected  must 
always  be  unpopular,  "  because  it  cuts  down  the  privileges  of 
the  voter  ; "  while,  on  the  other  hand,  the  adoption  of  the  cumu- 
lative vote  increases  them,  and  has  in  consequence  a  tendency 
to  be  popular.  Mr.  Mill  justly  observes  also  that  the  expedient 
of  the  "cumulative  vote"  has  another  great  advantage:  it  en- 
ables voters  to  indicate  not  only  their  preference  for  a  candi- 
date, but  the  degree  of  their  preference.  Instead  of  voting 


1 7  2  PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM 

mechanically  for  all  the  candidates  put  forward  by  their  party, 
it  enables  them  to  select  the  one  whom  they  really  themselves 
most  approve,  and  to  support  him  only.  This  would  tend  to 
secure  to  eminent  and  trusted  statesmen  a  secure  position  in 
their  respective  constituencies,  which  is  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant among  the  minor  excellences  of  a  representative  system. 

By  one  or  other  of  these  two  schemes,  it  would  be  possible 
to  give  a  real  representation  to  the  working  classes  in  the  large 
towns  in  which  they  live,  and  to  preserve  a  portion  of  influence 
and  a  share  in  the  local  representation  to  the  higher  classes  of 
the  town.  Both  schemes  are,  however,  liable  to  the  very  con- 
siderable objection  that  they  permit,  or  rather  provide  for,  the 
election  in  the  same  place  of  a  member  for  the  poor  and  a 
member  for  the  rich,  which  is  very  likely  to  cause  local  ill-feel- 
ing, and  may  sometimes  irritate  the  poor  into  momentary  tur- 
bulence. On  this  ground,  it  seems  to  me  preferable  that  the 
higher  classes  in  the  large  towns  should  be  content  with  such 
indirect  compensation  for  their  local  disfranchisement  as  would 
be  afforded  by  the  two  plans  which  were  noticed  first.  But 
popular  impression  has  an  incalculable  influence  in  such  ques- 
tions ;  and  if  the  higher  classes  in  these  first-class  constituencies 
would  feel  it  a  stigma  or  an  injustice  to  have  no  share  in  their 
local  representation,  such  a  share  must  be  reserved  to  them, 
although  we  are  thereby  compelled  to  allow  of  the  election  of 
two  contrasted  kinds  of  members  for  the  same  town. 

It  may  likewise  be  objected  to  the  creation  of  such  excep- 
tional constituencies  as  I  have  proposed,  that  their  exceptional 
character  could  not  be  permanent.  If  you  once  lower  the 
qualification  in  one  constituency,  it  may  be  said  there  will  be 
no  rest  from  agitation  until  it  has  been  lowered  to  the  same 
extreme  point  in  all  constituencies.  But  this  appears  to  me  to 
assume  that  the  democratic  tendencies  of  the  country  are  far 
more  powerful  than  they  really  are.  The  extension  of  the 
suffrage,  especially  a  very  large  extension  of  it,  is  not  very 
popular  with  the  existing  constituencies.  If  we  give  to  such 
privileged  bodies  a  good  argumentative  defence,  the  oligarchical 
tendencies  of  human  nature  will  go  far  to  ensure  their  main- 
taining their  privileges.  Nothing  tends  to  the  longevity  of  a 


PARLIAMENTARY  REFORM 


173 


public  benefit  so  much  as  its  being  also  a  particular  private 
advantage  to  some  one  who  will  look  after  it.  Such  a  defence 
the  existing  constituencies  will  really  have  if  we  assign  to  the 
working  classes  some  real  representation  in  Parliament ;  but 
while  the  most  numerous  class  have  no  means  at  all  of  making 
their  voice  heard,  there  will  always  be  an  uneasy  feeling  that 
they  are  unduly  depressed  and  unfeelingly  disregarded.  So 
far,  then,  from  the  creation  of  exceptional  constituencies  tend- 
ing to  weaken  the  arguments  in  favour  of  the  general  structure 
of  the  present  constituencies,  it  is  the  only  way  of  removing  the 
most  telling  argumentative  objection  to  our  existing  arrange- 
ments. 

An  exceptional  character  in  particular  constituencies  is,  it 
should  be  observed,  an  essential  element  in  every  system  of 
-class  representation.  If  you  lay  down  the  principle  that  there 
shall  be  persons  in  Parliament  qualified  and  authorised  to  speak 
the  sentiments  of  special  classes,  you  must  take  care  that  in 
certain  electoral  bodies  those  classes  shall  predominate,  that 
the  member  for  such  bodies  shall  be  their  member.  You  can 
only  secure  speciality  in  the  member  by  a  speciality  in  the  con- 
stituency. This  is  the  very  ground  on  which  borough  popula- 
tions were  originally  selected  for  a  separate  representation.  It 
was  believed  that  places  differing  so  much  from  the  rural 
districts  in  which  they  were  situated  would  have  distinct  in- 
terests to  advocate,  distinct  opinions  to  maintain,  possibly 
distinct  grievances  to  state.  In  a  word,  it  was  believed  that 
they  would  send  a  special  representative,  with  something  to 
say  different  from  that  which  an  ordinary  county  representative 
would  ever  say.  By  selecting  for  particular  representation 
towns  occupied  in  all  the  important  kinds  of  trade,  we  have 
secured  an  expression  to  the  opinions  and  sentiments  of  all 
kinds  of  capitalists.  By  giving  special  representatives  to  the 
Universities,  we  have  provided,  perhaps  not  adequately,  but  still 
to  some  extent,  for  the  characteristic  expression  of  the  peculiar 
views  of  the  cultured  classes.  I  believe  that  the  principle  of 
special  representation  should  be  extended  to  the  lower  classes 
also,  who,  from  an  improvement  in  education,  have  now  in  the 
larger  towns  opinions  to  state,  and  perhaps,  in  their  own  esti- 


1 74  PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM 

mation,  grievances  to  make  known.  If  a  special  representation 
is  given  to  such  persons,  it  can  only  be  in  the  same  way  that 
special  representatives  are  given  to  other  classes  by  creating 
constituencies  with  a  corresponding  speciality. 

It  is  to  be  observed,  that  the  necessity  for  creating  such 
exceptional  constituencies  would  not  be  obviated  by  the  recom- 
mendation which  Mr.  Mill  has  made  of  giving  one  vote  to  every 
man,  whatever  be  his  education,  and  additional  votes  in  a 
rapidly-ascending  scale  to  persons  of  greater  education.  The 
object  of  this  recommendation  is  to  keep  the  principal  authority 
in  the  State  in  the  hands  of  educated  men.  The  scale  of  votes 
is  avowedly  arranged  for  that  purpose.  By  the  adoption  of 
this  scheme,  you  would  give  to  the  working  classes  no  charac- 
teristic expression  in  the  legislature ;  you  would  give  them  an 
influence  in  every  constituency  in  appearance  considerable,  but 
which  would  be  of  no  practical  avail  to  them  as  a  class,  because 
on  all  characteristic  points  their  voice  would  be  neutralised, 
and  whenever  there  were  class  candidates  theirs  would  be  re- 
jected, by  the  more  numerous  votes  given  for  that  very  purpose 
.to  the  more  educated  classes. 

I  must  have  wearied  every  reader  with  this  part  of  the 
subject ;  and  my  only  excuse  is  the  strong  conviction  which 
I  feel  of  its  importance,  and  my  wish  not  to  omit  to  make 
any  observation  which  may  serve  to  throw  it  into  what  seems 
to  me  the  true  light. 

As  far  as  the  nomination  boroughs  go,  I  have  no  wish  to 
say  a  word  in  their  defence.  In  former  times  there  may  have 
been  a  certain  advantage  in  the  existence  of  such  seats. 
Young  men  of  promise  were  then  occasionally  brought  into 
Parliament  by  the  patrons  of  such  constituencies,  and  great 
statesmen  sometimes  found  a  refuge  in  them  during  moments 
of  unpopularity.  But  these  advantages  belong  to  past  times. 
Before  the  Reform  Act  of  1832  the  borough  proprieters  had 
boroughs  to  spare;  such  was  the  plenty  of  such  seats,  that 
there  were  some  left  for  the  public,  after  providing  for  the 
relations  and  personal  friends  of  the  proprietor.  But  the  fact 
is  otherwise  at  present.  There  are  not  now  enough  of  such 
boroughs  to  provide  for  the  personal  connections  of  those  who 


PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM  1 7  5 

own  them  ;  and  the  public  derive  almost  no  advantage  from 
their  continuance. 

As  I  have  explained,  all  very  small  boroughs  tend  to 
become  either  dependent  or  corrupt,  and  therefore  all  very 
small  ones  should  be  abolished.  But  this  is  no  ground  for 
abolishing  a  great  number  of  constituencies  which,  though  not 
very  large,  are  still  large  enough  to  be  fairly  independent  and 
fairly  uncorrupt.  There  can  be  no  ground  for  disfranchising 
every  place  which  has  not  10,000  inhabitants.  If  we  look  to 
abstract  principle  as  our  guide,  no  measure  would  be  more  un- 
desirable. We  have  seen  it  to  be  desirable  not  only  that 
there  should  be  special  representatives  for  every  class  in  Parlia- 
ment, but  likewise  that  the  predominant  tone  and  temper  of 
Parliament  should  be  despotically  controlled  by  no  class  or 
sect  of  persons — that  it  should  coincide  with  the  feeling  of 
the  nation  itself.  The  accordance  of  the  opinion  of  Parlia- 
ment with  that  of  the  country  is  the  principal  condition  for 
the  performance  by  Parliament  of  its  great  function  of  ruling 
the  country.  This  can  only  be  secured  by  the  continuance  in 
Parliament  of  many  members  representing  no  special  interest, 
bound  down  to  state  the  ideas  of  no  particular  class,  them- 
selves not  markedly  exhibiting  the  characteristics  of  any 
particular  status,  but  able  to  form  a  judgment  of  what  is 
good  for  the  country  as  freely  and  impartially  as  other  edu- 
cated men.  It  is  impossible  to  expect  that  such  persons  will 
be  commonly  sent  to  Parliament  by  the  counties  and  the  large 
towns.  A  good  deal  has  already  been  said  of  the  sectarian 
character  of  the  county  members.  I  fear  it  must  be  allowed 
that  the  better  class  of  members  for  large  towns  are  at  least 
as  sectarian ;  they  are  capitalists,  men  of  business,  represent- 
ing the  views  and  opinions  of  the  ten-pound  householders. 
I  am  not  speaking  of  such  members  as  stray  in  occasionally 
for  such  constituencies  as  the  Tower  Hamlets.  A  low  class 
of  demagogue  will  now  and  then  be  returned  by  every  very 
large  constituency ;  but  the  characteristic  tendency  of  the  large 
towns  is  to  return  men  of  business  of  mature  age,  and  of  a 
certain  very  recognisable,  if  not  very  describable  tendency  of 
sentiment  and  opinion — a  kind  of  member  as  marked,  as 


1 76  PARLIAMENTAR  Y  REFORM 

peculiar,  and  as  distinct  from  all  others  as  any  county  member 
can  be.  I  cannot  but  think  that  we  shall  impair  the  proper 
working  of  our  Parliamentary  constitution  if  we  greatly  aug- 
ment the  number  of  class  representatives,  whether  for  the  lai 
towns  or  the  counties.  Whatever  other  defects  may  be  allege 
to  exist  in  the  smaller  boroughs,  the  objection  that  th( 
return  exclusively  the  representatives  of  a  class  cannot  be  made 
to  them.  Every  species  of  member  sits  for  some  of  them. 
A  list  of  persons  more  unlike  one  another  could  hardly 
found  than  the  list  of  the  representatives  for  our  smaller 
boroughs.  When  we  consider  how  exceedingly  important  it 
is  that  the  judgment  of  Parliament  should  be  alloyed  by  no 
class  prejudice  or  class  interest,  that  its  decisions  should  be  in 
accordance  with  the  real  and  deliberate  decision  of  the  nation, 
we  shall,  I  hope,  pause  before  we  abolish  constituencies  so 
likely  to  contribute  to  effect  this  result.  It  is  not  possible  for 
human  skill  to  apportion  to  each  special  interest  the  exact 
number  of  representatives  which  it  ought  to  have,  and  to  com- 
pose a  Parliament  exclusively  of  such  special  representatives. 
It  would  require  more  skill  than  any  statesman  can  claim  to 
establish  a  coincidence  of  opinion  between  Parliament  and  the 
country  solely  by  the  definite  allotment  of  particular  members 
to  particular  classes.  There  is  no  criterion  to  tell  us  with 
accuracy  how  much  each  class  contributes  to  the  formation  of 
public  opinion.  The  sole  expedient  for  securing  the  result 
which  we  wish  to  obtain,  is  that  by  which  it  has  actually  been 
obtained.  We  have  a  Parliament,  subject  to  two  slight 
objections,  fairly  coincident  in  judgment  with  the  reflecting 
part  of  the  community.  This  inestimable  coincidence  of 
judgment  is  largely  due  to  the  immemorial  existence  of  very 
many  impartial  constituencies.  We  have  class  advocates  in 
Parliament,  it  is  true;  but  many  unbiassed  judges,  many 
national  representatives,  are  to  be  found  there  likewise.  Per- 
haps no  course  could  be  more  dangerous  for  the  country  than 
to  diminish  the  number  of  the  latter,  and  so  lose,  possibly  at 
a  very  critical  moment,  the  incalculable  benefit  of  their  im- 
partial intelligence. 


JOHN  MILTON.1 

(I859-) 

THE  Life  of  Milton,  by  Professor  Masson,  is  a  difficulty  fof 
the  critics.  It  is; very  laborious,  very  learned,  and  in  the  main, 
we  believe,  very  accurate.  It  is  exceedingly  long, — there  are 
780  pages  in  this  volume,  and  there  are  to  be  two  volumes 
more :  it  touches  on  very  many  subjects,  and  each  of  these 
has  been  investigated  to  the  very  best  of  the  author's  ability. 
No  one  can  wish  to  speak  with  censure  of  a  book  on  which  so 
much  genuine  labour  has  been  expended  ;  and  yet  we  are 
bound,  as  true  critics,  to  say  that  we  think  it  has  been  com- 
posed upon  a  principle  that  is  utterly  erroneous.  In  justice  to 
ourselves  we  must  explain  our  meaning. 

There  are  two  methods  on  which  biography  may  consist- 
ently be  written.  The  first  of  these  is  what  we  may  call  the 
exhaustive  method.  Every  fact  which  is  known  about  the 
hero  may  be  told  us ;  everything  which  he  did,  everything 
which  he  would  not  do,  everything  which  other  people  did  to 
him,  everything  which  other  people  would  not  do  to  him,— 
may  be  narrated  at  full  length.  We  may  have  a  complete 
picture  of  all  the  events  of  his  life ;  of  all  which  he  underwent, 
and  all  which  he  achieved.  We  may,  as  Mr.  Carlyle  expresses 

1  The  Life  of  John  Milton,  narrated  in  connection  with  the  Political, 
Ecclesiastical,  and  Literary  History  of  his  time.  By  David  Massonj 
M.A.,  Professor  of  English  Literature  in  University  College,  London. 
Cambridge  :  Macmillan. 

An  Account  of  the  Life,  Opinions,  and  Writings  of  John  Milton. 
By  Thomas  Keightley ;  with  an  Introduction  to  "  Paradise  Lost ". 
London  :  Chapman  and  Hall. 

The  Poems  of  Milton,  with  Notes  by  Thomas  Keightley.  London  : 
Chapman  and  Hall. 

VOL.  III.  i77  12 


1 78  JOHN  MILTON 

it,  have  a  complete  account  "of  his  effect  upon  the  universe, 
and  of  the  effect  of  the  universe  upon  him".  We  admit  that 
biographies  of  this  species  would  be  very  long  and  generally 
very  tedious,  we  know  that  the  world  could  not  contain  very 
many  of  them ;  but  nevertheless  the  principle  on  which  they 
may  be  written  is  intelligible. 

The  second  method  on  which  the  life  of  a  man  may  be 
written  is  the  selective.  Instead  of  telling  everything,  we  may 
choose  what  we  will  tell.  We  may  select  out  of  the  number- 
less events,  from  among  the  innumerable  actions  of  his  life, 
those  events  and  those  actions  which  exemplify  his  true 
character,  which  prove  to  us  what  were  the  true  limits  of  his 
talents,  what  was  the  degree  of  his  deficiencies,  which  were 
his  defects,  which  his  vices, — in  a  word,  we  may  select  the 
traits  and  the  particulars  which  seem  to  give  us  the  best  idea 
of  the  man  as  he  lived  and  as  he  was.  On  this  side  the  flood, 
as  Sydney  Smith  would  have  said,  we  should  have  fancied  that 
this  was  the  only  practicable  principle  on  which  biographies 
can  be  written  about  persons  of  whom  many  details  are  re- 
corded. For  ancient  heroes  the  exhaustive  method  is  possible. 
All  that  can  be  known  of  them  is  contained  in  a  few  short 
passages  of  Greek  and  Latin,  and  it  is  quite  possible  to  say 
whatever  can  be  said  about  every  one  of  these:  the  result 
would  not  be  unreasonably  bulky,  though  it  might  be  dull. 
But  in  the  case  of  men  who  have  lived  in  the  thick  of  the 
crowded  modern  world,  no  such  course  is  admissible ;  over- 
much may  be  said,  and  we  must  choose  what  we  will  say.  Bio- 
graphers, however,  are  rarely  bold  enough  to  adopt  the  selec- 
tive method  consistently.  They  have,  we  suspect,  the  fear  of 
the  critics  before  their  eyes.  They  do  not  like  that  it  should 
be  said  that  "  the  work  of  the  learned  gentleman  contains 
serious  omissions:  the  events  of  1562  are  not  mentioned; 
those  of  October,  1579,  are  narrated  but  very  cursorily"  :  and 
we  fear  that  in  any  case  such  remarks  will  be  made.  Very 
learned  people  are  pleased  to  show  that  they  know  what  is 
not  in  the  book  ;  sometimes  they  may  hint  that  perhaps  the 
author  did  not  know  it,  or  surely  he  would  have  mentioned  it. 
But  a  biographer  who  wishes  to  write  what  most  people  of 


JOHN  MILTON  179 

cultivation  will  be  pleased  to  read  must  be  courageous  enough 
to  face  the  pain  of  such  censures.  He  must  choose,  as  we 
have  explained,  the  characteristic  parts  of  his  subject ;  and  all 
that  he  has  to  take  care  of  besides,  is  so  to  narrate  them  that 
their  characteristic  elements  shall  be  shown :  to  give  such  an 
account  of  the  general  career  as  may  make  it  clear  what  these 
chosen  events  really  were  ;  to  show  their  respective  bearings  to 
one  another ;  to  delineate  what  is  expressive  in  such  a  manner 
as  to  make  it  expressive. 

This  plan  of  biography  is,  however,  by  no  means  that  of 
Mr.  Masson.  He  has  no  dread  of  overgrown  bulk  and  over- 
whelming copiousness.  He  finds,  indeed,  what  we  have  called 
the  exhaustive  method  insufficient.  He  not  only  wishes  to 
narrate  in  full  the  life  of  Milton,  but  to  add  those  of  his  con- 
temporaries likewise :  he  seems  to  wish  to  tell  us  not  only 
what  Milton  did,  but  also  what  every  one  else  did  in  Great 
Britain  during  his  lifetime.  He  intends  his  book  to  be  not 
"  merely  a  biography  of  Milton,  but  also  in  some  sort  a  con- 
tinuous history  of  his  time.  .  .  .  The  suggestions  of  Milton's 
life  have  indeed  determined  the  tracks  of  these  historical  re- 
searches and  expositions,  sometimes  through  the  literature  of  the 
period,  sometimes  through  its  civil  and  ecclesiastical  politics ; 
but  the  extent  to  which  I  have  pursued  them,  and  the  space 
which  I  have  assigned  to  them,  have  been  determined  by  my 
desire  to  present,  by  their  combination,  something  like  a  con- 
nected historical  view  of  British  thought  and  British  society  in 
general  prior  to  the  Revolution."  We  need  not  do  more  than 
observe  that  this  union  of  heterogeneous  aims  must  always  end, 
as  it  has  in  this  case,  in  the  production  of  a  work  at  once  over- 
grown and  incomplete.  A  great  deal  which  has  only  a  slight 
bearing  on  the  character  of  Milton  is  inserted ;  much  that  is 
necessary  to  a  true  history  of  "  British  thought  and  British 
society  "  is  of  necessity  left  out.  The  period  of  Milton's  life  which 
is  included  in  the  published  volume  makes  the  absurdity  especi- 
ally apparent.  In  middle  life  Milton  was  a  great  controversialist 
on  contemporary  topics ;  and  though  it  would  not  be  proper 
for  a  biographer  to  load  his  pages  with  a  full  account  of  all 
such  controversies,  yet  some  notice  of  the  most  characteristic 

12  * 


i8o  JOHN  MILTON 

of  them  would  be  expected  from  him.  In  this  part  of  Milton's 
life  some  reference  to  public  events  would  be  necessary ;  and 
we  should  not  severely  censure  a  biographer,  if  the  great 
interest  of  those  events  induced  him  to  stray  a  little  from  his 
topic.  But  the  first  thirty  years  of  Milton's  life  require  a 
very  different  treatment.  He  passed  those  years  in  the 
ordinary  musings  of  a  studious  and  meditative  youth ;  it  was 
the  period  of  "Lycidas"  and  of  "Comus"  ;  he  then  dreamed 
the 

"  Sights  which  youthful  poets  dream 
On  summer  eve  by  haunted  stream  ".l 

We  do  not  wish  to  have  this  part  of  his  life  disturbed,  to 
a  greater  extent  than  may  be  necessary,  with  the  harshness 
of  public  affairs.  Nor  is  it  necessary  that  it  should  be  so 
disturbed.  A  life  of  poetic  retirement  requires  but  little 
reference  to  anything  except  itself.  In  a  biography  of  Mr. 
Tennyson  we  should  not  expect  to  hear  of  the  Reform  Bill, 
or  the  Corn  Laws.  Mr.  Masson  is,  however,  of  a  different 
opinion.  He  thinks  it  necessary  to  tell  us,  not  only  all 
which  Milton  did,  but  everything  also  that  he  might  have 
heard  of. 

The  biography  of  Mr.  Keightley  is  on  a  very  different 
scale.  He  tells  the  story  of  Milton's  career  in  about  half 
a  small  volume.  Probably  this  is  a  little  too  concise,  and 
the  narrative  is  somewhat  dry  and  bare.  It  is  often,  how- 
ever, acute,  and  is  always  clear;  and  even  were  its  defects 
greater  than  they  are,  we  should  think  it  unseemly  to  criticise 
the  last  work  of  one  who  has  performed  so  many  useful 
services  to  literature  with  extreme  severity. 

The  bare  outline  of  Milton's  life  is  very  well  known.  We 
have  all  heard  that  he  was  born  in  the  latter  years  of  King 
James,  just  when  Puritanism  was  collecting  its  strength  for 
the  approaching  struggle ;  that  his  father  and  mother  were 
quiet  good  people,  inclined,  but  not  immoderately,  to  that 
persuasion;  that  he  went  up  to  Cambridge  early,  and  had 
some  kind  of  dissension  with  the  authorities  there ;  that  the 

L'Allegro."  9 


JOHN  MILTON  181 

course  of  his  youth  was  in  a  singular  degree  pure  and  staid  ; 
that  in  boyhood  he  was  a  devourer  of  books,  and  that  he 
early  became,  and  always  remained,  a  severely  studious  man ; 
that  he  married,  and  had  difficulties  of  a  peculiar  character 
with  his  first  wife ;  that  he  wrote  on  Divorce  ;  that  after  the 
death  of  his  first  wife,  he  married  a  second  time  a  lady  who 
died  very  soon,  and  a  third  time  a  person  who  survived  him 
more  than  fifty  years ;  that  he  wrote  early  poems  of  singular 
beauty,  which  we  still  read ;  that  he  travelled  in  Italy,  and 
exhibited  his  learning  in  the  academies  there  ;  that  he  plunged 
deep  in  the  theological  and  political  controversies  of  his  time ; 
that  he  kept  a  school,  or  rather,  in  our  more  modern  phrase, 
took  pupils  ;  that  he  was  a  republican  of  a  peculiar  kind,  and 
of  "  no  Church,"  which  Dr.  Johnson  thought  dangerous  ;  that 
he  was  Secretary  for  Foreign  Languages  under  the  Long 
Parliament,  and  retained  that  office  after  the  coup  dttat  of 
Cromwell ;  that  he  defended  the  death  of  Charles  I.,  and  be- 
came blind  from  writing  a  book  in  haste  upon  that  subject ; 
that  after  the  Restoration  he  was  naturally  in  a  position  of 
some  danger  and  much  difficulty ;  that  in  the  midst  of  that 
difficulty  he  wrote  "  Paradise  Lost "  ;  that  he  did  not  fail  in 
"heart  or  hope,"1  but  lived  for  fourteen  years  after  the  de- 
struction of  all  for  which  he  had  laboured,  in  serene  retire- 
ment, "  though  fallen  on  evil  days,  though  fallen  on  evil 
times  " ; — all  this  we  have  heard  from  our  boyhood.  How 
much  is  wanting  to  complete  the  picture — how  many  traits, 
both  noble  and  painful,  might  be  recovered  from  the  past — 
we  shall  never  know,  till  some  biographer  skilled  in  interpreting 
the  details  of  human  nature  shall  select  this  subject  for  his  art. 
All  that  we  can  hope  to  do  in  an  essay  like  this  is,  to 
throw  together  some  miscellaneous  remarks  on  the  character 
of  the  Puritan  poet,  and  on  the  peculiarities  of  his  works  ; 
and  if  in  any  part  of  them  we  may  seem  to  make  unusual 
criticisms,  and  to  be  over-ready  with  depreciation  or  ob- 
jection, our  excuse  must  be  that  we  wish  to  paint  a  likeness, 
and  that  the  harsher  features  of  the  subject  should  have  a 
prominence,  even  in  an  outline. 

1  Sonnet  xix. 


i82  JOHN  MILTON 

There  are  two  kinds  of  goodness  conspicuous  in  the  world, 
and  often  made  the  subject  of  contrast  there  ;  for  which,  how- 
ever, we  seem  to  want  exact  words,  and  which  we  are  obliged 
to  describe  rather  vaguely  and  incompletely.  These  characters 
may  in  one  aspect  be  called  the  sensuous  and  the  ascetic. 
The  character  of  the  first  is  that  which  is  almost  personified 
in  the  poet-king  of  Israel,  whose  actions  and  whose  history 
have  been  "  improved  "  so  often  by  various  writers,  that  it 
now  seems  trite  even  to  allude  to  them.  Nevertheless,  the 
particular  virtues  and  the  particular  career  of  David  seem  to 
embody  the  idea  of  what  may  be  called  sensuous  goodness 
far  more  completely  than  a  living  being  in  general  comes 
near  to  an  abstract  idea.  There  may  have  been  shades  in  the 
actual  man  which  would  have  modified  the  resemblance ;  but 
in  the  portrait  which  has  been  handed  down  to  us,  the  traits 
are  perfect  and  the  approximation  exact.  The  principle  of 
this  character  is  its  sensibility  to  outward  stimulus ;  it  is 
moved  by  all  which  occurs,  stirred  by  all  which  happens, 
open  to  the  influences  of  whatever  it  sees,  hears,  or  meets  with. 
The  certain  consequence  of  this  mental  constitution  is  a 
peculiar  liability  to  temptation.  Men  are,  according  to  the 
divine,  "  put  upon  their  trial  through  the  senses ".  It  is 
through  the  constant  suggestions  of  the  outer  world  that  our 
minds  are  stimulated,  that  our  will  has  the  chance  of  a  choice, 
that  moral  life  becomes  possible.  The  sensibility  to  this 
external  stimulus  brings  with  it,  when  men  have  it  to  excess, 
an  unusual  access  of  moral  difficulty.  Everything  acts  on 
them,  and  everything  has  a  chance  of  turning  them  aside  ;  the 
most  tempting  things  act  upon  them  very  deeply,  and  their  in- 
fluence, in  consequence,  is  extreme.  Naturally,  therefore,  the 
errors  of  such  men  are  great  We  need  not  point  the  moral— 

"  Dizzied  faith  and  guilt  and  woe, 
Loftiest  aims  by  earth  defiled, 
Gleams  of  wisdom  sin-beguiled, 
Sated  power's  tyrannic  mood, 
Counsels  shared  with  men  of  blood, 
Sad  success,  parental  tears, 
And  a  dreary  gift  of  years  "-1 

1  John  Henry  Newman's  "  Call  of  David  ", 


JOHN  MIL  TON  1 83 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  the  excellence  of  such  men  has  a 
charm,  a  kind  of  sensuous  sweetness,  that  is  its  own.  Being 
conscious  of  frailty,  they  are  tender  to  the  imperfect;  being 
sensitive  to  this  world,  they  sympathise  with  the  world ; 
being  familiar  with  all  the  moral  incidents  of  life,  their  good- 
ness has  a  richness  and  a  complication  :  they  fascinate  their 
own  age,  and  in  their  deaths  they  are  "  not  divided  "  from 
the  love  of  others.  Their  peculiar  sensibility  gives  a  depth  to 
their  religion ;  it  is  at  once  deeper  and  more  human  than  that 
of  other  men.  As  their  sympathetic  knowledge  of  those 
whom  they  have  seen  is  great,  so  it  is  with  their  knowledge  of 
Him  whom  they  have  not  seen  ;  and  as  is  their  knowledge, 
so  is  their  love  ;  it  is  deep,  from  their  nature ;  rich  and  in- 
timate, from  the  variety  of  their  experience;  chastened  by 
the  ever-present  sense  of  their  weakness  and  of  its  con- 
sequences. 

In  extreme  opposition  to  this  is  the  ascetic  species  of 
goodness.  This  is  not,  as  is  sometimes  believed,  a  self- 
produced  ideal — a  simply  voluntary  result  of  discipline  and 
restraint.  Some  men  have  by  nature  what  others  have  to 
elaborate  by  effort.  Some  men  have  a  repulsion  from  the 
world.  All  of  us  have,  in  some  degree,  a  protective  instinct ; 
an  impulse,  that  is  to  say,  to  start  back  from  what  may 
trouble  us,  to  shun  what  may  fascinate  us,  to  avoid  what 
may  tempt  us.  On  the  moral  side  of  human  nature  this 
preventive  check  is  occasionally  imperious ;  it  holds  the  whole 
man  under  its  control, — makes  him  recoil  from  the  world,  be 
offended  at  its  amusements,  be  repelled  by  its  occupations,  be 
scared  by  its  sins.  The  consequences  of  this  tendency,  when 
it  is  thus  in  excess,  upon  the  character  are  very  great  and 
very  singular.  It  secludes  a  man  in  a  sort  of  natural  monas- 
tery ;  he  lives  in  a  kind  of  moral  solitude  ;  and  the  effects  of 
his  isolation  for  good  and  for  evil  on  his  disposition  are  very 
many.  The  best  result  is  a  singular  capacity  for  meditative 
religion.  Being  aloof  from  what  is  earthly,  such  persons  are 
shut  up  with  what  is  spiritual ;  being  unstirred  by  the  in- 
cidents of  time,  they  are  alone  with  the  eternal ;  rejecting  this 
life,  they  are  alone  with  what  is  beyond.  According  to  the 


184  JOHN  MILTON 

measure  of  their  minds,  men  of  this  removed  and  secluded 
excellence  become  eminent  for  a  settled  and  brooding  piety, 
for  a  strong  and  predominant  religion.  In  human  life  too, 
in  a  thousand  ways,  their  isolated  excellence  is  apparent. 
They  walk  through  the  whole  of  it  with  an  abstinence  from 
sense,  a  zeal  of  morality,  a  purity  of  ideal,  which  other  men 
have  not.  Their  religion  has  an  imaginative  grandeur,  and 
their  life  something  of  an  unusual  impeccability.  And  these 
are  obviously  singular  excellences.  But  the  deficiencies  to 
which  the  same  character  tends  are  equally  singular.  In  the 
first  place,  their  isolation  gives  them  a  certain  pride  in  them- 
selves, and  an  inevitable  ignorance  of  others.  They  are 
secluded  by  their  constitutional  Sat'/jiwv  from  life ;  they  are  re- 
pelled from  the  pursuits  which  others  care  for;  they  are 
alarmed  at  the  amusements  which  others  enjoy.  In  conse- 
quence, they  trust  in  their  own  thoughts  ;  they  come  to 
magnify  both  them  and  themselves — for  being  able  to  think 
and  to  retain  them.  The  greater  the  nature  of  the  man,  the 
greater  is  this  temptation.  His  thoughts  are  greater,  and,  in 
consequence,  the  greater  is  his  tendency  to  prize  them,  the 
more  extreme  is  his  tendency  to  overrate  them.  This  pride, 
too,  goes  side  by  side  with  a  want  of  sympathy.  Being 
aloof  from  others,  such  a  mind  is  unlike  others ;  and  it  feels, 
and  sometimes  it  feels  bitterly,  its  own  unlikeness.  Gener- 
ally, however,  it  is  too  wrapt  up  in  its  own  exalted  thoughts 
to  be  sensible  of  the  pain  of  moral  isolation  ;  it  stands  apart 
from  others,  unknowing  and  unknown.  It  is  deprived  of 
moral  experience  in  two  ways, — it  is  not  tempted  itself,  and 
it  does  not  comprehend  the  temptations  of  others.  And  this 
defect  of  moral  experience  is  almost  certain  to  produce  two 
effects,  one  practical  and  the  other  speculative.  When  such 
a  man  is  wrong,  he  will  be  apt  to  believe  that  he  is  right. 
If  his  own  judgment  err,  he  will  not  have  the  habit  of 
checking  it  by  the  judgment  of  others ;  he  will  be  accus- 
tomed to  think  most  men  wrong ;  differing  from  them  would 
be  no  proof  of  error,  agreeing  with  them  would  rather  be  a 
basis  for  suspicion.  He  may,  too,  be  very  wrong,  for  the 
conscience  of  no  man  is  perfect  on  all  sides.  The  strange- 


JOHN  MILTON  185 

ness  of  secluded  excellence  will  be  sometimes  deeply  shaded 
by  very  strange  errors.  To  be  commonly  above  others, 
still  more  to  think  yourself  above  others,  is  to  be  below 
them  every  now  and  then,  and  sometimes  much  below. 
Again,  on  the  speculative  side,  this  defect  of  moral  experi- 
ence penetrates  into  the  distinguishing  excellence  of  the 
character, — its  brooding  and  meditative  religion.  Those 
who  see  life  under  only  one  aspect,  can  see  religion  under 
only  one  likewise.  This  world  is  needful  to  interpret  what 
is  beyond ;  the  seen  must  explain  the  unseen.  It  is  from 
a  tried  and  a  varied  and  a  troubled  moral  life  that  the  deepest 
and  truest  idea  of  God  arises.  The  ascetic  character  wants 
these ;  therefore  in  its  religion  there  will  be  a  harshness  of 
outline,  a  bareness,  so  to  say,  as  well  as  a  grandeur.  In  life 
we  may  look  for  a  singular  purity;  but  also,  and  with 
equal  probability,  for  singular  self-confidence,  a  certain  un- 
sympathising  straitness,  and  perhaps  a  few  singular  errors. 

The  character  of  the  ascetic,  or  austere  species  of  good- 
ness, is  almost  exactly  embodied  in  Milton.  Men,  indeed, 
are  formed  on  no  ideal  type.  Human  nature  has  tendencies 
too  various,  and  circumstances  too  complex.  All  men's 
characters  have  sides  and  aspects  not  to  be  comprehended 
in  a  single  definition ;  but  in  this  case,  the  extent  to  which 
the  character  of  the  man,  as  we  find  it  delineated,  approaches 
to  the  moral  abstraction  which  we  sketch  from  theory,  is 
remarkable.  The  whole  being  of  Milton  may,  in  some 
sort,  be  summed  up  in  the  great  commandment  of  the 
austere  character,  "Reverence  thyself".  We  find  it  ex- 
pressed in  almost  every  one  of  his  singular  descriptions  of 
himself, — of  those  striking  passages  which  are  scattered 
through  all  his  works,  and  which  add  to  whatever  interest 
may  intrinsically  belong  to  them  one  of  the  rarest  of  artistic 
charms,  that  of  magnanimous  autobiography.  They  have 
been  quoted  a  thousand  times,  but  one  of  them  may  perhaps 
be  quoted  again.  "  I  had  my  time,  readers,  as  others  have, 
who  have  good  learning  bestowed  upon  them,  to  be  sent  to 
those  places,  where  the  opinion  was  it  might  be  soonest 
attained ;  and  as  the  manner  is,  was  not  unstudied  in  those 


1 86  JOHN  MIL  TON 

authors    which   are  most  commended ;    whereof  some   were 
grave  orators  and  historians,  whose  matter  methought  I  loved 
indeed,  but  as  my  age  then  was,  so  I  understood  them  ;  others 
were  the  smooth  elegiac  poets,  whereof  the  schools  are  not 
scarce,  whom  both  for  the  pleasing  sound  of  their  numerous 
writing,  which  in    imitation  I    found  most   easy,   and    most 
agreeable  to  nature's  part  in  me,  and  for  their  matter,  which 
what  it  is,  there  be  few  who  know  not,  I  was  so  allured  to 
read,  that  no  recreation  came  to  me  better  welcome :  for  that 
it  was  then  those  years  with  me  which  are  excused,  though 
they  be  less  severe,  I  may  be  saved  the  labour  to  remember 
ye.     Whence  having  observed  them  to  account  it  the  chief 
glory  of  their  wit,  in  that  they  were  ablest  to  judge,  to  praise, 
and  by  that  could  esteem  themselves  worthiest  to  love  those 
high  perfections,  which  under  one  or  other  name  they  took  to 
celebrate,  I  thought  with  myself  by  every  instinct  and  presage 
of  nature,  which  is  not  wont  to  be  false,  that  what  emboldened 
them  to  this  task,   might  with   such  diligence  as  they  used 
embolden  me ;  and  that  what  judgment,  wit,  or  elegance  was 
my  share,  would  herein  best  appear,  and  best  value  itself,  by 
how  much  more  wisely,  and  with  more  love  of  virtue  I  should 
choose  (let  rude  ears    be  absent)  the  object  of  not  unlik( 
praises :  for  albeit  these  thoughts  to  some  will  seem  virtuouj 
and  commendable,  to  others  only  pardonable,  to  a  third  soi 
perhaps  idle  ;  yet  the  mentioning  of  them  now  will  end  ii 
serious.     Nor  blame  it,  readers,  in  those  years  to  propose  t( 
themselves  such  a  reward,  as  the  noblest  dispositions  abo> 
other  things  in  this  life  have  sometimes  preferred :    whereof 
not  to  be  sensible  when  good  and  fair  in  one  person  me 
argues  both  a  gross   and   shallow  judgment,   and  withal  ai 
ungentle  and  swainish   breast.     For   by  the  firm  settling 
these  persuasions,  I  became,  to  my  best  memory,  so  much 
proficient,  that  if  I  found  those  authors  anywhere  speakii 
unworthy  things  of  themselves,  or  unchaste  of  those  name 
which  before  they  had  extolled,  this  effect  is  wrought  wit 
me,  from  that  time  forward  their  art  I  still  applauded,  but  th< 
men  I  deplored ;  and  above  them  all,  preferred  the  two  famoi 
renowners  of  Beatrice  and  Laura,  who  never  write  but  honoi 


JOHN  MIL  TON  187 

of  them  to  whom  they  devote  their  verse,  displaying  sublime 
and  pure  thoughts  without  transgression.  And  long  it  was 
not  after,  when  I  was  confirmed  in  this  opinion,  that  he  who 
would  not  be  frustrate  of  his  hope  to  write  well  hereafter  in 
laudable  things,  ought  himself  to  be  a  true  poem ;  that  is,  a 
composition  and  pattern  of  the  best  and  honourablest  things  ; 
not  presuming  to  sing  high  praises  of  heroic  men,  or  famous 
cities,  unless  he  have  in  himself  the  experience  and  the 
practice  of  all  that  which  is  praiseworthy." l 

It  may  be  fanciful  to  add,  and  we  may  be  laughed  at,  but 
we  believe  that  the  self-reverencing  propensity  was  a  little 
aided  by  his  singular  personal  beauty.  All  the  describers  of 
his  youth  concur  in  telling  us  that  this  was  very  remarkable. 
Mr.  Masson  has  the  following  account  of  it : — 

"When  Milton  left  Cambridge  in  July,  1632,  he  was  twenty-three 
years  and  eight  months  old.  In  stature,  therefore,  at  least,  he  was 
already  whatever  he  was  to  be.  '  In  stature,'  he  says  himself  at  a  latter 
period,  when  driven  to  speak  on  the  subject,  '  I  confess  I  am  not  tall, 
but  still  of  what  is  nearer  to  middle  height  than  to  little  :  and  what  if  I 
were  of  little  ;  of  which  stature  have  often  been  very  great  men  both  in 
peace  and  war — though  why  should  that  be  called  little  which  is  great 
enough  for  virtue  ?  '  ('  StaturA,fateor,  non  sum  procera,  sedqucE  mediocri 
tamen  quamparvce  propior  sit ;  sed  quid  si parva,  qua  et  summi  scEpe  tuni 
pace  turn  bello  viri  fuere — quanquam  parva  cur  dicitur,  qucs  ad  virtutem 
satis  magna  est?").  This  is  precise  enough;  but  we  have  Aubrey's 
words  to  the  same  effect :  'He  was  scarce  so  tall  as  I  am,'  says  Aubrey  ; 
to  which,  to  make  it  more  intelligible,  he  appends  the  marginal  note:  — 
'  Qu-  Quot  feet  I  am  high  ?  Resp.  Of  middle  stature  ;  ' — z>.,  Milton  was 
a  little  under  middle  height.  '  He  had  light  brown  hair,'  continues 
Aubrey, — putting  the  word  '  abrown  '  ('  auburn  ')  in  the  margin  by  way 
of  synonym  for  '  light  brown  '  ; — <  his  complexion  exceeding  fair  ;  oval 
face  ;  his  eye  a  dark  grey.'  " 

We  are  far  from  accusing  Milton  of  personal  vanity. 
His  character  was  too  enormous,  if  we  may  be  allowed  so  to 
say,  for  a  fault  so  petty.  But  a  little  tinge  of  excessive  self- 
respect  will  cling  to  those  who  can  admire  themselves. 
Ugly  men  are  and  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  their  existence. 
Milton  was  not  so. 

The  peculiarities  of  the  austere  type  of  character  stand 

1  Apology  for  Smectymnuus. 


1 88  JOHN  MILTON 

out  in  Milton  more  remarkably  than  in  other  men  who  par- 
take of  it,  because  of  the  extreme  strength  of  his  nature. 
In  reading  him  this  is  the  first  thing  that  strikes  us.  We 
seem  to  have  left  the  little  world  of  ordinary  writers.  The 
words  of  some  authors  are  said  to  have  "  hands  and  feet " ; 
they  seem,  that  is,  to  have  a  vigour  and  animation  which 
only  belong  to  things  which  live  and  move.  Milton's  words 
have  not  this  animal  life.  There  is  no  rude  energy  about 
them.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  they  have,  or  seem  to  have, 
a  soul,  a  spirit  which  other  words  have  not.  He  was  early 
aware  that  what  he  wrote,  "by  certain  vital  signs  it  had," 
was  such  as  the  world  would  not  "willingly  let  die".1 
After  two  centuries  we  feel  the  same.  There  is  a  solemn 
and  firm  music  in  the  lines ;  a  brooding  sublimity  haunts 
them ;  the  spirit  of  the  great  writer  moves  over  the  face 
of  the  page.  In  life  there  seems  to  have  been  the  same 
peculiar  strength  that  his  works  suggest  to  us.  His  moral 
tenacity  is  amazing.  He  took  his  own  course,  and  he  kept 
his  own  course ;  and  we  may  trace  in  his  defects  the  same 
characteristics.  "Energy  and  ill-temper,"  some  say,  "are 
the  same  thing ; "  and  though  this  is  a  strong  exaggera- 
tion, yet  there  is  a  basis  of  truth  in  it.  People  who  labour 
much  will  be  cross  if  they  do  not  obtain  that  for  which  they 
labour ;  those  who  desire  vehemently  will  be  vexed  if  they 
do  not  obtain  that  which  they  desire.  As  is  the  strength  of 
the  impelling  tendency,  so,  other  things  being  equal,  is  the 
pain  which  it  will  experience  if  it  be  baffled.  Those,  too, 
who  are  set  on  what  is  high  will  be  proportionately  offended 
by  the  intrusion  of  what  is  low.  Accordingly,  Milton  is 
described  by  those  who  knew  him  as  a  "harsh  and  choleric 
man".  "He  had,"  we  are  told,  "a  gravity  in  his  temper, 
not  melancholy,  or  not  till  the  latter  part  of  his  life, — not 
sour,  not  morose,  not  ill-natured ;  but  a  certain  severity  of 
mind,  not  condescending  to  little  things;"  —  and  this, 
although  his  daughter  remembered  that  he  was  delightful 
company,  the  life  of  conversation,  and  that  he  was  so  "on 
account  of  a  flow  of  subjects  and  an  unaffected  cheerfulness 

1  Reason  of  Church  Government,  Introduction  to  book  iii. 


JOHN  MIL  TON  189 

and  civility".  Doubtless  this  may  have  been  so  when  he 
was  at  ease,  and  at  home.  But  there  are  unmistakable 
traces  of  the  harsher  tendency  in  almost  all  his  works. 

Some  of  the  peculiarities  of  the  ascetic  character  were 
likewise  augmented  by  his  studious  disposition.  This  began 
very  early  in  life,  and  continued  till  the  end.  "  My  father," 
he  says,  "  destined  me  to  the  study  of  polite  literature,  which 
I  embraced  with  such  avidity,  that  from  the  twelfth  year  of 
my  age  I  hardly  ever  retired  to  rest  from  my  studies  till 
midnight ;  which  was  the  first  source  of  injury  to  my  eyes, 
to  the  natural  weakness  of  which  were  added  frequent  head- 
aches :  all  of  which  not  retarding  my  eagerness  after  know- 
ledge, he  took  care  to  have  me  instructed," *  etc.  Every 
page  of  his  works  shows  the  result  of  this  education.  In 
spite  of  the  occupations  of  manhood,  and  the  blindness  and 
melancholy  of  old  age,  he  still  continued  to  have  his  princi- 
pal pleasure  in  that  "studious  and  select"  reading,  which, 
though  often  curiously  transmuted,  is  perpetually  involved 
in  the  very  texture  of  his  works.  We  need  not  stay  to 
observe  how  a  habit  in  itself  so  austere  conduces  to  the 
development  of  an  austere  character.  Deep  study,  especially 
deep  study  which  haunts  and  rules  the  imagination,  neces- 
sarily removes  men  from  life,  absorbs  them  in  themselves ; 
purifies  their  conduct,  with  some  risk  of  isolating  their 
sympathies;  develops  that  loftiness  of  mood  which  is  gifted 
with  deep  inspirations  and  indulged  with  great  ideas,  but 
which  tends  in  its  excess  to  engender  a  contempt  for  others, 
and  a  self-appreciation  which  is  even  more  displeasing 
to  them. 

These  same  tendencies  were  aggravated  also  by  two  defects 
which  are  exceedingly  rare  in  great  English  authors,  and  which 
perhaps  Milton  alone  amongst  those  of  the  highest  class  is  in 
a  remarkable  degree  chargeable  with.  We  mean  a  deficiency 
in  humour,  and  a  deficiency  in  a  knowledge  of  plain  human 
nature.  Probably  when,  after  the  lapse  of  ages,  English  litera- 
ture is  looked  at  in  its  larger  features  only,  and  in  comparison 
with  other  literatures  which  have  preceded  or  which  may  follow 

1  Defensio  Secunda  ;  translated  by  Keightley. 


1 90  JOHN  MIL  TON 

it,  the  critics  will  lay  down  that  its  most  striking  characteristic 
as  a  whole  is  its  involution,  so  to  say,  in  life  ;  the  degree  to 
which  its  book  life  resembles  real  life ;  the  extent  to  which  the 
motives,  dispositions,  and  actions  of  common  busy  persons  are 
represented  in  a  medium  which  would  seem  likely  to  give  us 
peculiarly  the  ideas  of  secluded,  and  the  tendencies  of  meditative 
men.  It  is  but  an  aspect  of  this  fact,  that  English  literature 
abounds, — some  critics  will  say  abounds  excessively, — with 
humour.  This  is  in  some  sense  the  imaginative  element  of 
ordinary  life, — the  relieving  charm,  partaking  at  once  of  contrast 
and  similitude,  which  gives  a  human  and  an  intellectual  interest 
to  the  world  of  clowns  and  cottages,  of  fields  and  farmers.  The 
degree  to  which  Milton  is  deficient  in  this  element  is  conspicu- 
ous in  every  page  of  his  writings  where  its  occurrence  could  be 
looked  for ;  and  if  we  do  not  always  look  for  it,  that  is  because 
the  subjects  of  his  most  remarkable  works  are  on  a  removed 
elevation,  where  ordinary  life,  the  world  of  "  cakes  and  ale," 
is  never  thought  of  and  never  expected.  It  is  in  his  dramas, 
as  we  should  expect,  that  Milton  shows  this  deficiency  the 
most.  "Citizens"  never  talk  in  his  pages,  as  they  do  in 
Shakespeare.  We  feel  instinctively  that  Milton's  eye  had 
never  rested  with  the  same  easy  pleasure  on  the  easy,  ordinary, 
shop-keeping  world.  Perhaps,  such  is  the  complication  of 
art,  that  it  is  on  the  most  tragic  occasions  that  we  felt  this  want 
the  most.  It  may  seem  an  odd  theory,  and  yet  we  believe 
it  to  be  a  true  principle,  that  catastrophes  require  a  comic 
element.  We  appear  to  feel  the  same  principle  in  life.  We 
may  read  solemn  descriptions  of  great  events  in  history, — 
say  of  Lord  Strafford's  trial,  and  of  his  marvellous  speech, 
and  his  appeal  to  his  "  saint  in  heaven  "  ;  but  we  comprehend 
the  whole  transaction  much  better  when  we  learn  from  Mr. 
Baillie,  the  eye-witness,  that  people  ate  nuts  and  apples, 
and  talked,  and  laughed  and  betted  on  the  great  question  of 
acquittal  and  condemnation.  Nor  is  it  difficult  to  under- 
stand why  this  should  be  so.  It  seems  to  be  a  law  of 
the  imagination,  at  least  in  most  men,  that  it  will  not 
concentration.  It  is  essentially  a  glancing  faculty.  It  g< 
and  comes,  and  comes  and  goes,  and  we  hardly  know  whence 


JOHN  MIL  TON  1 9 1 

or  why.  But  we  most  of  us  know  that  when  we  try  to  fix 
it,  in  a  moment  it  passes  away.  Accordingly,  the  proper 
procedure  of  art  is  to  let  it  go  in  such  a  manner  as  to  ensure 
its  coming  back  again.  The  force  of  artistic  contrasts 
effects  exactly  this  result.  Skilfully  disposed  opposites 
suggest  the  notion  of  each  other.  We  realise  more  perfectly 
and  easily  the  great  idea,  the  tragic  conception,  when  we 
are  familiarised  with  its  effects  on  the  minds  of  little  people, 
—with  the  petty  consequences  which  it  causes,  as  well  as 
with  the  enormous  forces  from  which  it  comes.  The  catas- 
trophe of  Samson  Agonistes  discloses  Milton's  imperfect 
mastery  of  this  element  of  effect.  If  ever  there  was  an 
occasion  which  admitted  its  perfect  employment,  it  was  this. 
The  kind  of  catastrophe  is  exactly  that  which  is  sure  to 
strike  and  strike  forcibly  the  minds  of  common  persons.  If 
their  observations  on  the  occasion  were  really  given  to  us, 
we  could  scarcely  avoid  something  rather  comic.  The 
eccentricity,  so  to  speak,  of  ordinary  persons,  shows  itself 
peculiarly  at  such  times,  and  they  say  the  queerest  things. 
Shakespeare  has  exemplified  this  principle  most  skilfully  on 
various  occasions :  it  is  the  sort  of  art  which  is  just  in  his 
way.  His  imagination  always  seems  to  be  floating  between 
the  contrasts  of  things ;  and  if  his  mind  had  a  resting-place 
that  it  liked,  it  was  this  ordinary  view  of  extraordinary  events. 
Milton  was  under  the  great  obligation  to  use  this  relieving 
principle  of  art  in  the  catastrophe  of  Samson,  because  he 
has  made  every  effort  to  heighten  the  strictly  tragic  element, 
which  requires  that  relief.  His  art,  always  serious,  was 
never  more  serious.  His  Samson  is  not  the  incarnation  of 
physical  strength  which  the  popular  fancy  embodies  in  the 
character  ;  nor  is  it  the  simple  and  romantic  character  of  the 
Old  Testament.  On  the  contrary,  Samson  has  become  a 
Puritan :  the  observations  he  makes  would  have  done  much 
credit  to  a  religious  pikeman  in  Cromwell's  army.  In  con- 
sequence, his  death  requires  some  lightening  touches  to  make 
it  a  properly  artistic  event.  The  pomp  of  seriousness  becomes 
too  oppressive. 


1 92  JOHN  MIL  TON 

"  At  length  for  intermission  sake  they  led  him 
Between  the  pillars  ;  he  his  guide  requested 
(For  so  from  such  as  nearer  stood  we  heard), 
As  over-tired,  to  let  him  lean  a  while 
With  both  his  arms  on  those  two  massy  pillars 
That  to  the  arched  roof  gave  main  support. 
He  unsuspicious  led  him  ;  which  when  Samson 
Felt  in  his  arms,  with  head  a  while  inclined, 
And  eyes  fast  fix'd,  he  stood,  as  one  who  pray'd, 
Or  some  great  matter  in  his  mind  revolved  : 
At  last  with  head  erect  thus  cry'd  aloud, 
'  Hitherto,  lords,  what  your  commands  imposed 
I  have  perform 'd,  as  reason  was,  obeying, 
Not  without  wonder  or  delight  beheld  : 
Now  of  my  own  accord  such  other  trial 
I  mean  to  show  you  of  my  strength,  yet  greater, 
As  with  amaze  shall  strike  all  who  behold.' 
This  utter'd,  straining  all  his  nerves  he  bow'd, 
As  with  the  force  of  winds  and  waters  pent 
When  mountains  tremble,  those  two  massy  pillars 
With  horrible  convulsion  to  and  fro. 
He  tugg'd,  he  shook,  till  down  they  came,  and  drew 
The  whole  roof  after  them,  with  bursts  of  thunder, 
Upon  the  heads  of  all  who  sat  beneath, — 
Lords,  ladies,  captains,  counsellors,  or  priests, 
Their  choice  nobility  and  flower,  not  only 
Of  this,  but  each  Philistian  city  round, 
Met  from  all  parts  to  solemnise  this  feast. 
Samson  with  these  immix'd,  inevitably 
Pull'd  down  the  same  destruction  on  himself ; 
The  vulgar  only  'scaped  who  stood  without. 

Chor.  O  dearly-bought  revenge,  yet  glorious  ! 
Living  or  dying  thou  hast  fulfill'd 
The  work  for  which  thou  wast  foretold 
To  Israel,  and  now  ly'st  victorious 
Among  thy  slain  self-kill'd 
Not  willingly,  but  tangled  in  the  fold 
Of  dire  necessity,  whose  law  in  death  conjoin'd 
Thee  with  thy  slaughter'd  foes,  in  number  more 
Than  all  thy  life  hath  slain  before." 

This  is  grave  and  fine ;  but  Shakespeare  would  have  done 
it  differently  and  better. 

We  need  not  pause  to  observe  how  certainly  this  deficiency 
in  humour  and  in  the  delineation  of  ordinary  human  feeling  is 


JOHN  MILTON  193 

connected  with  a  recluse,  a  solitary,  and  to  some  extent  an 
unsympathising  life.  If  we  combine  a  certain  aloofness  from 
common  men  with  literary  habits  and  an  incessantly  studious 
musing,  we  shall  at  once  see  how  powerful  a  force  is  brought 
to  bear  on  an  instinctively  austere  character,  and  how  sure  it 
will  be  to  develop  the  peculiar  tendencies  of  it,  both  good  and 
evil.  It  was  to  no  purpose  that  Milton  seems  to  have  practised 
a  sort  of  professional  study  of  life.  No  man  could  rank  more 
highly  the  importance  to  a  poet  of  an  intellectual  insight  into 
all-important  pursuits  and  "seemly  arts".  But  it  is  not  by 
the  mere  intellect  that  we  can  take  in  the  daily  occupations 
of  mankind ;  we  must  sympathise  with  them,  and  see  them 
in  their  human  relations.  A  chimney-sweeper,  qud  chimney- 
sweeper, is  not  very  sentimental ;  it  is  in  himself  that  he  is 
so  interesting. 

Milton's  austere  character  is  in  some  sort  the  more  evident, 
because  he  possessed  in  large  measure  a  certain  relieving 
element,  in  which  those  who  are  eminent  in  that  character  are 
very  deficient.  Generally  such  persons  have  but  obtuse  senses. 
We  are  prone  to  attribute  the  purity  of  their  conduct  to  the 
dulness  of  their  sensations.  Milton  had  no  such  obtuseness. 
He  had  every  opportunity  for  knowing  ' '  the  world  of  eye  and 
ear  "-1  You  cannot  open  his  works  without  seeing  how  much 
he  did  know  of  it.  The  austerity  of  his  nature  was  not  caused 
by  the  deficiency  of  his  senses,  but  by  an  excess  of  the  warning 
instinct.  Even  when  he  professed  to  delineate  the  world  of 
sensuous  delight,  this  instinct  shows  itself.  Dr.  Johnson 
thought  he  could  discern  melancholy  in  "  L'Allegro  ".2  If  he 
had  said  solitariness,  it  would  have  been  correct. 

The  peculiar  nature  of  Milton's  character  is  very  conspicu- 
ous in  the  events  of  his  domestic  life,  and  in  the  views  which 
he  took  of  the  great  public  revolutions  of  his  age.  We  can 
spare  only  a  very  brief  space  for  the  examination  of  either 
of  these;  but  we  will  endeavour  to  say  a  few  words  upon 
each  of  them. 

The  circumstances  of  Milton's  first  marriage  are  as  singular 
as  any  in  the  strange  series  of  the  loves  of  the  poets.  The 

1  Wordsworth  :  "  Tintern  Abbey  ".  2  Life  of  Milton. 

VOL.  III.  13 


i94  JOHN  MILTON 

scene  opens  with  an  affair  of  business.  Milton's  father,  as  is 
well  known,  was  a  scrivener,  a  kind  of  professional  money- 
lender, then  well  known  in  London ;  and  having  been  early 
connected  with  the  vicinity  of  Oxford,  continued  afterwards  to 
have  pecuniary  transactions  of  a  certain  nature  with  country 
gentlemen  of  that  neighbourhood.  In  the  course  of  these  he 
advanced  £500  to  a  certain  Mr.  Richard  Powell,  a  squire  of 
fair  landed  estate,  residing  at  Forest  Hill,  which  is  about  four 
miles  from  the  city  of  Oxford.  The  money  was  lent  on  the 
nth  of  June,  1627  ;  and  a  few  months  afterwards  Mr.  Milton 
the  elder  gave  £312  of  it  to  his  son  the  poet,  who  was  then 
a  youth  at  college,  and  made  a  formal  memorandum  of  the 
same  in  the  form  then  usual,  which  still  exists.  The  debt  was 
never  wholly  discharged  ;  for  in  1651  we  find  Milton  declaring 
on  oath  that  he  had  never  received  more  than  £180,  "  in  part 
satisfaction  of  his  said  just  and  principal  debt,  with  damages 
for  the  same  and  his  costs  of  suit ".  Mr.  Keightley  supposes 
him  to  have  "  taken  many  a  ride  over  to  Forest  Hill "  after  he 
left  Cambridge  and  was  living  at  Horton,  which  is  not  very 
far  distant ;  but  of  course  this  is  only  conjecture.  We  only  , 
know  that  about  1643  "he  took,"  as  his  nephew  relates,  "a 
journey  into  the  country,  nobody  about  him  certainly  knowing  j 
the  reason,  or  that  it  was  more  than  a  journey  of  recreation. 
After  a  month's  stay  he  returns  a  married  man,  who  set  out 
a  bachelor ;  his  wife  being  Mary,  the  eldest  daughter  of  Mr. 
Richard  Powell,  then  a  justice  of  the  peace  "  for  the  county  of 
Oxford.  The  suddenness  of  the  event  is  rather  striking ;  but 
Philips  was  at  the  time  one  of  Milton's  pupils,  and  it  is  j 
possible  that  some  pains  may  have  been  taken  to  conceal  the 
love-affair  from  the  "young  gentlemen".  Still,  as  Philips  j 
was  Milton's  nephew,  he  was  likely  to  hear  such  intelligence  ! 
tolerably  early ;  and  as  he  does  not  seem  to  have  done  so,  j 
the  denouement  was  probably  rather  prompt.  At  any  rate,  he  j 
was  certainly  married  at  that  time,  and  took  his  bride  home 
to  his  house  in  Aldersgate  Street ;  and  there  was  feasting  and 
gaiety  according  to  the  usual  custom  of  such  events.  A  few 
weeks  after,  the  lady  went  home  to  her  friends,  in  which  there 
was  of  course  nothing  remarkable ;  but  it  is  singular  that  when 


JOHN  MILTON  195 

the  natural  limit  of  her  visit  at  home  was  come,  she  absolutely 
refused  to  return  to  her  husband.  The  grounds  of  so  strange 
a  resolution  are  very  difficult  to  ascertain.  Political  feeling 
ran  very  high  :  old  Mr.  Powell  adhered  to  the  side  of  the  king, 
and  Milton  to  that  of  the  Parliament;  and  this  might  be 
fancied  to  have  caused  an  estrangement.  But  on  the  other 
hand,  these  circumstances  must  have  been  well  known  three 
months  before.  Nothing  had  happened  in  that  quarter  of  a 
year  to  change  very  materially  the  position  of  the  two  parties 
in  the  State.  Some  other  cause  for  Mrs.  Milton's  conduct 
must  be  looked  for.  She  herself  is  said  to  have  stated  that 
she  did  not  like  her  husband's  "  spare  diet  and  hard  study  ".* 
No  doubt,  too,  she  found  it  dull  in  London ;  she  had  probably 
always  lived  in  the  country,  and  must  have  been  quite  un- 
accustomed to  the  not  very  pleasant  scene  in  which  she 
found  herself.  Still,  many  young  ladies  have  married  school- 
masters, and  many  young  ladies  have  gone  from  Oxfordshire 
to  London  ;  and  nevertheless,  no  such  dissolution  of  matri- 
monial harmony  is  known  to  have  occurred. 

The  fact  we  believe  to  be,  that  the  bride  took  a  dislike  to 
her  husband.  We  cannot  but  have  a  suspicion  that  she  did 
not  like  him  before  marriage,  and  that  pecuniary  reasons  had 
their  influence.  If,  however,  Mr.  Powell  exerted  his  paternal 
influence,  it  may  be  admitted  that  he  had  unusual  considera- 
tions to  advance  in  favour  of  the  alliance  he  proposed.  It  is 
snot  every  father  whose  creditors  are  handsome  young  gentle- 
jmen  with  fair  incomes.  Perhaps  it  seemed  no  extreme  tyranny 
to  press  the  young  lady  a  little  to  do  that  which  some  others 
might  have  done  without  pressing.  Still,  all  this  is  but  hypo- 
thesis ;  our  evidence  as  to  the  love-affairs  of  the  time  of  King 
Charles  I.  is  but  meagre.  But,  whatever  the  feelings  of  Miss 
Powell  may  have  been,  those  of  Mrs.  Milton  are  exceedingly 
certain.  She  would  not  return  to  her  husband  ;  she  did  not 
inswer  his  letters  ;  and  a  messenger  whom  he  sent  to  bring  her 
sack  was  handled  rather  roughly.  Unquestionably,  she  was 
deeply  to  blame,  by  far  the  most  to  blame  of  the  two.  What- 
ever may  be  alleged  against  him,  is  as  nothing  compared  with 

1  Philips. 
13* 


196  JOHN  MILTON 

her  offence  in  leaving  him.  To  defend  so  startling  a  course, 
we  must  adopt  views  of  divorce  even  more  extreme  than  those 
which  Milton  was  himself  driven  to  inculcate ;  and  whatever 
Mrs.  Milton's  practice  may  have  been,  it  may  be  fairly  con- 
jectured that  her  principles  were  strictly  orthodox.  Yet,  if  she 
could  be  examined  by  a  commission  to  the  ghosts,  she  would 
probably  have  some  palliating  circumstances  to  allege  in 
mitigation  of  judgment.  There  were,  perhaps,  peculiarities  in 
Milton's  character  which  a  young  lady  might  not  improperly 
dislike.  The  austere  and  ascetic  character  is  of  course  far  less 
agreeable  to  women  than  the  sensuous  and  susceptible.  The 
self-occupation,  the  pride,  the  abstraction  of  the  former  are  to 
the  female  mind  disagreeable ;  studious  habits  and  unusual 
self-denial  seem  to  it  purposeless ;  lofty  enthusiasm,  public 
spirit,  the  solitary  pursuit  of  an  elevated  ideal,  are  quite  out  of 
its  way :  they  rest  too  little  on  the  visible  world  to  be  intelli- 
gible, they  are  too  little  suggested  by  the  daily  occurrences 
life  to  seem  possible.  The  poet  in  search  of  an  imaginai 
phantom  has  never  been  successful  with  women ;  there  are  ii 
numerable  proofs  of  that ;  and  the  ascetic  moralist  is  even  1( 
interesting.  A  character  combined  out  of  the  two — and  this 
some  extent  was  Milton's — is  singularly  likely  to  meet  wil 
painful  failure ;  with  a  failure  the  more  painful  that  it  coul 
never  anticipate  or  explain  it.  Possibly  he  was  absorbed  ii 
an  austere  self-conscious  excellence  ;  it  may  never  have  occurn 
to  him  that  a  lady  might  prefer  the  trivial  detail  of  dail 
happiness. 

Milton's  own  view  of  the  matter  he  has  explained  to  us 
his  book  on  divorce  ;  and  it  is  a  very  odd  one.  His  complaii 
was,  that  his  wife  would  not  talk.  What  he  wished  in  marriaj 
was  an  "  intimate  and  speaking  help  "  ;  he  encountered  a  "  mut 
and  spiritless  mate  ".  One  of  his  principal  incitements  to  tl 
"  pious  necessity  of  divorcing,"  was  an  unusual  deficiency 
household  conversation.  A  certain  loquacity  in  their  wive 
has  been  the  complaint  of  various  eminent  men ;  but 
domestic  affliction  was  a  different  one.  The  "  ready  and  revri 
ing  associate,"  whom  he  had  hoped  to  have  found,  appeared 
be  a  "  coinhabiting  mischief,"  who  was  sullen,  and  perhaj 


JOHN  MILTON  197 

seemed  bored  and  tired  And  at  times  he  is  disposed  to  cast 
the  blame  of  his  misfortune  on  the  uninstructive  nature  of 
youthful  virtue.  The  "soberest  and  best-governed  men,"  he 
says,  are  least  practised  in  such  affairs,  are  not  very  well  aware 
that  "  the  bashful  muteness"  of  a  young  lady  "  may  oft-times 
hide  the  unliveliness  and  natural  sloth  which  is  really  unfit  for 
conversation  " ;  and  are  rather  in  too  great  haste  to  light  the 
nuptial  torch :  whereas  those  "who  have  lived  most  loosely, 
by  reason  of  their  bold  accustoming,  prove  most  successful  in 
their  matches  ;  because  their  wild  affections,  unsettling  at  will, 
have  been  as  so  many  divorces  to  teach  them  experience  ". 
And  he  rather  wishes  to  infer  that  the  virtuous  man  should,  in 
case  of  mischance,  have  his  resource  of  divorce  likewise. 

In  truth,  Milton's  book  on  divorce — though  only  containing 
principles  which  he  continued  to  believe  long  after  he  had  any 
personal  reasons  for  wishing  to  do  so — was  clearly  suggested  at 
first  by  the  unusual  phenomena  of  his  first  marriage.  His  wife 
began  by  not  speaking  to  him,  and  finished  by  running  away  from 
him.  Accordingly,  like  most  books  which  spring  out  of  per- 
sonal circumstances,  his  treatises  on  this  subject  have  a  frank- 
ness, and  a  mastery  of  detail,  which  others  on  the  same  topic 
sometimes  want.  He  is  remarkably  free  from  one  peculiarity 
of  modern  writers  on  such  matters.  Several  considerate  gentle- 
men are  extremely  anxious  for  the  "  rights  of  women  ".  They 
think  that  women  will  benefit  by  removing  the  bulwarks  which 
the  misguided  experience  of  ages  has  erected  for  their  protection. 
A  migratory  system  of  domestic  existence  might  suit  Madame 
Dudevant,  and  a  few  cases  of  singular  exception  ;  but  we  cannot 
fancy  that  it  would  be,  after  all,  so  much  to  the  taste  of  most 
ladies  as  the  present  more  permanent  system.  We  have  some 
reminiscence  of  the  stories  of  the  wolf  and  the  lamb,  when  we 
hear  amiable  men  addressing  a  female  auditory  (in  books,  of 
course)  on  the  advantages  of  a  freer  "development".  We  are 
perhaps  wrong,  but  we  cherish  an  indistinct  suspicion  that  an 
indefinite  extension  of  the  power  of  selection  would  rather  tend 
to  the  advantage  of  the  sex  which  more  usually  chooses.  But 
we  have  no  occasion  to  avow  such  opinions  now.  Milton  had 
no  such  modern  views.  He  is  frankly  and  honestly  anxious 


198  JOHN  MILTON 

for  the  rights  of  the  man.  Of  the  doctrine  that  divorce  is  only 
permitted  for  the  help  of  wives,  he  exclaims  :  "  Palpably  uxori- 
ous !  who  can  be  ignorant  that  a  woman  was  created  for  man, 
and  not  man  for  woman  ?  What  an  injury  is  it  after  wedlock 
to  be  slighted !  what  to  be  contended  with  in  point  of  house- 
rule  who  shall  be  the  head ;  not  for  any  parity  of  wisdom,  for 
that  were  something  reasonable,  but  out  of  a  female  pride  !  '  [ 
suffer  not,'  saith  St.  Paul,  '  the  woman  to  usurp  authority  over 
the  man.'  If  the  Apostle  could  not  suffer  it,"  he  naturally  re- 
marks, "into  what  mould  is  he  mortified  that  can?"  He  had 
a  sincere  desire  to  preserve  men  from  the  society  of  unsocial 
and  unsympathising  women ;  and  that  was  his  principal  idea. 

His  theory,  to  a  certain  extent,  partakes  of  the  same  notion. 
The  following  passage  contains  a  perspicuous  exposition  of  it : 
"  Moses,  Deut.  xxiv.  I,  established  a  grave  and  prudent  law, 
full  of  moral  equity,  full  of  due  consideration  towards  nature, 
that  cannot  be  resisted,  a  law  consenting  with  the  wisest  men 
and  civilest  nations ;  that  when  a  man  hath  married  a  wife,  if 
it  come  to  pass  that  he  cannot  love  her  by  reason  of  some  dis- 
pleasing natural  quality  or  unfitness  in  her,  let  him  write  her  a 
bill  of  divorce.  The  intent  of  which  law  undoubtedly  was  this, 
that  if  any  good  and  peaceable  man  should  discover  some  help- 
less disagreement  or  dislike,  either  of  mind  or  body,  whereby 
he  could  not  cheerfully  perform  the  duty  of  a  husband  without 
the  perpetual  dissembling  of  offence  and  disturbance  to  his 
spirit ;  rather  than  to  live  uncomfortably  and  unhappily  both  to 
himself  and  to  his  wife ;  rather  than  to  continue  undertaking  a 
duty,  which  he  could  not  possibly  discharge,  he  might  dismij 
her,  whom  he  could  not  tolerably,  and  so  not  conscionably, 
tain.  And  this  law  the  Spirit  of  God  by  the  mouth  of  Solomoi 
Prov.  xxx.  21,  23,  testifies  to  be  a  good  and  a  necessary  law, 
by  granting  it  that  *  a  hated  woman '  (for  so  the  Hebrew  wor 
signifies,  rather  than  'odious,'  though  it  come  all  to  one),  tl 
'  a  hated  woman,  when  she  is  married,  is  a  thing  that  the  earl 
cannot  bear  '."  And  he  complains  that  the  civil  law  of  modei 
states  interferes  with  the  "  domestical  prerogative  of  the  hi 
band". 

His  notion  would  seem  to  have  been  that  a  husband 


JOHN  MILTON  199 

bound  not  to  dismiss  his  wife,  except  for  a  reason  really  suffi- 
cient ;  such  as  a  thoroughly  incompatible  temper,  an  incorrig- 
ible "muteness,"  and  a  desertion  like  that  of  Mrs.  Milton. 
But  he  scarcely  liked  to  admit  that,  in  the  use  of  this  power, 
he  should  be  subject  to  the  correction  of  human  tribunals.  He 
thought  that  the  circumstances  of  each  case  depended  upon 
"  utterless  facts  "  ;  and  that  it  was  practically  impossible  for 
a  civil  court  to  decide  on  a  subject  so  delicate  in  its  essence, 
and  so  imperceptible  in  its  data.  But  though  amiable  men 
doubtless  suffer  much  from  the  deficiencies  of  their  wives,  we 
should  hardly  like  to  entrust  them,  in  their  own  cases,  with  a 
jurisdiction  so  prompt  and  summary. 

We  are  far  from  being  concerned,  however,  just  now  with 
the  doctrine  of  divorce  on  its  intrinsic  merits :  we  were  only 
intending  to  give  such  an  account  of  Milton's  opinions  upon 
it  as  might  serve  to  illustrate  his  character.  We  think  we 
have  shown  that  it  is  possible  there  may  have  been,  in  his 
domestic  relations,  a  little  overweening  pride ;  a  tendency  to 
overrate  the  true  extent  of  masculine  rights,  and  to  dwell  on 
his  wife's  duty  to  be  social  towards  him  rather  than  on  his 
duty  to  be  social  towards  her, — to  be  rather  sullen  whenever 
she  was  not  quite  cheerful.  Still,  we  are  not  defending  a  lady 
for  leaving  her  husband  for  defects  of  such  inferior  magnitude. 
Few  households  would  be  kept  together,  if  the  right  of  transi- 
tion were  exercised  on  such  trifling  occasions.  We  are  but 
suggesting  that  she  may  share  the  excuse  which  our  great 
satirist  has  suggested  for  another  unreliable  lady  :  "  My  mother 
was  an  angel ;  but  angels  are  not  always  commodes  d  vivre  ". 

This  is  not  a  pleasant  part  of  our  subject,  and  we  must 
leave  it.  It  is  more  agreeable  to  relate  that  on  no  occasion 
of  his  life  was  the  substantial  excellence  of  Milton's  character 
more  conclusively  shown,  than  in  his  conduct  at  the  last  stage 
of  this  curious  transaction.  After  a  very  considerable  interval, 
and  after  the  publication  of  his  book  on  divorce,  Mrs.  Milton 
showed  a  disposition  to  return  to  her  husband ;  and,  in  spite 
of  his  theories,  he  received  her  with  open  arms.  With  great 
Christian  patience,  he  received  her  relations  too.  The  Parlia- 
mentary party  was  then  victorious ;  and  old  Mr.  Powell,  who 


200  JOHN  MILTON 

had  suffered  very  much  in  the  cause  of  the  king,  lived  until 
his  death  untroubled,  and  "  wholly  to  his  devotion,"  as  we  are 
informed,  in  the  house  of  his  son-in-law. 

Of  the  other  occurrences  of  Milton's  domestic  life  we  have 
left  ourselves  no  room  to  speak  ;  we  must  turn  to  our  second 
source  of  illustration  for  his  character, — his  opinions  on  the 
great  public  events  of  his  time.  It  may  seem  odd,  but  we  be- 
lieve that  a  man  of  austere  character  naturally  tends  both  to  an 
excessive  party  spirit  and  to  an  extreme  isolation.  Of  course 
the  circumstances  which  develop  the  one  must  be  different 
from  those  which  are  necessary  to  call  out  the  other :  party 
spirit  requires  companionship ;  isolation,  if  we  may  be  pardoned 
so  original  a  remark,  excludes  it.  But  though,  as  we  have 
shown,  this  species  of  character  is  prone  to  mental  solitude, 
tends  to  an  intellectual  isolation  where  it  is  possible  and  as 
soon  as  it  can,  yet  when  invincible  circumstances  throw  it  into 
mental  companionship,  when  it  is  driven  into  earnest  associa- 
tion with  earnest  men  on  interesting  topics,  its  zeal  becomes 
excessive.  Such  a  man's  mind  is  at  home  only  with  its  own 
enthusiasm ;  it  is  cooped  up  within  the  narrow  limits  of  its 
own  ideas,  and  it  can  make  no  allowance  for  those  who  differ 
from  or  oppose  them.  We  may  see  something  of  this  exces- 
sive party  zeal  in  Burke.  No  one's  reasons  are  more  philoso- 
phical ;  yet  no  one  who  acted  with  a  party  went  further  in  aid 
of  it  or  was  more  violent  in  support  of  it.  He  forgot  what 
could  be  said  for  the  tenets  of  the  enemy;  his  imagination 
made  that  enemy  an  abstract  incarnation  of  his  tenets.  A 
man,  too,  who  knows  that  he  formed  his  opinions  originally  by 
a  genuine  and  intellectual  process,  is  but  little  aware  of  the 
undue  energy  those  ideas  may  obtain  from  the  concurrence  of 
those  around.  Persons  who  first  acquired  their  ideas  at  second- 
hand are  more  open  to  a  knowledge  of  their  own  weakness, 
and  better  acquainted  with  the  strange  force  which  there  is  in 
the  sympathy  of  others.  The  isolated  mind,  when  it  acts  with 
the  popular  feeling,  is  apt  to  exaggerate  that  feeling  for  the 
most  part  by  an  almost  inevitable  consequence  of  the  feelings 
which  render  it  isolated.  Milton  is  an  example  of  this  remark. 
In  the  commencement  of  the  struggle  between  Charles  I.  and 


JOHN  MILTON  201 

the  Parliament,  he  sympathised  strongly  with  the  popular 
movement,  and  carried  to  what  seems  now  a  strange  extreme 
his  partisanship.  No  one  could  imagine  that  the  first  literary 
Englishman  of  his  time  could  write  the  following  passage  on 
Charles  I.  :— 

"Who  can  with  patience  hear  this  filthy,  rascally  Fool 
speak  so  irreverently  of  Persons  eminent  both  in  Greatness  and 
Piety  ?  Dare  you  compare  King  David  with  King  Charles  ; 
a  most  Religious  King  and  Prophet,  with  a  Superstitious  Prince, 
and  who  was  but  a  Novice  in  the  Christian  Religion ;  a  most 
prudent,  wise  Prince  with  a  weak  one  ;  a  valiant  Prince  with  a 
cowardly  one ;  finally,  a  most  just  Prince  with  a  most  unjust 
one?  Have  you  the  impudence  to  commend  his  Chastity  and 
Sobriety,  who  is  known  to  have  committed  all  manner  of  Leud- 
ness  in  company  with  his  Confident  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  ? 
It  were  to  no  purpose  to  inquire  into  the  private  Actions  of 
his  Life,  who  publickly  at  Plays  would  embrace  and  kiss  the 
Ladies."1 

Whatever  may  be  the  faults  of  that  ill-fated  monarch — 
and  they  assuredly  were  not  small — no  one  would  now  think 
this  absurd  invective  to  be  even  an  excusable  exaggeration. 
It  misses  the  true  mark  altogether,  and  is  the  expression  of  a 
strongly  imaginative  mind,  which  has  seen  something  that  it 
did  not  like,  and  is  unable  in  consequence  to  see  anything 
that  has  any  relation  to  it  distinctly  or  correctly.  But  with 
the  supremacy  of  the  Long  Parliament  Milton's  attachment  to 
their  cause  ceased.  No  one  has  drawn  a  more  unfavourable 
picture  of  the  rule  which  they  established.  Years  after  their 
supremacy  had  passed  away,  and  the  restoration  of  the  mon- 
archy had  covered  with  a  new  and  strange  scene  the  old  actors 
and  the  old  world,  he  thrust  into  a  most  unlikely  part  of  his 
History  of  England  the  following  attack  on  them  : — 

"But  when  once  the  superficiall  zeal  and  popular  fumes 
that  acted  their  New  Magistracy  were  cool'd  and  spent  in  them, 
strait  every  one  betook  himself  (setting  the  Commonwealth  be- 
hind, his  privat  ends  before)  to  doe  as  his  own  profit  or  ambi- 
tion ledd  him.  Then  was  justice  delay'd,  and  soon  after  deni'd  : 

1  Defence  of  the  People  of  England,  chap.  iv. 


202  JOHN  MILTON 

spight  and  favour  determin'd  all :  hence  faction,  thence  treachery, 
both  at  home  and  in  the  field  :  ev'ry  where  wrong,  and  oppres- 
sion :  foull  and  horrid  deeds  committed  daily,  or  maintain'd,  in 
secret,  or  in  open.  Som  who  had  bin  call'd  from  shops  and 
warehouses,  without  other  merit,  to  sit  in  Supreme  Councills  and 
Committees  as  thir  breeding  was,  fell  to  huckster  the  Common- 
wealth. Others  did  therafter  as  men  could  soothe  and  humour 
them  best ;  so  hee  who  would  give  most,  or,  under  covert  of 
hypocriticall  zeale,  insinuat  basest,  enjoy'd  unworthily  the  re- 
wards of  lerning  and  fidelity ;  or  escap'd  the  punishment  of 
his  crimes  and  misdeeds.  Thir  Votes  and  Ordinances,  which 
men  looked  should  have  contain'd  the  repealing  of  bad  laws, 
and  the  immediat  constitution  of  better,  resounded  with  nothing 
els,  but  new  Impositions,  Taxes,  Excises ;  yeerly,  monthly, 
weekly.  Not  to  reckon  the  Offices,  Gifts,  and  Preferments 
bestow'd  and  shar'd  among  themselves." 

His  dislike  of  this  system  of  committees,  and  of  the  gener- 
ally dull  and  unemphatic  administration  of  the  Commonwealth, 
attached  him  to  the  Puritan  army  and  to  Cromwell ;  but  in 
the  continuation  of  the  passage  we  have  referred  to,  he  ex- 
presses, with  something,  let  it  be  said,  of  a  schoolmaster  feel- 
ing, an  unfavourable  judgment  on  their  career. 

"  For  Britan,  to  speak  a  truth  not  oft'n  spok'n,  as  it  is  a 
Land  fruitful  enough  of  men  stout  and  courageous  in  warr, 
soe  it  is  naturally  not  over-fertill  of  men  able  to  govern  justly 
and  prudently  in  peace,  trusting  onely  in  thir  Motherwit ;  who 
consider  not  justly,  that  civility,  prudence,  love  of  the  Publick 
good,  more  then  of  money  or  vaine  honour,  are  to  this  soile 
in  a  manner  outlandish ;  grow  not  here,  but  in  mindes  well 
implanted  with  solid  and  elaborat  breeding,  too  impolitic  els 
and  rude,  if  not  headstrong  and  intractable  to  the  industry 
and  vertue  either  of  executing  or  understanding  true  Civill 
Government.  Valiant  indeed,  and  prosperous  to  win  a  field ; 
but  to  know  the  end  and  reason  of  winning,  unjudicious,  and 
unwise  :  in  good  or  bad  succes,  alike  unteachable.  For  the 
Sun,  which  wee  want,  ripens  wits  as  well  as  fruits ;  and  as 
Wine  and  Oil  are  imported  to  us  from  abroad,  soe  must  ripe 
understanding,  and  many  Civill  Vertues,  be  imported  into  our 


JOHN  MILTON  203 

mindes  from  Foren  Writings,  and  examples  of  best  Ages ;  we 
shall  els  miscarry  still,  and  com  short  in  the  attempts  of  any 
great  enterprize.  Hence  did  thir  Victories  prove  as  fruitles, 
as  thir  Losses  dang'rous  ;  and  left  them  still  conq'ring  under 
the  same  greevances,  that  Men  suffer  conquer'd :  which  was 
indeed  unlikely  to  goe  otherwise,  unles  Men  more  then  vul- 
gar bred  up,  as  few  of  them  were,  in  the  knowledg  of  antient 
and  illustrious  deeds,  invincible  against  many  and  vaine  Titles, 
impartial  to  Freindships  and  Relations,  had  conducted  thir 
Affairs :  but  then  from  the  Chapman  to  the  Retailer,  many 
whose  ignorance  was  more  audacious  then  the  rest,  were  ad- 
mitted with  all  thir  sordid  Rudiments  to  bear  no  meane  sway 
among  them,  both  in  Church  and  State." 

We  need  not  speak  of  Milton's  disapprobation  of  the 
Restoration.  Between  him  and  the  world  of  Charles  II.  the 
opposition  was  inevitable  and  infinite.  Therefore  the  general 
fact  remains,  that  except  in  the  early  struggles,  when  he  exag- 
gerated the  popular  feeling,  he  remained  solitary  in  opinion, 
and  had  very  little  sympathy  with  any  of  the  prevailing 
parties  of  his  time. 

Milton's  own  theory  of  government  is  to  be  learned  from 
his  works.  He  advocated  a  free  commonwealth,  without  rule 
of  a  single  person,  or  House  of  Lords :  but  the  form  of  his 
projected  commonwealth  was  peculiar.  He  thought  that  a 
certain  perpetual  council,  which  should  be  elected  by  the  nation 
once  for  all,  and  the  number  of  which  should  be  filled  up 
as  vacancies  might  occur,  was  the  best  possible  machine  of 
government.  He  did  not  confine  his  advocacy  to  abstract 
theory,  but  proposed  the  immediate  establishment  of  such  a 
council  in  this  country.  We  need  not  go  into  an  elaborate 
discussion  to  show  the  errors  of  this  conclusion.  Hardly  any 
one,  then  or  since,  has  probably  adopted  it.  The  interest 
of  the  theoretical  parts  of  Milton's  political  works  is  entirely 
historical.  The  tenets  advocated  are  not  of  great  value,  and  the 
arguments  by  which  he  supports  them  are  perhaps  of  less; 
but  their  relation  to  the  times  in  which  they  were  written 
gives  them  a  very  singular  interest.  The  time  of  the  Com- 
monwealth was  the  only  period  in  English  history  in  which 


204  JOHN  MIL  TON 

the  fundamental  questions  of  government  have  been  thrown 
open  for  popular  discussion  in  this  country.  We  read  in 
French  literature  discussions  on  the  advisability  of  establishing 
a  monarchy,  on  the  advisability  of  establishing  a  republic,  on 
the  advisability  of  establishing  an  empire ;  and,  before  we 
proceed  to  examine  the  arguments,  we  cannot  help  being 
struck  at  the  strange  contrast  which  this  multiplicity  of  open 
questions  presents  to  our  own  uninquiring  acquiescence  in  the 
hereditary  polity  which  has  descended  to  us.  "  King,  Lords,  and 
Commons  "  are,  we  think,  ordinances  of  nature.  Yet  Milton's 
political  writings  embody  the  reflections  of  a  period  when,  for 
a  few  years,  the  government  of  England  was  nearly  as  much 
a  subject  of  fundamental  discussion  as  that  of  France  was  in 
1851.  An  "  invitation  to  thinkers,"  to  borrow  the  phrase  of 
Neckar,  was  given  by  the  circumstances  of  the  time;  and, 
with  the  habitual  facility  of  philosophical  speculation,  it  was 
accepted,  and  used  to  the  utmost. 

Such  are  not  the  kind  of  speculations  in  which  we  expect 
assistance  from  Milton.  It  is  not  in  its  transactions  with 
others,  in  its  dealings  with  the  manifold  world,  that  the  isolated 
and  austere  mind  shows  itself  to  the  most  advantage.  Its 
strength  lies  in  itself.  It  has  "a  calm  and  pleasing  solitari- 
ness ".  It  hears  thoughts  which  others  cannot  hear.  It  en- 
joys the  quiet  and  still  air  of  delightful  studies  ;  and  is  ever 
conscious  of  such  musing  and  poetry  "  as  is  not  to  be  obtained 
by  the  invocation  of  Dame  Memory  and  her  twin  daughters, 
but  by  devout  prayer  to  that  Eternal  Spirit,  who  can  enrich 
with  all  utterance  and  knowledge,  and  sends  out  His  Seraphim 
with  the  hallowed  fire  of  His  altar  ". 

"  Descend  from  Heav'n,  Urania,  by  that  name 
If  rightly  thou  art  call'd,  whose  voice  divine 
Following,  above  th'  Olympian  hill  I  soar, 
Above  the  flight  of  Pegasean  wing. 
The  meaning,  not  the  name,  I  call  ;  for  thou 
Nor  of  the  Muses  nine,  nor  on  the  top 
Of  old  Olympus  dwell'st,  but  heav'nly  born  : 
Before  the  hills  appear'd,  or  fountain  flow'd, 
Thou  with  eternal  Wisdom  didst  converse, 
Wisdom  thy  sister,  and  with  her  didst  play 


JOHN  MILTON  205 

In  presence  of  th'  Almighty  Father,  pleased 
With  thy  celestial  song.     Up  led  by  thee 
Into  the  Heav'n  of  Heav'ns  I  have  presumed, 
An  earthly  guest,  and  drawn  empyreal  air, 
Thy  temp'ring.     With  like  safety  guided  down, 
Return  me  to  my  native  element ; 
Lest  from  this  flying  steed,  unrein'd  (as  once 
Bellerophon,  though  from  a  lower  clime), 
Dismounted,  on  th'  Aleian  field  I  fall 
Erroneous  there  to  wander  and  forlorn. 
Half  yet  remains  unsung,  but  narrower  bound 
Within  the  visible  diurnal  sphere  ; 
Standing  on  earth,  not  rapt  above  the  pole, 
More  safe  I  sing  with  mortal  voice,  unchanged 
To  hoarse  or  mute,  though  fall'n  on  evil  days, 
On  evil  days  though  fall'n,  and  evil  tongues  ; 
In  darkness,  and  with  dangers  compass'd  round 
And  solitude  ;  yet  not  alone,  while  thou 
Visit'st  my  slumbers  nightly,  or  when  morn 
Purples  the  east  :  still  govern  thou  my  song, 
Urania,  and  fit  audience  find,  though  few  ; 
But  drive  far  off  the  barb'rous  dissonance 
Of  Bacchus  and  his  revellers,  the  race 
Of  that  wild  rout  that  tore  the  Thracian  bard 
In  Rhodope,  where  woods  and  rocks  had  ears 
To  rapture,  till  the  savage  clamour  drown'd 
Both  harp  and  voice  ;  nor  could  the  Muse  defend 
Her  son.     So  fail  not  thou,  who  thee  implores  ; 
For  thou  art  heav'nly,  she  an  empty  dream."1 

"  An  ancient  clergyman  of  Dorsetshire,  Dr.  Wright,  found 
John  Milton  in  a  small  chamber  hung  with  rusty  green,  sitting 
in  an  elbow-chair,  and  dressed  neatly  in  black  :  pale,  but  not 
cadaverous."  "He  used  also  to  sit  in  a  grey  coarse  cloth 
coat  at  the  door  of  his  house  near  Bunhill  Fields,  in  warm, 
sunny  weather;"2  and  the  common  people  said  he  was  in- 
spired. 

If  from  the  man  we  turn  to  his  works,  we  are  struck  at 
once  with  two  singular  contrasts.  The  first  of  them  is  this. 
The  distinction  between  ancient  and  modern  art  is  sometimes 
said,  and  perhaps  truly,  to  consist  in  the  simple  bareness  of 
the  imaginative  conceptions  which  we  find  in  ancient  art,  and 

1  "  Paradise  Lost,"  book  vii.  '2  Richardson. 


206  JOHN  MILTON 

the  comparatively  complex  clothing  in  which  all  modern 
creations  are  embodied.  If  we  adopt  this  distinction,  Milton 
seems  in  some  sort  ancient,  and  in  some  sort  modern.  Nothing 
is  so  simple  as  the  subject-matter  of  his  works.  The  two 
greatest  of  his  creations,  the  character  of  Satan  and  the  char- 
acter of  Eve,  are  two  of  the  simplest — the  latter  probably  the 
very  simplest — in  the  whole  field  of  literature.  On  this  side 
Milton's  art  is  classical.  On  the  other  hand,  in  no  writer  is 
the  imagery  more  profuse,  the  illustrations  more  various, 
the  dress  altogether  more  splendid.  And  in  this  respect  the 
style  of  his  art  seems  romantic  and  modern.  In  real  truth, 
however,  it  is  only  ancient  art  in  a  modern  disguise.  The 
dress  is  a  mere  dress,  and  can  be  stripped  off  when  we  will. 
We  all  of  us  do  perhaps  in  memory  strip  it  off  ourselves. 
Notwithstanding  the  lavish  adornments  with  which  her  image 
is  presented,  the  character  of  Eve  is  still  the  simplest  sort  of 
feminine  essence — the  pure  embodiment  of  that  inner  nature, 
which  we  believe  and  hope  that  women  have.  The  character 
of  Satan,  though  it  is  not  so  easily  described,  has  nearly  as 
few  elements  in  it.  The  most  purely  modern  conceptions  will 
not  bear  to  be  unclothed  in  this  matter.  Their  romantic 
garment  clings  inseparably  to  them.  Hamlet  and  Lear  are 
not  to  be  thought  of  except  as  complex  characters,  with  very 
involved  and  complicated  embodiments.  They  are  as  difficult 
to  draw  out  in  words  as  the  common  characters  of  life  are ; 
that  of  Hamlet,  perhaps,  is  more  so.  If  we  make  it,  as  per- 
haps we  should,  the  characteristic  of  modern  and  romantic 
art  that  it  presents  us  with  creations  which  we  cannot  think  of 
or  delineate  except  as  very  varied,  and,  so  to  say,  circum- 
stantial, we  must  not  rank  Milton  among  the  masters  of 
romantic  art.  And  without  involving  the  subject  in  the 
troubled  sea  of  an  old  controversy,  we  may  say  that  the  most 
striking  of  the  poetical  peculiarities  of  Milton  is  the  bare 
simplicity  of  his  ideas,  and  the  rich  abundance  of  his  illustra- 
tions. 

Another  of  his  peculiarities  is  equally  striking.  There 
seems  to  be  such  a  thing  as  second-hand  poetry.  Some 
poets,  musing  on  the  poetry  of  other  men,  have  unconsciously 


JOHN  MILTON  207 

shaped  it  into  something  of  their  own  :  the  new  conception  is 
like  the  original,  it  would  never  probably  have  existed  had 
not  the  original  existed  previously ;  still  it  is  sufficiently  differ- 
ent from  the  original  to  be  a  new  thing,  not  a  copy  or  a 
plagiarism ;  it  is  a  creation,  though,  so  to  say,  a  suggested 
creation.  Gray  is  as  good  an  example  as  can  be  found  of  a 
poet  whose  works  abound  in  this  species  of  semi-original  con- 
ceptions. Industrious  critics  track  his  best  lines  back,  and 
find  others  like  them  which  doubtless  lingered  near  his  fancy 
while  he  was  writing  them.  The  same  critics  have  been 
equally  busy  with  the  works  of  Milton,  and  equally  successful. 
They  find  traces  of  his  reading  in  half  his  works ;  not,  which 
any  reader  could  do,  in  overt  similes  and  distinct  illustrations, 
but  also  in  the  very  texture  of  the  thought  and  the  expression. 
In  many  cases,  doubtless,  they  discover  more  than  he  himself 
knew.  A  mind  like  his,  which  has  an  immense  store  of  im- 
aginative recollections,  can  never  know  which  of  his  own 
imaginations  is  exactly  suggested  by  which  recollection.  Men 
awake  with  their  best  ideas  ;  it  is  seldom  worth  while  to  investi- 
gate very  curiously  whence  they  came.  Our  proper  business 
is  to  adapt,  and  mould,  and  act  upon  them.  Of  poets  perhaps 
this  is  true  even  more  remarkably  than  of  other  men ;  their 
ideas  are  suggested  in  modes,  and  according  to  laws,  which 
are  even  more  impossible  to  specify  than  the  ideas  of  the  rest 
of  the  world.  Second-hand  poetry,  so  to  say,  often  seems 
quite  original  to  the  poet  himself;  he  frequently  does  not  know 
that  he  derived  it  from  an  old  memory ;  years  afterwards  it 
may  strike  him  as  it  does  others.  Still,  in  general,  such  in- 
ferior species  of  creation  is  not  so  likely  to  be  found  in  minds 
of  singular  originality  as  in  those  of  less.  A  brooding,  placid, 
cultivated  mind,  like  that  of  Gray,  is  the  place  where  we  should 
expect  to  meet  with  it.  Great  originality  disturbs  the  adap- 
tive process,  removes  the  mind  of  the  poet  from  the  thoughts 
of  other  men,  and  occupies  it  with  its  own  heated  and  flashing 
thoughts.  Poetry  of  the  second  degree  is  like  the  secondary 
rocks  of  modern  geology — a  still,  gentle,  alluvial  formation; 
the  igneous  glow  of  primary  genius  brings  forth  ideas  like  the 
primeval  granite,  simple,  astounding,  and  alone.  Milton's 


208  JOHN  MILTON 

case  is  an  exception  to  this  rule.  His  mind  has  marked 
originality,  probably  as  much  of  it  as  any  in  literature ;  but  it 
has  as  much  of  moulded  recollection  as  any  mind  too.  His 
poetry  in  consequence  is  like  an  artificial  park,  green,  and 
soft,  and  beautiful,  yet  with  outlines  bold,  distinct,  and  firm, 
and  the  eternal  rock  ever  jutting  out ;  or,  better  still,  it  is  like 
our  own  Lake  scenery,  where  Nature  has  herself  the  same 
combination — where  we  have  Rydal  Water  side  by  side  with 
the  everlasting  upheaved  mountain.  Milton  has  the  same 
union  of  softened  beauty  with  unimpaired  grandeur ;  and  it  is 
his  peculiarity. 

These  are  the  two  contrasts  which  puzzle  us  at  first  in 
Milton,  and  which  distinguish  him  from  other  poets  in  our 
remembrance  afterwards.  We  have  a  superficial  complexity 
in  illustration,  and  imagery,  and  metaphor ;  and  in  contrast 
with  it  we  observe  a  latent  simplicity  of  idea,  an  almost  rude 
strength  of  conception.  The  underlying  thoughts  are  few, 
though  the  flowers  on  the  surface  are  so  many.  We  have 
likewise  the  perpetual  contrast  of  the  soft  poetry  of  the 
memory,  and  the  firm,  as  it  were  fused,  and  glowing  poetry 
of  the  imagination.  His  words,  we  may  half  fancifully  say, 
are  like  his  character.  There  is  the  same  austerity  in  the  real 
essence,  the  same  exquisiteness  of  sense,  the  same  delicacy  of 
form  which  we  know  that  he  had,  the  same  music  which  we 
imagine  there  was  in  his  voice.  In  both  his  character  and 
his  poetry  there  was  an  ascetic  nature  in  a  sheath  of  beauty. 

No  book  perhaps  which  has  ever  been  written  is  more 
difficult  to  criticise  than  "Paradise  Lost".  The  only  way  to 
criticise  a  work  of  the  imagination,  is  to  describe  its  effect 
upon  the  mind  of  the  reader — at  any  rate,  of  the  critic ;  and 
this  can  only  be  adequately  delineated  by  strong  illustrations, 
apt  similes,  and  perhaps  a  little  exaggeration.  The  task  is  in 
its  very  nature  not  an  easy  one ;  the  poet  paints  a  picture  on 
the  fancy  of  the  critic,  and  the  critic  has  in  some  sort  to  copy 
it  on  the  paper.  He  must  say  what  it  is  before  he  can  make 
remarks  upon  it.  But  in  the  case  of  "Paradise  Lost"  we 
hardly  like  to  use  illustrations.  The  subject  is  one  which  the 
imagination  rather  shrinks  from.  At  any  rate,  it  requires 


JOHN  MIL  TON  209 

courage,  and  an  effort  to  compel  the  mind  to  view  such  a 
subject  as  distinctly  and  vividly  as  it  views  other  subjects. 
Another  peculiarity  of  "  Paradise  Lost "  makes  the  difficulty 
even  greater.  It  does  not  profess  to  be  a  mere  work  of  art ; 
or  rather,  it  claims  to  be  by  no  means  that,  and  that  only. 
It  starts  with  a  dogmatic  aim ;  it  avowedly  intends  to 

"  assert  eternal  Providence, 
And  justify  the  ways  of  God  to  man  ". 

In  this  point  of  view  we  have  always  had  a  sympathy  with 
the  Cambridge  mathematician  who  has  been  so  much  abused. 
He  said,  "  After  all,  '  Paradise  Lost '  proves  nothing  "  ;  and 
various  persons  of  poetical  tastes  and  temperament  have  been 
very  severe  on  the  prosaic  observation.  Yet,  "  after  all,"  he 
was  right.  Milton  professed  to  prove  something.  He  was 
too  profound  a  critic — rather,  he  had  too  profound  an  instinct 
of  those  eternal  principles  of  art  which  criticism  tries  to  state 
— not  to  know  that  on  such  a  subject  he  must  prove  some- 
thing. He  professed  to  deal  with  the  great  problem  of  human 
destiny ;  to  show  why  man  was  created,  in  what  kind  of 
universe  he  lives,  whence  he  came,  and  whither  he  goes.  He 
dealt  of  necessity  with  the  greatest  of  subjects.  He  had  to 
sketch  the  greatest  of  objects.  He  was  concerned  with  infinity 
and  eternity  even  more  than  with  time  and  sense ;  he  under- 
took to  delineate  the  ways,  and  consequently  the  character  of 
Providence,  as  well  as  the  conduct  and  the  tendencies  of  man. 
The  essence  of  success  in  such  an  attempt  is  to  satisfy  the 
religious  sense  of  man  ;  to  bring  home  to  our  hearts  what  we 
know  to  be  true ;  to  teach  us  what  we  have  not  seen ;  to 
awaken  us  to  what  we  have  forgotten  ;  to  remove  the  "  cover- 
ing "  from  all  people,  and  the  "  veil "  that  is  spread  over  all 
nations  ;  to  give  us,  in  a  word,  such  a  conception  of  things 
|  divine  and  human  as  we  can  accept,  believe  and  trust.  The 
true  doctrine  of  criticism  demands  what  Milton  invites — an 
examination  of  the  degree  in  which  the  great  epic  attains  this 
aim.  And  if,  in  examining  it,  we  find  it  necessary  to  use 
unusual  illustrations,  and  plainer  words  than  are  customary, 
it  must  be  our  excuse  that  we  do  not  think  the  subject  can 
be  made  clear  without  them. 
VOL.  III.  14 


210  JOHN  MILTON 

The  defect  of  "  Paradise  Lost "  is  that,  after  all,  it  is 
founded  on  a  political  transaction.  The  scene  is  in  heaven 
very  early  in  the  history  of  the  universe,  before  the  creation 
of  man  or  the  fall  of  Satan.  We  have  a  description  of  a  court. 
The  angels, 

"  By  imperial  summons  called," 
appear 

"  Under  their  hierarchs  in  orders  bright  : 
Ten  thousand  thousand  ensigns  high  advanced, 
Standards  and  gonfalons  'twixt  van  and  rear 
Stream  in  the  air,  and  for  distinction  serve 
Of  hierarchies,  and  orders,  and  degrees  ". 

To  this  assemblage  "  th'  Omnipotent  "  speaks  : — 

"  Hear,  all  ye  Angels,  progeny  of  light, 
Thrones,  Dominations,  Princedoms,  Virtues,  Pow'rs, 
Hear  my  decree,  which  unrevoked  shall  stand  : 
This  day  I  have  begot  whom  I  declare 
My  only  Son  ;  and  on  this  holy  hill 
Him  have  anointed,  whom  ye  now  behold 
At  my  right  hand  ;  your  Head  I  him  appoint ; 
And  by  myself  have  sworn,  to  him  shall  bow 
All  knees  in  Heav'n,  and  shall  confess  him  Lord  : 
Under  his  great  vicegerent  reign  abide 
United  as  one  individual  soul 
For  ever  happy.     Him  who  disobeys, 
Me  disobeys,  breaks  union,  and  that  day, 
Cast  out  from  God  and  blessed  vision,  falls 
Int'  utter  darkness,  deep  ingulph'd,  his  place 
Ordain 'd  without  redemption,  without  end." 

This  act  of  patronage  was  not  popular  at  court ;  and  why 
should  it  have  been  ?  The  religious  sense  is  against  it.  The 
worship  which  sinful  men  owe  to  God  is  not  transferable  to 
lieutenants  and  vicegerents.  The  whole  scene  of  the  court 
jars  upon  a  true  feeling.  We  seem  to  be  reading  about  some 
emperor  of  history,  who  admits  his  son  to  a  share  in  the 
empire,  who  confers  on  him  a  considerable  jurisdiction,  and 
requires  officials,  with  "standards  and  gonfalons,"  to  bow 
before  him.  The  orthodoxy  of  Milton  is  quite  as  questionable 
as  his  accuracy.  The  old  Athanasian  creed  was  not  made  by 
persons  who  would  allow  such  a  picture  as  that  of  Milton  to 


JOHN  MILTON  211 

stand  before  their  imaginations.  The  generation  of  the  Son 
was  to  them  a  fact  "  before  all  time  "  ;  an  eternal  fact.  There 
was  no  question  in  their  minds  of  patronage  or  promotion. 
The  Son  was  the  Son  before  all  time,  just  as  the  Father  was 
the  Father  before  all  time.  Milton  had  in  such  matters  a 
bold  but  not  very  sensitive  imagination.  He  accepted  the 
inevitable  materialism  of  biblical,  and,  to  some  extent,  of  all 
religious  language  as  distinct  revelation.  He  certainly  believed, 
in  contradiction  to  the  old  creed,  that  God  had  both  "  parts 
and  passions  ".  He  imagined  that  earth 

u  Is  but  the  shadow  of  heaven  and  things  therein, 
Each  to  other  like  more  than  on  earth  is  thought  "-1 

From  some  passages  it  would  seem  that  he  actually  thought 
of  God  as  having  "  the  members  and  form "  of  a  man. 
Naturally,  therefore,  he  would  have  no  toleration  for  the 
mysterious  notions  of  time  and  eternity  which  are  involved 
in  the  traditional  doctrine.  We  are  not,  however,  now  con- 
cerned with  Milton's  belief,  but  with  his  representation  of  his 
creed — his  picture,  so  to  say,  of  it  in  "  Paradise  Lost  "  ;  still, 
as  we  cannot  but  think,  that  picture  is  almost  irreligious,  and 
certainly  different  from  that  which  has  been  generally  accepted 
in  Christendom.  Such  phrases  as  "  before  all  time,"  "  eternal 
generation,"  are  doubtless  very  vaguely  interpreted  by  the 
mass  of  men ;  nevertheless,  no  sensitively  orthodox  man 
could  have  drawn  the  picture  of  a  generation,  not  to  say  an 
exaltation,  in  time. 

We  shall  see  this  more  clearly  by  reading  what  follows  in 
the  poem  : — 

"  All  seemed  well  pleased  ;  all  seemed,  but  were  not  all  ". 

One  of  the  archangels,  whose  name  can  be  guessed,  decidedly 
disapproved,  and  calls  a  meeting,  at  which  he  explains  that 

"  orders  and  degrees 
Jar  not  with  liberty,  but  well  consist  "  ; 

S  but  still,  that  the  promotion  of  a  new  person,  on  grounds  of 
i  relationship  merely,  above,  even  infinitely  above,  the  old 

1  Book  v.,  "  Raphael  to  Adam  ". 


2 1 2  JOHN  MIL  TON 

angels,  with  imperial  titles,  was  "  a  new  law,"  and  rather 
tyrannical.  Abdiel, 

"  than  whom  none  with  more  zeal  adored 
The  Deity,  and  with  divine  commands  obeyed," 

attempts  a  defence  : 

"  Grant  it  thee  unjust, 
That  equal  over  equals  monarch  reign  : 
Thyself,  though  great  and  glorious,  dost  thou  count, 
Or  all  angelic  nature  join'd  in  one, 
Equal  to  him  begotten  Son  ?  by  whom 
As  by  his  Word  the  mighty  Father  made 
All  things,  ev'n  thee  ;  and  all  the  Spirits  of  Heav'n 
By  him  created  in  their  bright  degrees, 
Crown'd  them  with  glory,  and  to  their  glory  named 
Thrones,  Dominations,  Princedoms,  Virtues,  Pow'rs, 
Essential  Pow'rs  ;  nor  by  his  reign  obscured, 
But  more  illustrious  made  ;  since  he  the  Head, 
One  of  our  number  thus  reduced  becomes  ; 
His  laws  our  laws  ;  all  honour  to  him  done 
Returns  our  own.     Cease  then  this  impious  rage, 
And  tempt  not  these  ;  but  hasten  to  appease 
Th'  incensed  Father  and  th'  incensed  Son, 
While  pardon  maybe  found,  in  time  besought." 

Yet  though  Abdiel's  intentions  were  undeniably  good,  his 
argument  is  rather  specious.  Acting  as  an  instrument  in  the 
process  of  creation  would  scarcely  give  a  valid  claim  to  the 
obedience  of  the  created  being.  Power  may  be  shown  in  the 
act,  no  doubt ;  but  mere  power  gives  no  true  claim  to  the 
obedience  of  moral  beings.  It  is  a  kind  of  principle  of  all 
manner  of  idolatries  and  false  religions  to  believe  that  it  does 
so.  Satan,  besides,  takes  issue  on  the  fact : 

"  That  we  were  formed  then,  say'st  thou  ?  and  the  work 
Of  secondary  hands,  by  task  transferr'd 
From  Father  to  his  Son  ?     Strange  point  and  new  ! 
Doctrine  which  we  would  know  whence  learned." 

And  we  must  say  that  the  speech  in  which  the  new  ruler  is  ii 
troduced  to  the  "  thrones,  dominations,  princedoms,  powers/ 
is  hard  to  reconcile  with  Abdiel's  exposition,  "  This  day  " 
seems  to  have  come  into  existence,  and  could  hardly  ha\ 
assisted  at  the  creation  of  the  angels,  who  are  not  young,  an< 
who  converse  with  one  another  like  old  acquaintances. 


JOHN  MILTON  213 

We  have  gone  into  this  part  of  the  subject  at  length, 
because  it  is  the  source  of  the  great  error  which  pervades 
"  Paradise  Lost".  Satan  is  made  interesting.  This  has  been 
the  charge  of  a  thousand  orthodox  and  even  heterodox  writers 
against  Milton.  Shelley,  on  the  other  hand,  has  gloried  in  it ; 
and  fancied,  if  we  remember  rightly,  that  Milton  intentionally 
ranged  himself  on  the  Satanic  side  of  the  universe,  just  as 
Shelley  himself  would  have  done,  and  that  he  wished  to  show 
the  falsity  of  the  ordinary  theology.  But  Milton  was  born  an 
age  too  early  for  such  aims,  and  was  far  too  sincere  to  have 
advocated  any  doctrine  in  a  form  so  indirect.  He  believed 
every  word  he  said.  He  was  not  conscious  of  the  effect  his 
teaching  would  produce  in  an  age  like  this,  when  scepticism  is 
in  the  air,  and  when  it  is  not  possible  to  help  looking  coolly 
on  his  delineations.  Probably  in  our  boyhood  we  can  re- 
collect a  period  when  any  solemn  description  of  celestial  events 
would  have  commanded  our  respect ;  we  should  not  have  dared 
to  read  it  intelligently,  to  canvass  its  details  and  see  what  it 
meant :  it  was  a  religious  book ;  it  sounded  reverential,  and 
that  would  have  sufficed.  Something  like  this  was  the  state 
of  mind  of  the  seventeenth  century.  Even  Milton  probably 
shared  in  a  vague  reverence  for  religious  language.  He  hardly 
felt  the  moral  effect  of  the  pictures  he  was  drawing.  His 
artistic  instinct,  too,  often  hurries  him  away.  His  Satan 
was  to  him,  as  to  us,  the  hero  of  his  poem.  Having  com- 
menced by  making  him  resist  on  an  occasion  which  in  an 
earthly  kingdom  would  have  been  excusable  and  proper,  he 
probably  a  little  sympathised  with  him,  just  as  his  readers  do. 

The  interest  of  Satan's  character  is  at  its  height  in  the  first 
two  books.  Coleridge  justly  compared  it  to  that  of  Napoleon. 
There  is  the  same  pride,  the  same  Satanic  ability,  the  same 
will,  the  same  egotism.  His  character  seems  to  grow  with  his 
position.  He  is  far  finer  after  his  fall,  in  misery  and  suffer- 
ing, with  scarcely  any  resource  except  in  himself,  than  he  was 
originally  in  heaven ;  at  least,  if  Raphael's  description  of  him 
can  be  trusted.  No  portrait  which  imagination  or  history  has 
drawn  of  a  revolutionary  anarch  is  nearly  so  perfect ;  there  is 
all  the  grandeur  of  the  greatest  human  mind,  and  certain 


214  JOHN  MILTON 

infinitude  in  his  circumstances  which  humanity  must  ever  want. 
Few  Englishmen  feel  a  profound  reverence  for  Napoleon  I. 
There  was  no  French  alliance  in  his  time ;  we  have  most  of  | 
us  some  tradition  of  antipathy  to  him.  Yet  hardly  any  | 
Englishman  can  read  the  account  of  the  campaign  of  1814 
without  feeling  his  interest  in  the  emperor  to  be  strong,  and 
without  perhaps  being  conscious  of  a  latent  wish  that  he  may 
succeed.  Our  opinion  is  against  him,  our  serious  wish  is  of 
course  for  England  ;  but  the  imagination  has  a  sympathy  of 
its  own,  and  will  not  give  place.  We  read  about  the  great 
general — never  greater  than  in  that  last  emergency — showing 
resources  of  genius  that  seem  almost  infinite,  and  that  assuredly 
have  never  been  surpassed,  yet  vanquished,  yielding  to  the 
power  of  circumstances,  to  the  combined  force  of  adversaries, 
each  of  whom  singly  he  outmatches  in  strength,  and  all  ol 
whom  together  he  surpasses  in  majesty  and  in  mind.  Some- 
thing of  the  same  sort  of  interest  belongs  to  the  Satan  of  the 
first  two  books  of  "  Paradise  Lost ".  We  know  that  he  will 
vanquished ;  his  name  is  not  a  recommendation.  Still  we  do 
not  imagine  distinctly  the  minds  by  which  he  is  to  be  van- 
quished ;  we  do  not  take  the  same  interest  in  them  that  we  do 
in  him  ;  our  sympathies,  our  fancy  are  on  his  side. 

Perhaps  much  of  this  was  inevitable ;  yet  what  a  defect  it 
is !  especially  what  a  defect  in  Milton's  own  view,  and  looked 
at  with  the  stern  realism  with  which  he  regarded  it !  Suppose 
that  the  author  of  evil  in  the  universe  were  the  most  attractive 
being  in  it ;  suppose  that  the  source  of  all  sin  were  the  origin 
of  all  interest  to  us !  We  need  not  dwell  upon  this. 

As  we  have  said,  much  of  this  was  difficult  to  avoid,  if  in- 
deed it  could  be  avoided,  in  dealing  with  such  a  theme.  Even 
Milton  shrank,  in  some  measure,  from  delineating  the  Divine 
character.  His  imagination  evidently  halts  when  it  is  required 
to  perform  that  task.  The  more  delicate  imagination  of  our 
modern  world  would  shrink  still  more.  Any  person  who  will 
consider  what  such  an  attempt  must  end  in,  will  find  his  nerves 
quiver.  But  by  a  curiously  fatal  error,  Milton  has  selected 
for  delineation  exactly  that  part  of  the  Divine  nature  which  is 
most  beyond  the  reach  of  the  human  faculties,  and  which  is 


JOHN  MILTON  215 

also,  when  we  try  to  describe  our  fancy  of  it,  the  least  effective 
to  our  minds.  He  has  made  God  argue.  Now  the  procedure 
of  the  Divine  mind  from  truth  to  truth  must  ever  be  incompre- 
hensible to  us  ;  the  notion,  indeed,  of  His  proceeding  at  all,  is 
a  contradiction  :  to  some  extent,  at  least,  it  is  inevitable  that  we 
should  use  such  language,  but  we  know  it  is  in  reality  inapplic- 
able. A  long  train  of  reasoning  in  such  a  connection  is  so  out  of 
place  as  to  be  painful ;  and  yet  Milton  has  many.  He  relates 
a  series  of  family  prayers  in  heaven,  with  sermons  afterwards, 
which  are  very  tedious.  Even  Pope  was  shocked  at  the  notion 
of  Providence  talking  like  "a  school-divine".1  And  there  is 
the  still  worse  error,  that  if  you  once  attribute  reasoning  to 
Him,  subsequent  logicians  may  discover  that  He  does  not 
reason  very  well. 

Another  way  in  which  Milton  has  contrived  to  strengthen 
our  interest  in  Satan,  is  the  number  and  insipidity  of  the 
good  angels.  There  are  old  rules  as  to  the  necessity  of  a 
supernatural  machinery  for  an  epic  poem,  worth  some  fraction 
ot  the  paper  on  which  they  are  written,  and  derived  from  the 
practice  of  Homer,  who  believed  his  gods  and  goddesses  to  be 
real  beings,  and  would  have  been  rather  harsh  with  a  critic  who 
called  them  machinery.  These  rules  had  probably  an  influence 
with  Milton,  and  induced  him  to  manipulate  those  serious 
angels  more  than  he  would  have  done  otherwise.  They  appear 
to  be  excellent  administrators  with  very  little  to  do  ;  a  kind  of 
grand  chamberlains  with  wings,  who  fly  down  to  earth  and 
communicate  information  to  Adam  and  Eve.  They  have  no 
character  ;  they  are  essentially  messengers,  merely  conductors, 
so  to  say,  of  the  providential  will :  no  one  fancies  that  they 
have  an  independent  power  of  action ;  they  seem  scarcely  to 
have  minds  of  their  own.  No  effect  can  be  more  unfortunate. 
If  the  struggle  of  Satan  had  been  with  Deity  directly,  the 
natural  instincts  of  religion  would  have  been  awakened ;  but 
when  an  angel  possessed  of  mind  is  contrasted  with  angels 
possessed  only  of  wings,  we  sympathise  with  the  former. 

In  the  first  two  books,  therefore,  our  sympathy  with  Mil- 

1  Imitation  of  Horace's  Epistle  to  Augustus,  book  ii.,  ep.  I. 


216  JOHN  MILTON 

ton's  Satan  is  great ;  we  had  almost  said  unqualified.  The 
speeches  he  delivers  are  of  well-known  excellence.  Lord 
Brougham,  no  contemptible  judge  of  emphatic  oratory,  has  laid 
down,  that  if  a  person  had  not  an  opportunity  of  access  to  the 
great  Attic  masterpieces,  he  had  better  choose  these  for  a 
model.  What  is  to  be  regretted  about  the  orator  is,  that  he 
scarcely  acts  up  to  his  sentiments.  "Better  to  reign  in  hell 
than  serve  in  heaven,"  is,  at  any  rate,  an  audacious  declaration. 
But  he  has  no  room  for  exhibiting  similar  audacity  in  action. 
His  offensive  career  is  limited.  In  the  nature  of  the  subject 
there  was  scarcely  any  opportunity  for  the  fallen  archangel  to 
display  in  the  detail  of  his  operations  the  surpassing  intellect 
with  which  Milton  has  endowed  him.  He  goes  across  chaos, 
gets  into  a  few  physical  difficulties ;  but  these  are  not  much. 
His  grand  aim  is  the  conquest  of  our  first  parents ;  and  we  are 
at  once  struck  with  the  enormous  inequality  of  the  conflict. 
Two  beings  just  created,  without  experience,  without  guile, 
without  knowledge  of  good  and  evil,  are  expected  to  contend 
with  a  being  on  the  delineation  of  whose  powers  every  resource 
of  art  and  imagination,  every  subtle  suggestion,  every  emphatic 
simile,  has  been  lavished.  The  idea  in  every  reader's  mind  is, 
and  must  be,  not  surprise  that  our  first  parents  should  yield, 
but  wonder  that  Satan  should  not  think  it  beneath  him  to 
attack  them.  It  is  as  if  an  army  should  invest  a  cottage. 

We  have  spoken  more  of  theology  than  we  intended ;  and 
we  need  not  say  how  much  the  monstrous  inequalities  attri- 
buted to  the  combatants  affect  our  estimate  of  the  results  of  the 
conflict.  The  state  of  man  is  what  it  is,  because  the  defence- 
less Adam  and  Eve  of  Milton's  imagination  yielded  to  the 
nearly  all-powerful  Satan  whom  he  has  delineated.  Milton  has 
in  some  sense  invented  this  difficulty;  for  in  the  book  of 
Genesis  there  is  no  such  inequality.  The  serpent  may  be 
subtler  than  any  beast  of  the  field  ;  but  he  is  not  necessarily 
subtler  or  cleverer  than  man.  So  far  from  Milton  having  justi- 
fied the  ways  of  God  to  man,  he  has  loaded  the  common  the- 
ology with  a  new  encumbrance. 

We  may  need  refreshment  after  this  discussion ;  and  we 
cannot  find  it  better  than  in  reading  a  few  remarks  of  Eve. 


JOHN  MILTON  217 

"  That  day  I  oft  remember,  when  from  sleep 
I  first  awaked,  and  found  myself  reposed 
Under  a  shade  of  flow'rs,  much  wond'ring  where 
And  what  I  was,  whence  hither  brought,  and  how. 
Not  distant  far  from  thence  a  murm'ring  sound 
Of  waters  issued  from  a  cave,  and  spread 
Into  a  liquid  plain,  then  stood  unmoved 
Pure  as  th'  expanse  of  Heav'n.  ...  I  thither  went 
With  unexperienced  thought,  and  laid  me  down 
On  the  green  bank,  to  look  into  the  clear 
Smooth  lake,  that  to  me  seem'd  another  sky. 
As  I  bent  down  to  look,  just  opposite 
A  shape  within  the  wat'ry  gleam  appear'd, 
Bending  to  look  on  me.     I  started  back  ; 
It  started  back  :  but  pleased  I  soon  return'd  ; 
Pleased  it  return'd  as  soon  with  answ'ring  looks 
Of  sympathy  and  love  :  there  I  had  fix'd 
Mine  eyes  till  now,  and  pined  with  vain  desire, 
Had  not  a  voice  thus  warn'd  me.     What  thou  seest, 
What  there  thou  seest,  fair  Creature,  is  thyself ; 
With  thee  it  came  and  goes  :  but  follow  me, 
And  I  will  bring  thee  where  no  shadow  stays 
Thy  coming,  and  thy  soft  embraces,  he 
Whose  image  thou  art ;  him  thou  shall  enjoy 
Inseparably  thine  :  to  him  shalt  bear 
Multitudes  like  thyself,  and  thence  be  call'd 
Mother  of  Human  Race.     What  could  I  do 
But  follow  straight,  invisibly  thus  led  ? 
Till  I  espi'd  thee,  fair  indeed  and  tall 
Under  a  platan  ;  yet  methought  less  fair, 
Less  winning  soft,  less  amiably  mild, 
Than  that  smooth  wat'ry  image.     Back  I  turn'd  : 
Thou  following  cry'dst  aloud,  Return,  fair  Eve  ; 
Whom  fly'st  thou  ? "  l 

Eve's  character,  indeed,  is  one  of  the  most  wonderful  efforts 
of  the  human  imagination.  She  is  a  kind  of  abstract  woman  ; 
essentially  a  typical  being ;  and  official  "  mother  of  all  living  ". 
Yet  she  is  a  real  interesting  woman,  not  only  full  of  delicacy 
and  sweetness,  but  with  all  the  undefinable  fascination,  the 
charm  of  personality,  which  such  typical  characters  hardly  ever 
have.  By  what  consummate  miracle  of  wit  this  charm  of  in- 
dividuality is  preserved,  without  impairing  the  general  idea 

1  Book  iv. 


2 18  JOHN  MILTON 

which  is  ever  present  to  us,  we  cannot  explain,  for  we  do  not 
know. 

Adam  is  far  less  successful.  He  has  good  hair, — "hya- 
cinthine  locks  "  that  c<  from  his  parted  forelock  manly  hung  "  ; 
a  "  fair  large  front "  and  "  eye  sublime  " ;  but  he  has  little  else 
that  we  care  for.  There  is,  in  truth,  no  opportunity  of  dis- 
playing manly  virtues,  even  if  he  possessed  them.  He  has 
only  to  yield  to  his  wife's  solicitations,  which  he  does.  Nor 
are  we  sure  that  he  does  it  well.  He  is  very  tedious ;  he  in- 
dulges in  sermons  which  are  good  ;  but  most  men  cannot  but 
fear  that  so  delightful  a  being  as  Eve  must  have  found  him 
tiresome.  She  steps  away,  however,  and  goes  to  sleep  at  some 
of  the  worst  points. 

Dr.  Johnson  remarked,  that,  after  all,  "Paradise  Lost" 
was  one  of  the  books  which  no  one  wished  longer  :  we  fear,  in 
this  irreverent  generation,  some  wish  it  shorter.  Hardly  any 
reader  would  be  sorry  if  some  portions  of  the  later  books  had 
been  spared  him.  Coleridge,  indeed,  discovered  profound 
mysteries  in  the  last ;  but  in  what  could  not  Coleridge  find  a 
mystery  if  he  wished?  Dryden  more  wisely  remarked  that 
Milton  became  tedious  when  he  entered  upon  a  "  tract  of 
Scripture  ". l  Nor  is  it  surprising  that  such  is  the  case.  The 
style  of  many  parts  of  Scripture  is  such  that  it  will  not  bear 
addition  or  subtraction.  A  word  less,  or  an  idea  more,  and 
the  effect  upon  the  mind  is  the  same  no  longer.  Nothing  can 
be  more  tiresome  than  a  sermonic  amplification  of  such  passages. 
It  is  almost  too  much  when,  as  from  the  pulpit,  a  paraphrastic 
commentary  is  prepared  for  our  spiritual  improvement.  In 
deference  to  the  intention  we  bear  it,  but  we  bear  it  unwillingly  ; 
and  we  cannot  endure  it  at  all  when,  as  in  poems,  the  object 
is  to  awaken  our  fancy  rather  than  to  improve  our  conduct. 
The  account  of  the  creation  in  the  book  of  Genesis  is  one  of 
the  compositions  from  which  no  sensitive  imagination  would 
subtract  an  iota,  to  which  it  could  not  bear  to  add  a  word. 
Milton's  paraphrase  is  alike  copious  and  ineffective.  The  uni- 
verse is,  in  railway  phrase,  "  opened,"  but  not  created  ;  no  green 
earth  springs  in  a  moment  from  the  indefinite  void.  Instead, 

1  "  Essay  on  Satire." 


JOHN  MIL  TON  2 1 9 

too,  of  the  simple  loneliness  of  the  Old  Testament,  several 
angelic  officials  are  in  attendance,  who  help  in  nothing,  but 
indicate  that  heaven  must  be  plentifully  supplied  with  tame 
creatures. 

There  is  no  difficulty  in  writing  such  criticisms,  and,  indeed, 
other  unfavourable  criticisms  on  "  Paradise  Lost ".  There  is 
scarcely  any  book  in  the  world  which  is  open  to  a  greater 
number,  or  which  a  reader  who  allows  plain  words  to  produce 
a  due  effect  will  be  less  satisfied  with.  Yet  what  book  is  really 
greater?  In  the  best  parts  the  words  have  a  magic  in  them  ; 
even  in  the  inferior  passages  you  are  hardly  sensible  of  their 
inferiority  till  you  translate  them  into  your  own  language. 
Perhaps  no  style  ever  written  by  man  expressed  so  adequately 
the  conceptions  of  a  mind  so  strong  and  so  peculiar ;  a  manly 
strength,  a  haunting  atmosphere  of  enhancing  suggestions,  a 
firm  continuous  music,  are  only  some  of  its  excellences.  To 
comprehend  the  whole  of  the  others,  you  must  take  the  volume 
down  and  read  it, — the  best  defence  of  Milton,  as  has  been 
said  most  truly,  against  all  objections. 

Probably  no  book  shows  the  transition  which  our  theology 
has  made  since  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century,  at  once 
so  plainly  and  so  fully.  We  do  not  now  compose  long  narra- 
tives to  "justify  the  ways  of  God  to  man".  The  more 
orthodox  we  are,  the  more  we  shrink  from  it ;  the  more  we 
hesitate  at  such  a  task,  the  more  we  allege  that  we  have  no 
powers  for  it  Our  most  celebrated  defences  of  established 
tenets  are  in  the  style  of  Butler,  not  in  that  of  Milton.  They 
do  not  profess  to  show  a  satisfactory  explanation  of  human 
destiny  ;  on  the  contrary,  they  hint  that  probably  we  could 
not  understand  such  an  explanation  if  it  were  given  us ;  at 
any  rate,  they  allow  that  it  is  not  given  us.  Their  course  is 
palliative.  They  suggest  an  "  analogy  of  difficulties  ".  If  our 
minds  were  greater,  so  they  reason,  we  should  comprehend 
these  doctrines  :  now  we  cannot  explain  analogous  facts  which 
we  see  and  know.  No  style  can  be  more  opposite  to  the  bold 
argument,  the  boastful  exposition  of  Milton.  The  teaching 
of  the  eighteenth  century  is  in  the  very  atmosphere  we  breathe. 
We  read  it  in  the  teachings  of  Oxford ;  we  hear  it  from  the 


220  JOHN  MILTON 

missionaries  of  the  Vatican.  The  air  of  the  theology  is 
clarified.  We  know  our  difficulties,  at  least ;  we  are  rather  prone 
to  exaggerate  the  weight  of  some  than  to  deny  the  reality  of  any. 

We  cannot  continue  a  line  of  thought  which  would  draw 
us  on  too  far  for  the  patience  of  our  readers.  We  must, 
however,  make  one  more  remark,  and  we  shall  have  finished 
our  criticism  on  "  Paradise  Lost  ".  It  is  analogous  to  that 
which  we  have  just  made.  The  scheme  of  the  poem  is  based 
on  an  offence  against  positive  morality.  The  offence  of  Adam 
was  not  against  nature  or  conscience,  nor  against  anything  of 
which  we  can  see  the  reason,  or  conceive  the  obligation,  but 
against  an  unexplained  injunction  of  the  Supreme  Will.  The 
rebellion  in  heaven,  as  Milton  describes  it,  was  a  rebellion,  not 
against  known  ethics,  or  immutable  spiritual  laws,  but  against 
an  arbitrary  selection  and  an  unexplained  edict.  We  do  not 
say  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  positive  morality :  we  do 
not  think  so ;  even  if  we  did,  we  should  not  insert  a  proposi- 
tion so  startling  at  the  conclusion  of  a  literary  criticism.  But 
we  are  sure  that  wherever  a  positive  moral  edict  is  promulgated, 
it  is  no  subject,  except  perhaps  under  a  very  peculiar  treatment, 
for  literary  art.  By  the  very  nature  of  it,  it  cannot  satisfy  the 
heart  and  conscience.  It  is  a  difficulty  ;  we  need  not  attempt 
to  explain  it  away.  There  are  mysteries  enough  which  will 
never  be  explained  away.  But  it  is  contrary  to  every 
principle  of  criticism  to  state  the  difficulty  as  if  it  were  not 
one;  to  bring  forward  the  puzzle,  yet  leave  it  to  itself;  to 
publish  so  strange  a  problem,  and  give  only  an  untrue  solution 
of  it :  and  yet  such,  in  its  bare  statement,  is  all  that  Milton 
has  done. 

Of  Milton's  other  writings  we  have  left  ourselves  no  room 
to  speak  ;  and  though  every  one  of  them,  or  almost  every  one 
of  them,  would  well  repay  a  careful  criticism,  yet  few  of  them 
seem  to  throw  much  additional  light  on  his  character,  or  add 
much  to  our  essential  notion  of  his  genius,  though  they  may 
exemplify  and  enhance  it.  "  Comus  "  is  the  poem  which  does 
so  the  most.  Literature  has  become  so  much  lighter  than  it 
used  to  be,  that  we  can  scarcely  realise  the  position  it  occupied 
in  the  light  literature  of  our  forefathers.  We  have  now  in 


JOHN  MILTON  221 

our  own  language  many  poems  that  are  pleasanter  in  their 
subject,  more  graceful  in  their  execution,  more  flowing  in  their 
outline,  more  easy  to  read.  Dr.  Johnson,  though  perhaps  no 
very  excellent  authority  on  the  more  intangible  graces  of 
literature,  was  disposed  to  deny  to  Milton  the  capacity  of 
creating  the  lighter  literature :  "  Milton,  madam,  was  a  genius 
that  could  cut  a  colossus  from  a  rock,  but  could  not  carve 
heads  upon  cherry-stones  ".  And  it  would  not  be  surprising  if 
this  generation,  which  has  access  to  the  almost  indefinite 
quantity  of  lighter  compositions  which  have  been  produced 
since  Johnson's  time,  were  to  echo  his  sentence.  In  some 
degree,  perhaps,  the  popular  taste  does  so.  "  Comus  "  has  no 
longer  the  peculiar  exceptional  popularity  which  it  used  to 
have.  We  can  talk  without  general  odium  of  its  defects.  Its 
characters  are  nothing,  its  sentiments  are  tedious,  its  story  is 
not  interesting.  But  it  is  only  when  we  have  realised  the 
magnitude  of  its  deficiencies  that  we  comprehend  the  peculi- 
arity of  its  greatness.  Its  power  is  in  its  style.  A  grave  and 
firm  music  pervades  it :  it  is  soft,  without  a  thought  of  weak- 
ness ;  harmonious  and  yet  strong  ;  impressive,  as  few  such 
poems  are,  yet  covered  with  a  bloom  of  beauty  and  a  com- 
plexity of  charm  that  few  poems  have  either.  We  have, 
perhaps,  light  literature  in  itself  better,  that  we  read  oftener 
and  more  easily,  that  lingers  more  in  our  memories ;  but  we 
have  not  any,  we  question  if  there  ever  will  be  any,  which  gives 
so  true  a  conception  of  the  capacity  and  the  dignity  of  the 
mind  by  which  it  was  produced.  The  breath  of  solemnity 
which  hovers  round  the  music  attaches  us  to  the  writer.  Every 
line,  here  as  elsewhere,  in  Milton  excites  the  idea  of  indefinite 
power. 

And  so  we  must  draw  to  a  close.  The  subject  is  an  in- 
finite one,  and  if  we  pursued  it,  we  should  lose  ourselves  in 
miscellaneous  commentary,  and  run  on  far  beyond  the  patience 
of  our  readers.  What  we  have  said  has  at  least  a  defined 
intention.  We  have  wished  to  state  the  impression  which  the 
character  of  Milton  and  the  greatest  of  Milton's  works  are 
likely  to  produce  on  readers  of  the  present  generation — a 
generation  different  from  his  own  almost  more  than  any  other. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNREFORMED  PARLIA- 
MENT, AND  ITS  LESSONS.1 

(1860.) 

PERHAPS  no  subject  of  historical  research  should  be  so  inter- 
esting just  now  as  the  practical  working  of  our  system  of  Par- 
liamentary representation  before  1832.  The  principles  of 
representative  government  are  again  about  to  be  brought  under 
discussion ;  a  new  proposal  for  Parliamentary  Reform  must  be 
announced  before  many  weeks  are  past.  The  more  that  sub- 
ject is  discussed,  the  more  do  all  thoughtful  persons  wish  to 
consult  the  lessons  of  experience  with  respect  to  it.  We  feel 
more  than  we  used  to  do  the  difficulty  of  the  question  ;  we 
distrust  more  the  tenets  of  pure  democracy ;  we  know  more 
of  the  complexity  of  a  cultivated  community  ;  we  know  the  ne- 
cessity of  giving  to  each  class  the  weight  which  it  ought  to 
have,  and  no  greater  weight :  in  conseqence,  we  feel  more  than 
formerly  the  intellectual  prudence  of  recurring  to  the  facts  of 
experience.  But  unfortunately  there  are  very  few  such  facts. 
Of  all  important  political  expedients,  representation  is  by  far 
the  newest ;  and  our  experience  with  respect  to  it  is  therefore 
scanty  and  limited.  The  continental  nations  who  have  made 
trial  of  representative  government,  have  done  so  almost  always 
under  exceptional  circumstances,  and  in  each  case  the  national 

1  The  Rise  and  Progress  of  the  English  Constitution.      By  E.  S. 
Creasy,  M.A.      Fourth   edition,  revised  and  with   additions. 
Richard  Bentley,  1858. 

The  Representative  History  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland : 
a  History  of  the  House  of  Commons,  and  of  the  Counties,  Cities, 
and  Boroughs  of  the  United  Kingdom,  from  the  earliest  Period.  By 
T.  H.  B.  Oldfield.  In  six  volumes.  London  :  Baldwin,  Cradock,  and  Joy, 
1816. 


HISTORY  OF  UNREFORMED  PARLIAMENT    223 

character  of  the  particular  nation  which  made  the  trial  has  very 
greatly  affected  the  result  of  it.  The  experience  of  America 
is,  from  many  causes,  difficult  to  apply  to  the  times  in  which 
we  live.  The  difference  of  circumstances,  both  economical  and 
social,  is  a  perpetually  modifying  force,  which  tends  to  make  a 
sweeping  deduction  almost  necessarily  unsound.  The  contrast 
between  a  new  country  and  an  old ;  between  a  State  in  which 
there  is  an  endowed  Church  and  a  landed  aristocracy,  and  one  in 
which  there  is  neither ;  between  a  society  in  which  slavery  exists 
and  one  in  which  it  does  not ; — is  too  great  to  be  unimportant, 
and  too  pervading  to  be  eliminated.  Nor  is  it  easy  to  derive 
effectual  instruction  from  the  working  of  the  system  which  is 
in  operation  now.  At  least,  it  is  difficult  to  derive  instruction 
which  others  will  think  satisfactory.  We  may,  and  do,  make 
out  points  sufficiently  clearly  to  ourselves ;  but  in  the  heat  of 
controversy,  and  in  the  confusion  of  contemporary  events, 
others,  in  fact,  derive  from  the  same  data  the  contrary  deduc- 
tions. We  are  therefore  thrown  back  on  our  own  history  for 
such  instruction  as  it  may  give  us  ;  and  the  break  made  by 
the  Reform  Act  of  1832  is,  at  least  in  this  respect,  useful.  We 
can  draw  lessons  from  the  times  preceding  it  with  the  calm- 
ness of  history,  and  nevertheless  those  times  may  yield  us  in- 
struction. They  are  far  enough  from  our  own  age  to  be 
dispassionately  considered  ;  they  resemble  it  enough  to  suggest 
analogies  for  our  guidance.  Nor  is  this  history  in  itself  uninter- 
esting. The  unreformed  system  of  representative  government 
is  that  which  lasted  the  longest ;  which  was  contemporary  with 
the  greatest  events ;  which  has  developed  the  greatest  orators, 
and  which  has  trained  the  most  remarkable  statesmen.  No 
apology,  therefore,  seems  to  be  needed  for  writing  upon  the  sub- 
ject at  present,  even  if  we  should  write  at  some  length. 

To  give  an  exact  account  of  the  old  English  system  of  re- 
presentation is,  however,  no  easy  task.  At  present  the  statis- 
tical information  which  we  possess  respecting  the  electoral 
system  which  exists  is  exceedingly  abundant.  We  can  tell 
the  number  of  voters  in  every  borough  and  every  county ;  we 
know  by  what  right  of  suffrage  they  are  entitled  to  vote,  and 
how  many  of  them  have  chosen  in  any  case  to  exercise  their 


224         THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNREFORMED 

right  at  each  successive  election.  Compendious  works  specify 
what  lord  or  commoner  has  influence  in  such  or  such  a  town 
they  say  whether  it  is  preponderant  and  all-powerful,  or  onh 
moderate  and  sometimes  resisted  ;  they  tell  us  in  which  town 
money  has  overwhelming  influence,  and  enumerate  the  occa- 
sions upon  which  the  use  of  that  influence  has  been  proved 
fore  the  proper  tribunal.  We  can  hardly  hope  to  obtain  bettc 
information  as  to  the  actual  working  of  a  system  than  that 
which  we  have  as  to  the  system  under  which  we  are  living, 
hundred  years  ago  our  ancestors  were  nearly  destitute  of  all 
such  information.  They  had  no  means  of  telling  the  numbei 
of  voters  in  any  borough  or  county ;  no  register  existed  froi 
which  it  could  be  discovered ;  the  right  of  voting  in  different 
places  was  exceedingly  different,  and  the  decisions  of  the 
House  of  Commons  respecting  them  had  been  very  confused 
From  political  motives,  indeed,  these  decisions  were  often  con- 
tradictory ;  they  were  made  to  suit  the  requirements  of  the 
moment  and  the  commands  of  the  Minister  of  the  day,  and 
judicial  spirit  was,  while  the  decision  lay  with  a  committee  oi 
the  whole  House  of  Commons,  scarcely  even  affected.  Sii 
Robert  Walpole  used  to  say  that  in  election  committees  then 
ought  to  be  "no  quarter;"  and  the  final  fate  of  his  long  ad- 
ministration was  determined  by  a  division  on  an  election  peti- 
tion from  Chippenham.  As  the  deciding  power  respecting 
electoral  rights  was  so  inconsistent,  it  would  perhaps  hardly 
have  been  worth  while  to  collect  its  decisions ;  and  no  one  did 
so.  A  hundred  years  ago,  the  constant  reference  to  precise 
numerical  data  which  distinguishes  our  present  discussions  was 
by  no  means  in  use ;  and  even  if  the  number  of  the  electoral 
body  had  been  more  easy  of  ascertainment,  no  one  probably 
would  have  ascertained  it.  The  Government  had  not  yet  es- 
tablished a  census  of  its  subjects,  and  would  not  perhaps  hai 
liked  to  have  the  voters  who  chose  it  counted.  At  any  rate, 
no  one  did  count  them  ;  and  a  very  general  notion  respecting 
the  practical  working  of  our  representative  system  was  all 
which  could  be  formed  at  the  time,  or  that  can  be  formed 
now. 

The  representation  of  England  and  Wales  was  formerly,  as 


PARLIAMENT,  AND  ITS  LESSONS  225 

now,  in  the  hands  of  counties  and  boroughs.  The  number  of 
counties  was  the  same  as  it  now  is ;  but  they  were  as  yet  un- 
divided for  the  purposes  of  representation.  The  number  of 
boroughs  was  very  considerable,  and  this  of  itself  led  to 
difficulty. 

It  is  evident  that  in  early  times,  when  population  was 
small  and  trade  scanty,  it  would  be  difficult  to  find  very  many 
boroughs  that  would  be  fit  to  elect  proper  members  of  Parlia- 
ment. We  know  by  trial  that  a  town  constituency,  to  be 
pure  and  to  be  independent,  must  be  of  fair  size,  and  must 
contain  a  considerable  number  of  better-class  inhabitants  :  un- 
less it  be  so,  it  will  assuredly  succumb  to  one  of  two  dangers  ; 
it  will  fall  under  the  yoke  of  some  proprietor  who  will  purchase 
the  place  as  a  whole,  or  it  will  be  purchased,  vote  by  vote,  at 
each  election.  Nothing,  both  experience  and  theory  explain 
to  us,  is  so  futile  as  to  expect  continued  purity  and  continued 
independence  from  a  small  number  of  persons  who  have  some- 
thing valuable  to  sell,  and  who  would  gain  what  is  an  object 
to  them  by  selling  it.  But  of  considerable  towns  the  number 
was  once  exceedingly  few.  Internal  commerce  and  foreign 
trade  have  made  such  enormous  strides  in  England  recently, 
that  we  hardly  realise  the  poverty  of  former  times,  or  the  small 
number  of  people  who  lived  where  we  live  now.  Statistics, 
though  they  may  give  us  a  statement  of  the  fact,  do  not,  and 
cannot,  fill  our  imaginations  with  it.  We  may  get  a  better 
notion  of  what  England  was  in  numbers  and  wealth  from 
travelling  in  the  purely  agricultural,  the  less  advanced  and 
poorer  parts,  of  the  Continent,  than  we  can  from  figures  and 
books.  We  shall  in  that  way  gain  a  vivid  impression  that  it 
would  be  impossible  in  a  rude  age  and  country  to  find  a  very 
great  number  of  towns  large  enough  to  elect  representatives 
independently,  and  rich  enough  to  elect  them  uncorruptly. 

In  the  system  which  prevailed  a  hundred  and  fifty  years 
ago  our  ancestors  had  much  aggravated  this  difficulty.  They 
had  not  selected  the  most  considerable  towns  to  be  Parlia- 
mentary constituencies  ;  they  had  not  taken  all  the  largest, 
and  they  had  taken  several  of  the  smallest.  We  need  not  now 
explain  why  this  happened.  We  have  no  room  to  discuss  the 
VOL.  m.  15 


226         THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNREFORMED 

antiquities  of  the  old  boroughs  ;  we  cannot  tell  in  many  cases 
why  some  were  chosen  which  were  chosen.     But  two  facts  are 
incontestable  :  of  which  one  is,  that  there  was  probably  much 
original  caprice  in  the  selection  of  town  constituencies.     The 
sheriff  had  at  first  a  certain  discretionary  power,  and  we  do  not 
know  very  precisely  how  he  exercised  it.     The  boroughs  them- 
selves were  anxious,  not  to  obtain  the  right,  but  to  evade  the 
obligation,  of  sending  members  to  Parliament.     Provided  a 
respectable    number  of  borough  members  appeared  in  their 
places  to  assent  to  the  requisite  taxes,  and  to  indicate  by  their 
demeanour,  if  not  by  their  votes,  the  popular  feeling  on  the 
topics  of  the  day,  the  early  rulers  of  England,  those  rulers  who 
laid  the  foundations  of  our  representative  system,  were  satisfied. 
They  felt  no  nice  scruples  as  to  the  exact  magnitude  of  the 
towns  which  did  not  send  members,  or  of  those  which  did  so. 
In  the  times  of  the  Tudors,  and  a  little  later,  the  Crown  exer- 
cised its  prerogative  of  creating  new    boroughs;  and  as  the 
popular  spirit  had  then  begun  to  be  a  subject  of  dread,  and 
the  voice  of  the  House  of  Commons  was  already  of  some  im- 
portance, we  need  not  hesitate  to  imagine  that  the  statesmen 
of  the  time  regarded  the  "  loyalty "  or  subservience  of  th< 
boroughs  they  created,  rather  than  their  precise  size.     Englisl 
statesmen  look  to  the  wants  of  the  day,  and  especially  to  ttu 
wants  of  their  own  administration,  much  more  than  to  compl( 
figures ;  they  do  so  even  at  the  present  day,  when  statistical 
tables  will  be  paraded  against  them :  how  much  more  did  thei 
not  improbably  do  so  in  the  reigns  of  the  Tudors,  when  thei 
was  no  check  upon  them  in  any  matter  requiring  much  researcl 
or  information ;  when,  if  they  chose  to  disregard  numeric; 
data,  no  one  else  could  know,  far  less  prove,  that  they  hac 
done  so !     Nor  was  original  caprice  the  only  cause  that  ha( 
given  representatives  to  many  boroughs  which  in  the  eighteen! 
century  seemed  scarcely  fit  to  choose  them,  and  which  denie( 
them  to  others  which  appeared  to  be  much  more  fit.     In  the 
contest  between  the  Stuarts  and  the  people,  the  Crown  lost  its 
old  prerogative  of  creating  boroughs ;  the  moment  there  was 
contest  between  the  House  of  Commons  and  the  sovereign,  il 
became  clear  that  the  sovereign  must  be  victorious  if  he  couk 


PARLIAMENT,  AND  ITS  LESSONS  227 

add  members  to  the  former  at  his  pleasure.  Accordingly  the 
House  of  Commons  impugned  the  validity  of  the  so-called  pre- 
rogative ;  their  resistance  was  successful,  and  it  was  exercised 
no  longer.  In  consequence  the  old  boroughs  remained,  and 
no  new  ones  were  added ;  and  as,  in  a  changing  country  like 
this,  many  places  which  were  formerly  large  gradually  became 
small,  and  many  small  ones  on  the  other  hand  became  large, 
the  distribution  of  wealth  and  numbers  came  in  process  of  time, 
and  by  a  process  which  no  one  watched,  to  be  altogether 
different  from  the  distribution  of  Parliamentary  influence. 

Nor  was  this  the  only  way  in  which  the  inherent  difficulty 
of  finding  good  town  constituencies  in  poor  and  rude  times 
was  artificially  aggravated  in  our  old  system  of  representation. 
Not  only  were  the  best  boroughs  not  chosen  to  be  constitu- 
encies, but  the  best  persons  in  those  boroughs  were  not  chosen 
to  be  electors.  The  old  and  complex  rights  of  suffrage  in 
different  boroughs  are  antiquarian  matters,  on  which  we  have 
not  a  single  line  of  space  to  bestow ;  but  they  differed  very 
much.  Originally,  perhaps,  the  right  or  duty  had  belonged  or 
attached  to  all  rate-paying  householders ;  but  this  simple  de- 
finition, if  it  ever  existed,  had  long  passed  away,  and  the  rights 
of  suffrage  had  become  most  various.  No  short  description, 
much  less  any  single  definition,  would  include  them.  We  give 
those  which  existed  in  the  boroughs  of  two  counties,  Somer- 
setshire and  Lancashire,  to  show  how  great  the  diversity  was, 
and  how  many  "  permutations  and  combinations  "  it  embraced. 

SOMERSETSHIRE. 

BRISTOL        .         .    Freeholders  of  40.?.  and  free  burgesses. 

BATH     .        .         .    Mayor,  aldermen,  and  common  councilmen  only. 

WELLS  .         .    Mayor,  masters,  burgesses,  and  freemen  of  the  seven 

trading  companies  of  the  said  city. 
FAUNTON      .         .     Potwallers,  not  receiving  alms  or  charity. 
BRIDGEWATER      .    Mayor,  aldermen,  and  twenty-four  capital  burgesses 

of  the  borough  paying  scot  and  lot. 
^CHESTER   .         .    Alleged  to  be  the  inhabitants  of  the  said  town  paying 

scot  and  lot,  which  the  town  called  potwallers. 
jVtiNEHEAD  .         .    The  parishioners  of  Dunster  and  Minehead,   being 

housekeepers  in  the  borough  of  Minehead,  and  not 

receiving  alms. 

15* 


228         THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNREFORMED 

MILBORN  PORT  .  The  capital  bailiffs  and  their  deputies,  the  number  of 
bailiffs  being  nine,  and  their  deputies  being  two  ; 
the  commonalty  stewards,  their  number  being 
two  ;  and  the  inhabitants  thereof  paying  scot  and 
lot. 

LANCASHIRE. 

LANCASTER  .  .  Freemen  only. 

WIGAN  .      .  .  Free  burgesses. 

CLITHEROK  .  Freeholders,  resident  and  non-resident. 

LIVERPOOL  .  .  Mayor,  bailiffs,  and  freemen  not  receiving  alms. 

PRESTON      .  .  All  the  inhabitants. 

Generally  speaking,  we  may  perhaps  say  that  the  origin; 
scot-and-lot  (or  rate-paying)  qualification  had  been  submitte< 
to  two  apposite  forces  of  alteration.     By  one  it  had  been 
stricted  to  certain  inhabitants  of  the  town  who,  by  virtue 
some  corporate  right  or  municipal  office,  assumed  to  thei 
selves  to  be  its  most  important  and  chief  inhabitants.     The 
principal  persons  were  usually  few,  and  they  prudently  cor 
trived  that  their  number  should   not  be  augmented.     The 
formed  themselves  into   self-renewing  corporations  :  at  eve 
vacancy  the  remaining  members  filled  up  the  place  as  the 
deemed  best,  and  they  took  care  no  one  should  have  votes  fo 
the  borough  but  themselves.     On  the  other  hand,  by  a  secor 
process,  the  borough  suffrage  had  been  widened  so  as  to  inclue 
all  freemen,  or  all  inhabitant  householders  not  receiving  all 
everybody,  in  short,  who  could  be  included  in  it.     The  proce 
of  extension,  as  was  natural,  was  of  the  two  the  older  pn 
While  the  right  of  electing  members  was  attended  by  the  dut 
of  paying  them,  it  was  an  onerous  burden,  and  the  chief  peopl 
in  the  place  tried  to  extend  it  as  far  as  they  well  could ; 
later  times,  when  members  were  no  longer  paid,  and  politic 
advantages  were  to  be  obtained  by  the  skilful  use  of  a  vote,  tl 
influential  people  of  a  borough  tried  as  much  as  possible 
keep  the  Parliamentary  suffrage  to  themselves.     In  the  last 
attempt  they  generally  succeeded.     The  boroughs  in  which  the 
people  at  large  elected  the  members  were,  in  the  eighteenth 
century,  far  fewer  than  those  in  which  a  few  persons  of  one  sc 
or  another  elected  them.     The  tendency  of  the  House  of  C< 


PARLIAMENT,  AND  ITS  LESSONS  229 

mons  itself,  from  various  causes,  was  rather  to  confine  than  to 
extend  the  right  of  suffrage.  But  in  whichever  direction  the 
progress  of  time  had  altered  what  we  may  suppose  to  have 
been  the  original  right  of  franchise,  whether  it  had  restricted 
it  or  had  extended  it,  the  effect  upon  the  constituency  was 
almost  equally  bad.  If  it  was  much  narrowed,  it  fell  into  the 
hands  of  a  very  small  number  of  persons,  who  used  for  their 
own  benefit  what  had  become  a  very  marketable  privilege ;  and 
if  the  franchise  had  been  very  much  extended — especially  if  it 
became,  as  in  several  places  it  did,  nearly  equivalent  to  uni- 
versal suffrage — we  may  readily  conceive  in  what  manner  it 
was  used,  when  we  remember  that  many  of  the  boroughs  were 
small,  that  in  that  age  corruption  was  thought  far  less  disgrace- 
ful than  at  present,  and  that  the  poorer  classes  were  much 
poorer  and  much  more  ignorant  than  they  now  are. 

We  need  not  further  explain  the  general  causes  which 
impaired  the  independence  and  purity  of  the  ancient  boroughs. 
As  it  would  have  been  somewhat  difficult  to  find  in  old  times 
enough  boroughs  that  were  proper  to  choose  representatives ; 
as  the  best  had  not  been  chosen — perhaps  had  not  been  searched 
for ;  as  in  the  actual  boroughs  the  best  people  to  be  voters  had 
not  been  selected  as  such ;  as  in  most  of  them  the  electing 
constituency  was  very  small ; — it  is  no  wonder  that  most  of 
these  boroughs  fell  more  or  less  under  the  control  of  rich  men 
who  considered  the  franchise  of  the  borough  a  part  of  their 
own  property. 

With  the  counties  the  case  was  somewhat  different;  as 
yet  there  was  no  Chandos  clause,  the  forty-shilling  freehold 
was  as  yet  the  only  title  to  a  vote.  Yeomen  with  such  free- 
holds were  as  yet  numerous,  in  many  counties  very  numerous, 
and  were  still  sturdy  and  independent.  The  inferior  gentry 
were  not  always  much  disposed  to  submit  to  the  dictation  of 
lord  or  duke.  In  the  last  century,  the  county  franchise  was 
always  considered  as  the  free  and  independent  element ;  those 
who  wished  to  purify  the  legislature,  always  proposed  to  aug- 
ment that  element,  and  saw  no  other  means  of  obtaining  what 
they  wished  for. 

But  even  the  counties  were  in  former  times  far  less  inde- 


230         THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNREFORMED 

pendent  than,  from  the  nature  of  the  legal  franchise — from  the 
paper  description  of  it — we  should  suppose.  Our  county 
society  has  always  been  an  aristocratic  society;  and  in  the 
last  century  aristocracy  was  a  power  of  which  it  is  difficult  in 
these  days  of  free  manners  and  careless  speech  to  realise  the 
force.  Society  had  then,  far  more  than  now,  a  simple,  regular, 
recognised  structure ;  each  class  had  its  place :  it  looked  up  to 
the  classes  above  it ;  it  would  have  thought  it  wrong  to  vie 
with  them,  or  even  to  imitate  them.  Each  class  was  to  a  certain 
extent  independent ;  each  went  its  own  way  on  its  own  affairs, 
attended  to  the  transactions  of  its  own  calling  and  the  details 
of  its  own  life :  but  each  had  a  tendency,  such  as  we  can  hardb 
now  imagine,  to  be  guided,  impelled,  and  governed  by  those 
who  were  above  them  on  all  questions  and  in  all  matters  which 
concerned  or  seemed  to  concern  all  classes  equally.  The  real 
distinction  between  classes,  too,  was  then  an  infinitely  greater 
one  than  it  now  is.  The  aristocratic  class  was  the  most  edu- 
cated class,  had  access  to  the  best  society ;  was,  as  a  whole, 
far  the  most  polished  and  cultivated  class  in  the  nation.  Foi 
good  and  for  evil,  noblemen  had  a  power  then  to  which  then 
is  nothing  comparable,  scarcely  any  thing  analogous,  now. 
Amusing  illustrations  of  this  occur  in  the  documents  of  the 
time.  Thus  Burke,  in  a  memorandum  on  East  Indian  affairs, 
addressed  to  the  noblemen  and  gentlemen  who  composed  the 
Rockingham  party,  proposes  the  following  scheme :  "  Witl 
regard  to  the  Bank  [of  England],  which  is  the  grand  instrument 
of  the  Court  on  this  occasion,  might  it  not  be  proper  (if  pos- 
sible) that  some  of  you  of  the  greatest  property  should  resolve 
to  have  nothing  to  do  with  their  paper  ?  There  are  five  or  si: 
of  you  that  would  frighten  them."  If  the  territorial  influen< 
of  the  aristocracy  was  supposed  to  be  so  powerful  in  Thread- 
needle  Street,  we  may  easily  suppose  what  it  must  have  bee 
in  their  own  counties,  at  their  own  doors.  The  county  contest 
of  the  last  century  had  a  continued  tendency  to  become  famil; 
conflicts  between  one  noble  house  and  another.  The  political 
questions  of  the  day  were  merged  in  the  intensity  of  the  arist< 
cratic,  and  perhaps  hereditary  feud. 

Such  was  the  representation  of  England  ;  and  it  seems 


PARLIAMENT,  AND  ITS  LESSONS  231 

stricted  enough  ;  but  that  of  Scotland  was  even  more  restricted 
still,  and  more  subject  to  illegitimate  influence.  Even  the 
stoutest  defenders  of  the  old  system  of  representation  before 
1832  used  to  own  that  the  Scotch  system  could  only  be  defended 
as  "  part  of  a  whole,"  and  that  taken  by  itself  it  was  absurd. 
There  were  in  theory  in  Scotland  thirty  county  members  and 
fifteen  borough  members ;  but  the  franchise  had  in  both  of 
them  been  narrowed  to  an  almost  inconceivable  extent.  In 
1812  the  whole  county  constituency  only  amounted  to  1235, 
and  the  whole  borough  constituency  to  1253.  The  franchise 
in  the  counties  was  restricted  to  the  tenants-in-chief  of  the 
Crown  ;  all  proprietors  (the  feudal  law  in  theory  still  prevailed) 
who  held  from  a  subject  were  disfranchised,  though  a  very  large 
portion  of  the  county  was  owned  by  them.  The  result  was 
much  about  the  same  as  if  in  England  the  county  member  had 
been  chosen,  not  by  the  40^.  freeholders,  but  the  lords  of  the 
manor.  The  franchise  was  practically  as  confined  in  Scotland 
as  that  restriction  would  have  made  it  here.  The  borough 
franchise,  too,  was  possessed  by  the  members  of  the  town 
councils  of  the  various  boroughs  exclusively ;  no  other  persons 
had  a  share  in  it.  The  burghs  were,  as  now,  divided  into 
districts ;  in  each  district  the  town  council  of  each  burgh  con- 
tained in  it  named  a  delegate,  and  by  the  majority  of  these 
delegates  the  member  for  the  district  was  chosen.  Edinburgh 
alone  had  the  honour  of  a  separate  representation ;  and  its 
constituency  amounted  in  number  to  thirty-three. 

What  degree  of  independence  such  small  constituencies 
may  have  possessed  in  England  or  in  Scotland,  we  cannot  now 
accurately  know.  Even  to  those  who  knew  the  places  best,  it 
must  have  been  sometimes  difficult  to  determine  it  with  accuracy. 
Influence  is  in  its  very  nature  somewhat  secret ;  we  cannot  tell 
whence  it  precisely  comes,  by  what  exact  channels  it  acts,  or 
in  what  direction  it  is  tending.  Any  estimate  which  can  be 
formed  of  the  degree  in  which  the  constituencies  of  the  last 
century,  such  as  we  have  described  them,  were  either  dependent 
or  independent,  must  be  very  vague.  The  public  at  large 
knew  very  little  on  the  subject ;  and  no  one  took  the  trouble 
to  note  down  in  detail  and  with  precision,  that  which  they  did 


232 


THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNREFORMED 


know.  A  general  notion  of  the  practical  results  may,  however, 
be  easily  formed.  In  the  year  1773,  Dean  Tucker  observed  in 
a  letter  to  Lord  Shelburne : — 

"  Your  lordship  has  the  command  of  two  boroughs  already  ;  and  the 
public  shrewdly  suspect  that  you  would  have  no  qualms  of  conscience 
against  commanding  two  more,  or  even  twenty-two.  Mr.  Fox  and  Lord 
Holland's  family  command  one  ;  the  late  Marquis  of  Rockingham  had  at 
least  two,  which  he  might,  and  did,  call  his  own  ;  and  were  I  to  proceed 
after  the  same  manner  throughout  the  peerage  and  the  great  landed  interest, 
also  the  commercial  and  the  manufacturing  interest  of  the  realm,  perhaps  I 
might  enumerate  not  less  than  two  hundred,  namely  boroughs  and  cities, 
and  even  counties,  whose  voters  choose  representatives  and  return  members 
to  Parliament  more  according  to  the  good-will  and  pleasure  of  those  who 
have  the  ascendency  over  them  than  according  to  their  own  private  judg- 
ments or  personal  determinations." 

As  there  were  at  that  time  no  Irish  members,  the  number 
of  members  of  Parliament  was  558;  and  as  almost  all  con- 
stituencies had  then  two  members  each,  this  estimate  would 
give  about  400  to  the  class  of  nominated  and  dependent  mem- 
bers, and  about  158  to  that  of  the  independent.  This  calcu- 
lation, rough  as  it  evidently  is,  and  imperfect  as  the  data  for 
making  it  evidently  were,  corresponds  sufficiently  well  with  a 
very  elaborate  calculation  made  forty  years  later : — 


Members  returned  by  87  peers  in  England  and  Wales 
„  „  21      „         Scotland 

„  „  36      „         Ireland 


Total  returned  by  peers         ...... 

Members  returned  by  90  commoners  in  England  and  Wales 
„                „           14              „             Scotland    . 
„                „            19              „              Ireland 
„        nominated  by  Government 

Total  returned  by  commoners  and  Government 

Total  returned  by  nomination  . 

Independent  of  nomination 

Total  of  the  House  of  Commons 


218 


300 

137 

M 

20 

16 

187 

487 
171 


.     6581 

1  The  above  estimate  is  taken  from  Dr.  Oldfield's  Representative 
History,  a  work  in  many  respects  entitled  to  respect,  but  by  no  means  im- 
partial. The  representation  of  Ireland,  though  not  free  from  great  defects 
had  been  exceedingly  improved  at  the  time  of  the  union  with  England, 


PARLIAMENT,  AND  ITS  LESSONS  233 

Whatever  doubts  might  be  suggested — and  doubtless  some 
might  be  suggested — as  to  the  details  of  this  estimate,  its  main 
conclusion  may  be  considered  to  be  certain.  A  large  pre- 
ponderant majority  of  the  members  of  the  House  of  Commons 
were,  in  one  way  or  in  another,  nominated  by  noblemen  and 
gentlemen  ;  and  only  a  minority  were  elected  by  the  popular 
constituencies.  The  majority  of  the  House  of  Commons 
represented  the  views  and  feelings  of  a  particular  and  peculiar 
class ;  the  minority  only  were  elected  by  constituencies  which 
could  be  supposed  to  choose  representatives  for  all  the  other 
classes. 

Such  was  in  bare  outline  the  old  electoral  system  of 
England ;  and  we  may  describe  it  by  a  startling  phrase :  it 
was  a  representation,  so  to  say,  of  select  constituencies.  This 
is  not  the  light  in  which  we  have  been  used  to  regard  it.  We 
speak  by  tradition  of  borough-mongers  with  dislike,  and  of 
rotten  boroughs  with  contempt.  From  circumstances  which 
we  shall  soon  see,  neither  have  left  a  good  name  in  history. 
Most  of  us  are  the  children  of  those  who  destroyed  them ;  the 
leaders  of  our  great  parties  are  still  those  who  were  foremost 
in  doing  so.  We  naturally  do  not  think  well  of  them.  But 
what  were  they  ?  They  were  proprietary  constituencies  ;  they 
were,  in  truth,  higher  class  constituencies  ;  they  gave  a  re- 
presentation to  persons  of  greater  wealth,  of  greater  educa- 
tion, and  presumably,  therefore,  of  greater  political  capacity, 
than  the  mass  of  the  nation.  We  have,  apparently  at  least, 
the  best  means  of  judging  of  their  effects.  Being,  as  we  have 
seen,  the  preponderant  element  in  the  electoral  system, 
the  members  chosen  by  them  were  the  preponderant  element 
in  the  House  of  Commons.  They  were  the  ruling  power  in 
the  State.  How,  then,  did  this  system,  so  singularly  and 
irregularly  composed,  in  fact  work  ?  We  have  the  general 
results  in  history.  The  only  difficulty,  and  it  is  not  a  slight 
one,  is  to  understand  them  rightly  and  explain  them  briefly. 

In  the  first  great  quality  of  a  representative  government, 
we  may  say  boldly  that,  up  to  a  late  period  of  its  existence, 
and  with  an  exception  or  two  which  we  shall  specify,  this 
system  worked  very  well.  The  first  requisite  of  a  representa- 


234         THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNREFORMED 

tive  system  is,  that  the  representative  body  should  represent 
the  real  public  opinion  of  the  nation.  Nor  is  this  so  easy 
a  matter  as  some  imagine.  There  are  nations  which  have 
no  public  opinion.  The  having  it  requires  what  a  pedantic 
writer  might  call  the  co-ordination  of  judgments.  Some  people 
must  be  recognised  to  be  wiser  than  others  are.  In  every 
district  there  must  be  people  generally  admitted  by  the  judg- 
ment of  their  neighbours  to  have  more  sense,  more  instructed 
minds,  more  cultured  judgments,  than  others  have.  Such 
persons  will  not  naturally  or  inevitably,  or  in  matter  of  fact, 
agree  in  opinion  ;  on  the  contrary,  they  will  habitually  differ : 
great  national  questions  will  divide  the  nation  ;  great  parties 
will  be  formed.  But  the  characteristic  of  a  nation  capable  of 
public  opinion  is,  that  those  parties  will  be  organised ;  in  each 
there  will  be  a  leader,  in  each  there  will  be  some  looked  up  to, 
and  many  who  look  up  to  them :  the  opinion  of  the  party  will 
be  formed  and  suggested  by  the  few,  it  will  be  criticised  and 
accepted  by  the  many.  It  has  always  been  the  peculiarity  of 
the  history  of  England,  that  it  has  been  capable  of  a  true  public 
opinion  in  this  its  exact  and  proper  sense.  There  has  ever  been 
a  structure  in  English  political  society :  every  man  has  not 
walked  by  the  light  of  his  own  eyes ;  the  less  instructed  have 
not  deemed  themselves  the  equals  of  the  more  instructed  ;  the 
many  have  subordinated  their  judgment  to  that  of  the  few. 
They  have  not  done  so  blindly,  for  there  has  always  been  a 
spirit  of  discussion  in  our  very  air :  still  they  have  done  so — 
opinions  have  always  settled  down  from  the  higher  classes  to 
the  lower ;  and  in  that  manner,  whenever  the  nation  has  been 
called  on  to  decide,  a  decision  that  is  really  national  has  been 
formed. 

On  the  whole,  the  English  constitution  of  the  last  century, 
in  its  best  time,  and  before  the  occurrence  of  changes  which 
we  shall  soon  describe,  gave  an  excellent  expression  to  the 
public  opinion  of  England.  It  gave  a  ruling  discretion  to 
those  whom  the  nation  at  large  most  trusted ;  it  provided  a 
simple  machinery  for  ascertaining  with  accuracy  the  decisions 
at  which  the  few  had  arrived,  and  in  which  the  mass  con- 
curred. 


PARLIAMENT,  AND  ITS  LESSONS  235 

This  constitution  was  submitted  to  no  ordinary  test.  We 
have  so  long  outlived  the  contests  of  the  last  century,  that  we 
have  forgotten  their  intensity.  We  look  on  it  as  a  very  quiet 
time  ;  and  we  contrast  it  with  the  apprehensive,  and  changeful, 
and  anxious  period  in  which  it  seems  to  us  that  we  are  living. 
Of  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century  this  is  a  true  idea,  at 
least  of  part  of  it ;  but  the  English  Government  during  the 
early  part  of  the  century  was  tried  by  what  is  probably  the 
severest  of  all  trials  to  the  foundations  of  an  hereditary  and 
constitutional  government — by  a  struggle  between  two  claim- 
ants to  the  throne,  each  of  whom  represented  a  principle.  We 
know  well  the  arguments  of  the  side  which  has  gained  ;  but 
we  do  not  always  remember  the  moral  strength  of  the  side 
which  lost.  The  Jacobites  had  much  in  their  creed  which 
appealed  to  the  predominating  principles  of  the  English 
nature — an  hereditary  family,  which  claimed  the  Crown,  not 
on  arguable  considerations  of  policy,  but  on  ascertainable 
claims  of  descent  which  embodied,  not  a  speculation,  but  a 
fact ;  which  had  prescription  in  its  favour,  and  was  in  harmony 
with  a  country  almost  all  whose  other  institutions  were  pre- 
scriptive ;  which  had  on  its  side  the  associations  with  the 
maintenance  of  order  and  the  security  of  property,  as  claimants 
by  prescription  must  have ;  which  appealed  to  the  Conserva- 
tive instinct,  which  is  always  so  strong  in  a  people  over 
whom  the  visible  world  rules  so  much  ;  which  appealed  to  the 
loyal  instincts,  which  have  a  great  influence  over  a  people  in 
whom  a  strong  but  impressed  imagination  profoundly  works  ; — 
such  a  family  must  have  had  a  singular  hold  on  the  popular 
attachments  of  England.  History  proves  that  they  had  that 
hold ;  and  that  they  only  lost  England  by  an  incapacity  for 
action,  and  an  inherent  perversity  of  judgment,  that  seem  to 
have  been  hereditary  in  the  race.  In  the  last  act  of  the  drama, 
during  the  first  few  years  of  the  House  of  Hanover,  the  Stuart 
dynasty,  had  still  great  influence  in  the  country.  They  were 
not,  indeed,  in  possession ;  and  as  the  strength  of  their  ad- 
herents was  among  the  most  Conservative  classes,  they  could 
not  regain  possession ;  but  if  we  could  fancy  them,  by  any 
freak  of  fortune,  to  have  been  reinstated,  there  would  have 


236 


THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNREFORMED 


been  incredible  difficulty  in  expelling  them  once  more.  Pos- 
sibly it  could  not  have  been  done,  certainly  it  could  not  have 
been  done  if  the  fanatical  hatred  of  the  majority  of  Englishmen 
to  Popery  had  not  co-operated  with  the  attachment  to  freedom 
— if  a  sentiment  which  actuated  the  masses  had  not  been  on 
the  same  side  with  the  convictions  which  influenced  the  few. 
If  the  hereditary  heir  to  the  Crown  had  been  once  seated  on  the 
throne,  and  had  consented  to  be  converted,  or  to  seem  to  be 
converted  to  Protestantism,  the  chances  of  the  Hanoverian 
family  would  have  been  small  and  feeble. 

Just  before  the  demise  of  Queen  Anne,  the  prospects  of 
the  Jacobite  party  had  much  to  captivate  sanguine  and  short- 
sighted men.  The  female  favourite  of  the  Queen — the  reign- 
ing favourite  we  may  call  her — was  indisputably  on  their  side : 
the  Queen,  who  had  the  strongest  motives  to  be  decidedly 
opposed  to  them,  was  not  so ;  her  suppressed  inclination — 
perhaps  her  latent  conscience — was  in  their  favour  :  the  first 
ministers  of  the  Crown,  if  they  had  no  "  settled  intention,"  to 
use  Bolingbroke's  distinction,  had  floating  notions  and  vague 
"  views  "  on  the  same  side.  In  the  nation  at  large,  the  inferior 
gentry — those  of  whom  the  Tory  foxhunter  of  Addison  is  an 
admirable  memorial — were  half  Jacobite  ;  the  real  clergy  (the 
Whig  historian  calls  them  "  a  curse  rather  than  a  blessing  to 
those  over  whom  they  were  set " J)  were  more  than  half  Jaco- 
bite ;  the  lower  class  of  the  people — the  No-Popery  antipathy 
apart — would  perhaps  have  inclined  more  to  the  house  of 
Stuart  than  to  the  house  of  Hanover.  Legitimacy  is  a  popular 
title,  loyalty  touches  the  heart ;  the  rule  of  a  single  monarch 
is  an  intelligible  thing  ;  the  least  educated  can  and  do  under- 
stand it ;  but  the  rule  of  Parliament,  and  the  idea  of  a  con- 
stitution, are  difficult  to  imagine ;  the  lower  orders  of  people 
hardly  ever  understand  them  or  comprehend  them.  The  only 
classes  over  whom  the  attachment  to  the  Act  of  Settlement 
and  to  the  constitution,  such  as  it  then  existed,  was  really 
strong,  were  two :  the  higher  gentry,  including  the  nobility  in 
that  word  ;  and  the  mercantile  and  trading  classes — the  "  fund- 


Hallam. 


PARLIAMENT,  AND  ITS  LESSONS  237 

holders,"  as  the  Tory  squires  of  that  age  called  them,   and 
fancied  that  they  were. 

It  is  evident  that  a  very  peculiar  Parliamentary  constitution 
was  required  to  give  an  expression  to  the  real  will  of  the 
nation,  when  the  classes  composing  it  were  so  divided,  and 
when  the  very  principle  and  nature  of  the  government  of  the 
country  was  in  dispute.  What,  indeed,  it  may  be  said,  was 
the  will  of  the  country  ?  The  classes  which  have  been  speci- 
fied did  not  agree  in  opinion,  nor  would  one  of  them  avowedly 
and  explicitly  agree  to  yield  to  the  opinion  of  the  class  op- 
posed to  it.  The  squire  would  never  have  admitted  that  the 
fundholder  was  wiser  than  himself,  nor  would  the  fundholder 
have  paid  the  least  deference  to  the  notions  of  the  squire. 
The  fact  of  the  one  having  an  opinion,  would  rather  have 
tended  to  prevent  the  other  from  adopting  it.  How,  then, 
was  a  national  decision — a  truly  national  decision — possible  ? 
It  was  possible  in  this  way.  The  dissentient  classes,  as  we 
may  call  those  over  whom  Jacobitism  and  the  extreme  Tory- 
ism had  the  greatest  influence — the  rural  gentry  and  the  rural 
clergy — both  yielded  deference  and  homage,  and  to  a  certain 
extent  confidence,  to  the  higher  gentry  and  the  nobility,  under 
whom,  it  may  be  said,  they  lived,  near  whose  estates  they  were 
born,  and  who  were  the  unquestioned  heads  of  all  the  society 
to  which  they  belonged.  On  political  topics  this  was  especi- 
ally the  case.  Rugged  prejudice  of  course  existed,  and  "  my 
lord  "  was  not  always  liked  ;  still  it  could  not  but  be  felt  that 
he  knew  more  of  the  world,  had  access  to  better  information, 
had  enjoyed  more  of  what  were  then  the  rare  opportunities 
of  travelling  and  education,  than  the  lower  gentry  had.  He 
possessed  all  the  means  of  judging  which  they  had,  and  others 
too.  A  certain  deference  was  paid  then  to  rank  which  is  not 
paid  to  it  now,  because  the  inherent  difference  between  the 
highest  orders  and  others  in  manners  and  in  mind  was  much 
greater 'than  any  that  exist  at  present.  A  national  decision 
was  then  possible,  and  was  then  attained,  because  the  classes 
who  were  the  most  likely  to  dissent,  and  who  in  reality  did 
dissent,  from  what  the  rest  of  the  nation  wished,  were  pre- 
cisely the  classes  most  under  the  control  of,  and  most  likely 


238         THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNREFORMED 

to  submit  to,  the  moral  influence  of  those  who  were  above 
them. 

Such  being  the  state  of  the  nation  in  the  earlier  part  of 
the  last  century,  there  was  an  evident  difficulty  in  giving  a 
just  expression  to  it.  Scarcely  any  of  the  ordinary  modes  of 
government  which  theorists  have  suggested,  or  which  con- 
tinental nations  have  tried,  would  have  succeeded  in  giving  it. 
The  most  intelligent  classes,  those  who  were  disposed  to 
support  the  House  of  Hanover  and  the  principles  of  liberty, 
were,  as  we  have  explained,  the  trading  classes  and  the  higher 
gentry.  The  class  most  confided  in  by  the  nation  was  the 
higher  gentry  and  the  nobility.  Fortunately,  the  most  trusted 
class  was  a  portion  of  the  most  intelligent  class :  the  chosen 
leaders  of  the  country  were  a  part  at  least  of  those  whom  it 
was  best  for  it  to  choose  for  its  leaders ;  the  actual  guides 
were  some  of  the  best  guides  who  could  be  found.  But  what 
constitutional  arrangements  would  be  adapted  to  give  them 
by  law  that  guidance  ?  In  what  manner  could  the  indefinite 
and  vague  deference  of  the  people  be  shaped  and  fashioned 
into  a  polity? 

Any  system  of  democratic  suffrage,  we  may  at  once  say, 
would  have  been  unfitted  for  that  end.  The  classes  into 
whose  hands  it  would  have  thrown  the  power  were  the  lower 
classes,  who  could  not  be  expected  to  have  any  intelligent 
appreciation  of  freedom,  and  in  fact  had  none.  Anything 
like  universal  suffrage  would  have  been  an  enormous  addition 
to  the  influence  of  the  rural  clergy  and  the  smaller  squires. 
These  two  classes,  being  resident  in  the  country,  being  known 
to  the  lowest  classes,  distributing  all  the  casual  advantages 
which  they  had  any  chance  of  receiving,  adjudging  all  the 
petty  penalties  of  the  local  law  which  they  had  any  risk  of 
incurring,  must  have  had  preponderating  influence  over  the 
rural  population.  They  would  have  brought  down  from 
scattered  villages  and  petty  hamlets  regiments  of  voters  for 
the  Stuart  dynasty,  who  knew  nothing  of  the  real  merits  of 
the  controversy  to  be  decided,  who  were  utterly  ignorant  of 
the  very  meaning  of  constitutional  government,  who  could 
have  given  no  account  of  the  very  nature  and  structure  of 


PARLIAMENT,  AND  ITS  LESSONS  239 

Parliament,  but  who  knew  that  the  only  educated  persons 
they  ever  met,  the  only  influential  persons  they  ever  saw — the 
parson  of  their  own  village,  and  the  squire  of  it — had  told 
them  to  do  that  which  they  were  doing.  We  should  have 
then  seen  in  England  that  which  we  now  see  in  France. 
The  uneducated  majority  would  have  pronounced  their  de- 
cision ;  the  country  would  have  been  forced  to  recognise  it ; 
the  law  would  have  been  compelled  to  enforce  it.  Instead  of 
living  under  the  constitution  which  we  now  have,  we  might, 
and  probably  should,  have  been  living  under  a  Jacobite  des- 
potism, sanctioned  by  the  preponderant,  we  might  say  almost 
by  the  unanimous,  vote  of  the  rural  population. 

It  may  be  objected,  however,  that  the  deference  which  we 
have  admitted  that  the  rural  clergy  and  the  lesser  squires  bore 
to  the  higher  gentry  would  have  prevented  this  result.  It 
may  be  said  that,  although  they  would  have  by  law  possessed 
the  power  of  influencing  in  the  last  resort  the  national  destiny 
and  deciding  on  the  national  constitution,  they  would  not  in 
practice  have  done  so ;  that  they  would  have  given  up  their 
own  judgments,  and  would  have  been  guided  by  the  opinions 
of  the  classes  whom  they  knew,  and  whom  they  admitted,  to 
be  their  superiors.  But  experience  shows  that  this  is  an  error, 
and  that  those  who  entertain  it  have  a  mistaken  view  of  a 
very  important  part  of  human  nature.  If  you  give  people 
uncontrolled  power,  real,  bond  fide,  tangible,  felt  power,  they 
will  exercise  it  according  to  their  own  notions.  Of  course 
this  is  only  true  of  classes  which  have  notions.  An  ignorant 
peasantry,  for  example,  have  none ;  if  you  give  them  nominal 
political  power,  you  do  not  give  them  anything  they  can 
understand,  or  appreciate,  or  use.  It  is  not  real  power  to 
them  ;  it  has  none  of  the  effectiveness  of  power  in  their  hands  : 
it  is  an  instrument  they  cannot  employ  to  obtain  any  pre- 
conceived result ;  they  are  bewildered  about  its  nature ;  they 
do  not  know  what  they  are  doing  when  they  are  exerting  it ; 
it  is  not  anything  they  can  prize,  and  use,  and  enjoy.  But  a 
class  of  gentry  or  clergy — a  moderately  educated  class  of  any 
sort — is  not  in  this  position.  It  has  views,  opinions,  wishes 
of  its  own  :  those  views  may  be  narrow,  those  opinions  erron- 


24o         THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNREFORMED 

ecus,  those  wishes  foolish ;  but  they  have  them.  They  are 
attached  to  them.  If  power  is  put  into  their  hands,  they  will 
try  to  carry  them  out  in  action.  Under  a  constitution  whi< 
did  not  give  them  predominant  power,  the  Tory  squire  and 
the  Tory  clergy  were  ready  to  give  up  their  vague  opinioi 
and  their  floating  predilections ;  but  if  they  had  been  invested 
with  a  constitutional  authority  and  a  legislative  omnipotence, 
they  would  never  have  given  those  opinions  and  predilections 
up,  or  imagined  that  they  could  give  them  up ;  they  would 
have  stiffened  them  into  a  compact  creed,  and  tried  to  realii 
them  under  the  despotism  of  the  Stuarts. 

It  is  therefore  certain  that  no  system  of  universal  suffrage, 
or  of  very  diffused  and  popular  suffrage,  would  have  secured 
the  maintenance  of  the  House  of  Hanover  and  the  security  of 
English  liberty.  The  lower  classes  would  themselves  probably 
have  been  on  the  other  side ;  and  whether  that  be  so  or  not, 
the  persons  who  had  the  greatest,  the  surest,  and  the  most 
diffused  influence  over  them  were  indisputably  on  the  other 
side  for  the  most  part. 

It  is  certain,  too,  that  no  system  of  uniform  but  not 
universal  suffrage  which  would  have  been  endured  by  th< 
country  would  have  given  at  that  time  a  real  expression  tc 
the  will  of  the  country.  As  we  have  explained,  the  n 
opinion  of  the  country  was  in  accordance  with  the  opinion 
of  the  wealthier  trading  and  mercantile  classes.  They  were 
zealous  for  the  House  of  Hanover ;  the  nation,  though  not 
zealous  for  it,  was  favourable  to  it.  By  establishing  a  high 
and  uniform  qualification  for  votes  in  large  boroughs,  and  by 
giving  a  very  considerable  number  of  members  to  those  lai 
boroughs,  it  would  have  been  possible,  though  it  would  have 
been  difficult,  to  secure  a  Parliament  with  an  opinion  sub- 
stantially in  accordance  with  the  decision  of  the  nation.  It 
would  have  been  difficult,  for  the  great  towns  were  then  few 
and  scattered  ;  the  north  of  England,  which  now  teems  with 
them,  was  then  a  poor  district,  not  only  in  comparison  with 
what  it  now  is,  but  also  with  many  parts  of  the  south  as  it 
was  at  that  time.  Still,  by  such  a  system  as  we  have  sug- 
gested, it  would  have  been  possible  to  throw  the  leading 


PARLIAMENT,  AND  ITS  LESSONS  241 

authority  of  the  nation  into  the  hands  of  the  large  towns,  and 
into  the  hands  of  the  richer  persons  in  those  towns.  In 
practice,  however,  no  such  constitution  would  have  been  en- 
dured. The  Tory  gentleman  would  not  have  endured  to  be 
put  under  the  yoke  of  the  "  fundholder  "  or  the  manufacturer. 
The  clergy  would  never  have  endured  a  subjection  to  the  class 
among  whom  Dissent  had  the  greatest  hold,  and  possibly  a 
preponderating  influence.  To  have  attempted  to  have  placed 
the  country  under  the  rule  of  the  commercial  classes  in  towns 
and  cities,  would  have  been  a  greater  revolution  than  the  change 
of  the  dynasty  itself;  it  would  have  shocked  the  prejudices 
of  the  nation  at  large  ;  it  never  suggested  itself  even  to  those 
very  classes  themselves. 

Thus  all  ordinary  systems  of  suffrage  bring  out  one  or 
other  of  two  results.  They  would  either  have  thrown  pre- 
ponderating and  conclusive  power  into  the  hands  of  the  lesser 
gentry  and  the  clergy,  or  they  would  have  thrown  an  equal 
and  similar  power  into  the  hands  of  the  manufacturers  and 
merchants.  The  first  result  would  have  been  easy  :  England 
was  then  a  predominantly  agricultural  country,  and  it  would 
have  been  very  easy  to  frame  a  system  of  suffrage  which 
would  give  the  ordinary  squire  and  the  ordinary  clergyman 
— the  ruling  classes  in  agricultural  society  then  as  now — a 
large  predominance.  Any  system  which  gave  what  would 
seem  in  theory  its  due  weight  to  the  counties  would  have  had 
that  effect.  A  system  might  have  been  suggested  which 
would  have  given  enormous  power  to  the  large  towns.  But 
both  these  systems  would  have  been  inadequate  to  the  end 
desired.  That  which  gave  preponderance  to  the  ordinary 
landholder  would  have  represented  rather  the  tradition  of 
Toryism  than  the  present  decision  of  the  living  nation  ;  that 
which  gave  a  preponderance  to  manufacturers  and  traders 
would  have  been  offensive  to  almost  all  the  country ;  it  would 
have  been  unendurable  by  many  classes  of  it  ;  it  would  not 
have  been,  in  fact, 'a  government,  for  it  could  not  have  governed 
I  a  country  in  which  it  had  no  root,  and  to  whose  keenest  pre- 
|  judices  it  was  adverse. 

The  system  which  was  in  fact  adopted  obviated  these 
VOL.  III.  1 6 


242 


THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNREFORMED 


defects.     Its  peculiar  nature  threw  preponderant  power  into 
the  hands  of  the  higher  gentry  and  the  nobility.     The  smaller 
boroughs  had  fallen  by  a  kind  of  necessity  of  nature  into  their 
hands ;  their  influence  in  the  counties  was    preponderant,    ii 
not    overwhelming.     As  we   have  explained,   this   class  was 
the  one  most  trusted  by  the  nation,  which  was    universally 
believed    to   have   the   greatest   political    intelligence,    whc 
opinions  in  matter  of  fact  were  coincident  with  those  of  all 
the  most  intelligent  classes.     Under  any  other  system  of 
presentation,  it  would  not  have  been  possible  to  give  to  this 
class  preponderant   power.     It  is    not  in  the  nature  of 
extended    system  of  suffrage  to  give  to  a  small  upper  class 
any  very  considerable  amount  of  power.     Their  numbers  ai 
few,  and  their  votes  are  immeasurably  outnumbered  by  th< 
votes  of  their  inferiors.     It  is  not  possible  to  establish  in 
country  a  system  of  uniform  suffrage  so  narrow  and  so  higl 
as  to  give  to  this  small  upper  class  a  preponderant  authoritj 
in  the  country.     It  seems  ridiculous  in  a  popular  governm< 
to  give  votes  to  a  very  few  persons  only  ;  and  as  soon  as  an) 
uniform  system  of  suffrage  is  extended   beyond   those   fe1! 
it  gives  decisive  predominance  to  the  many,  and  on  that  vei 
account  withdraws  it  from  the  less  numerous  but  more  edi 
cated  orders. 

In  this  way,  therefore,  we  think  it  certain  ithat  in  tl 
earlier  part  of  the  last  century  the  old  system  ofrepresentatioi 
by  throwing  into  the  hands  of  a  peculiar  and  influential  cl< 
the  predominant  authority  in  the  State,  was  more  beneficii 
to  the  nation  than  a  more  diffused  and  popular  system  woul< 
have  been.  The  materials  for  the  creation  of  constituencie 
both  numerous  and  intelligent,  both  well  educated  and  ii 
fluential,  did  not  exist.  The  practical  choice  was  between 
uninstructed  number  and  a  select  few :  our  constitution  g 
the  preponderance  to  the  latter  ;  and  in  the  great  struggl 
between  the  House  of  Stuart  and  the  House  of  Hanover- 
between  the  principle  of  legitimacy  and  the  principle 
freedom — the  consequences  were  beneficial  and  were  decisive 
It  not  only  secured  the  authority  of  a  free  Government,  bi 
the  ease  with  which  it  did  so  has  disguised  from  us  the  dii 


PARLIAMENT,  AND  ITS  LESSONS  243 

culties  with  which  it  contended.  The  victory  was  so  complete, 
that  the  recollection  of  the  conflict  is  confused. 

With  that  struggle,  however,  the  singular  usefulness  of 
the  old  system  of  representation  certainly  ended.  We  do  not 
think  that,  in  the  remaining  part  of  the  history  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  it  gave  at  all  a  better  expression  to  the 
national  opinion  than  any  other  system  would  have  done. 
Various  writers  have  made  charges  against  the  English  Govern- 
ment on  account  of  the  wars  which  marked  the  period ; 
but  we  think  unjustly.  On  the  whole,  no  nation  of  equal 
strength,  of  equal  courage  and  of  equal  pride,  has  ever  in 
the  history  of  the  world  pursued  a  course  so  tranquil.  We 
were  entangled  in  a  Spanish  war;  we  were  induced  by 
our  Hanoverian  connections  to  intermeddle  unnecessarily  in 
Germany ;  we  were  at  war  occasionally,  as  in  every  century 
we  have  from  time  to  time  been,  with  France :  but  none  of 
these  wars  were  wars  of  ambition.  We  wished  when  at  war 
for  national  glory :  we  were  not  sorry  to  go  to  war  because 
we  thought  we  might  gain  glory  in  it ;  but  we  never  went  to 
war  with  a  distinct  desire  for  territorial  aggrandisement.  We 
have  never  had  in  our  national  character  any  principle  of 
aggression.  We  have  no  such  settled  inciting  motive.  On 
the  contrary,  we  wish  that  every  one  shall  have  his  own — 
shall  retain  whatever  he  has  already  by  right  or  by  prescrip- 
tion ;  though  we  are  jealous — jealous  even  to  slaying — of  any 
one  who  by  hint,  allusion,  or  suggestion,  throws  a  doubt  upon 
our  own  title  to  anything  which  we  already  have.  We  are 
by  nature  unwilling  to  relinquish,  though  we  are  not  desirous 
to  acquire. 

The  actual  Government  of  the  last  century  carried  out 
these  principles  fairly  and  well ;  but  it  is  probable  that  any 
other  Government  which  the  English  people  would  have 
borne  would  have  done  so  equally.  A  more  democratic 
Government  would  perhaps  have  been  more  warlike ;  but  an 
English  democracy  will  probably  never  be  very  warlike ;  it 
will  never  engage  in  a  continued  series  of  intentional  aggres- 
sions ;  least  of  all  would  it  have  done  so  in  the  last  century, 
when  there  was  no  struggle  in  Europe  which  could  arouse  the 

16* 


244         THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNREFORMED 

popular  passions,  and  no  cause  which  could  interest  pro- 
foundly the  popular  imagination.  The  wars  of  Protestantism 
had  passed  away,  and  the  wars  of  Jacobinism  had  not  yet 
begun.  It  is  possible  that  a  more  democratic  Government 
would,  with  its  inherent  aggressive  instincts,  have  inter- 
fered somewhat  more  in  the  petty  wars  of  circumstance  and 
occasion  which  complicate  the  history  of  the  last  century, 
and  make  it  so  tedious  to  us  now.  But  we  did  interfere  a 
good  deal  in  them  as  it  was.  For  an  aristocracy,  ours  has 
never  been  a  pacific  aristocracy.  It  is  in  many  ways  their 
boast,  their  pride,  and  their  merit,  that  they  have  less  of  the 
distinctive  peculiarities  of  an  aristocracy  than  any  other  which 
has  ever  existed  ;  they  claim  justly  to  have  a  more  popular 
interest,  and  a  more  vigorous  sympathy.  The  blame  that 
attaches  to  them  is  similar :  they  have  shown  the  same 
qualities  in  the  defects  of  their  Government ;  they  have  had 
but  little  of  the  refining,  calculating,  diplomatic  habit  which 
usually  characterises  the  policy  of  an  hereditary  class  that  has 
much  to  lose  in  war,  and  much  to  enjoy  in  peace.  The 
English  aristocracy  is  the  most  warlike  of  great  aristocracies, 
and  the  English  nation  is  the  least  warlike  of  free  nations. 
Few  of  the  many  threads  of  union  which  so  richly  pervade 
our  social  system  have  been  more  influential  than  this  one. 
We  have  had  much  of  martial  manliness  where  we  should 
have  expected  but  little ;  we  have  had  much  of  apathetic  in- 
difference where  we  might  have  looked  for  an  aggressive 
passion.  The  warmth  above  has  been  greater,  and  that 
below  less,  than  a  theorist  would  have  expected ;  and  there- 
fore our  social  fabric  has  been  more  equable  in  temperature 
than  we  should  have  ventured  to  predict. 

In  the  quiet  times,  therefore,  of  the  middle  part  of  the 
eighteenth  century  there  is  no  particular  reason  for  believing 
that  our  old  system  gave  a  much  better  or  a  much  worse 
representation  to  the  national  voice  than  any  other  system 
might  have  been  expected  to  give.  In  the  more  troubled 
times  of  the  American  war  and  the  French  war,  there  is 
even  less  reason  to  think  that  any  other  system  would  h 
varied  much  the  course  of  our  policy.  We  should  have  tried 


PARLIAMENT,  AND  ITS  LESSONS  245 

to  conquer  America  under  any  Government ;  and  we  should 
have  tried  to  resist  the  aggressive  proselytism  of  France  under 
any  Government.  We  may  form  our  own  opinions  now  of 
the  expediency,  the  justice,  or  the  possibility  of  these  at- 
tempts ;  we  may  think  that  the  American  war  showed  national 
narrow-mindedness,  and  the  French  war  showed  national  irrita- 
bility ;  but  the  indubitable  fact  remains,  that  both  the  one 
and  the  other  were  popular  in  their  day,  and  that  both  were 
thoroughly  acceptable  to  the  community  at  large  as  well  as  to 
the  aristocracy. 

There  is,  however,  great  and  conclusive  reason  to  believe 
that,  during  the  later  period  of  its  existence,  the  old  system 
of  representation  had  an  inherent  defect  peculiar  to  itself, 
which,  if  it  did  not  disqualify  it  altogether  for  giving  a  correct 
embodiment  to  national  opinion,  made  it  much  less  likely 
than  most  other  systems  of  representation  to  do  so  perfectly. 
The  social  condition  of  England  had  undergone  a  series  of 
very  extensive  changes  between  the  time  of  the  accession  of 
the  House  of  Hanover  and  the  year  1832.  A  new  world — a 
world  of  industry  and  manufacture — had  been  created  ;  new  in- 
terests had  arisen  ;  new  modes  of  thought  had  been  awakened ; 
new  habits  of  mind  had  been  engendered.  The  mercantile 
and  manufacturing  classes,  which  had  risen  to  influence,  were 
naturally  unrecognised  by  the  ancient  constitution ;  they 
lived  under  its  protection,  but  they  were  unknown  to  its 
letter ;  they  had  thoughts  which  it  did  not  take  account  of, 
and  ideas  with  which  it  was  inconsistent.  The  structure  of 
English  society  was  still  half  feudal,  and  its  new  elements 
were  utterly  unfeudal.  It  was  impossible  to  subject  Lanca- 
shire, such  as  it  became,  to  the  dominion  of  any  aristocracy, 
however  ancient  and  long-descended  it  might  be.  Such 
rulers  were  not  fitted  for  such  subjects,  nor  were  such  subjects 
fitted  for  such  rulers.  Between  the  two  classes  there  was  a 
contrast  which  made  the  higher  unintelligible  to  the  lower, 
and  the  lower  disagreeable  to  the  higher.  Education,  more- 
over, was  diffusing  itself.  The  political  intelligence  of  the 
aristocratic  classes  was  no  longer  so  superior  to  that  of  other 
classes  as  it  had  formerly  been.  The  necessary  means  of 


246         THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNREFORMED 

information  were  more  widely  accessible  than  they  had  been, 
and  were  very  extensively  used.  The  contrast  between  the 
constitution  of  England  and  England  itself  in  consequence 
became  day  by  day  greater  and  greater,  and  at  last  became 
unendurable.  We  have  not  space  to  go  into  detail  on  this 
part  of  the  subject,  and  it  is  not  necessary  to  go  into  detail 
about  it.  If  it  had  not  been  for  the  terror  excited  throughout 
Europe  by  the  French  revolution,  the  old  system  of  Parlia- 
mentary representation  could  hardly  by  possibility  have  lasted 
as  long  as  it  did.  In  the  end  it  passed  away;  and  the 
recollection  of  the  evils  of  its  latter  time  has  obscured  the 
remembrance  of  its  former  usefulness.  As  we  have  shown, 
it  long  gave  us  a  Parliament  coincident  in  judgment  with  the 
nation ;  it  maintained  upon  the  throne  the  dynasty  under 
which  we  live,  and  secured  the  foundations  of  English  liberty. 
It  long  worked  well,  and  if  at  last  it  worked  ill,  the  excuses 
for  its  doing  so  were  many.  It  had  survived  all  that  was  akin 
to  it,  and  was  in  contact  with  everything  which  was  most 
discordant  to  it.  A  constitution  which  was  adapted  to  the 
England  of  1700  must  necessarily  have  been  adapted  to  the 
England  of  1832.  Changes  so  momentous  as  there  had  been 
between  those  years  in  our  society  required  and  enforced  an 
equivalent  alteration  in  our  polity. 

Such  is  the  general  result  of  this  long  examination  of  our 
old  system  of  representation  in  the  main  quality  of  a  represen- 
tative system — that  by  which  above  all  others  it  must  stand 
or  fall — its  coincidence  with  the  real  national  opinion.  We 
see  that  this  is  a  mixed  and  a  complicated,  but  not  on  the 
whole  an  unsatisfactory  one.  We  will  now  shortly  examine 
our  old  system  in  three  other  respects.  Did  it  give  a  means 
of  expression  to  the  views  of  all  classes  ?  Did  it  secure  to  us 
really  strong  administrations?  Did  it  train  for  us  efficient 
statesmen  ?  If  we  can  in  any  way  answer  these  questions,  it 
will,  we  think,  be  admitted  that  we  have  discussed  the  most 
important  part  of  the  subject,  and  examined  our  former  system 
of  representation  by  the  tests  that  are  most  stringent  and 
satisfactory. 

In  the  second  requisite  of  the  representative  system,  that 


PARLIAMENT,  AND  ITS  LESSONS  247 

which  existed  in  England  in  the  last  century  must  be  considered 
to  have  been  successful.     It  gave  a  means  of  expression  to  all 
classes  whose  minds  required  an  expression.     The  mercantile 
and  trading  class  had  not,  as  we  have  just  explained,  their  due 
weight  in  the  system  of  government ;  they  did  not  regulate 
all  that  they  should  have  regulated,  or  control  all  that  they 
should  have  controlled ;  but  they  had  always  the  means  of 
expressing  their  sentiments.     They  had  not,  especially  in  the 
later  times,  a  representation  proportioned  to  their  intelligence 
and  their  influence ;  but  they  always  had  some  representation. 
The  gentry  were  not  only  represented,  but  over-represented. 
Especially  during  the  closing  years  of  the  eighteenth  century 
and  the  first  few  years  of  the  nineteenth,  their  influence  was 
unreasonably  great,  and  their  despotism  absolute.     They  ruled 
the  country  without  check  and  without  resistance ;  they  were 
subject  only  to  a  weak  and  modified  remonstrance ;  they  had 
but  to  listen   in  the  House  of  Commons  to  the  speeches  of 
those  whom  they  could  immeasurably  outvote ;  they  had  but 
to  quell  out  of  doors  the  unrecognised  murmurs  of  an  unor- 
ganised  multitude,  which  had  long  obeyed  them,  which  was 
still  ready  to  obey  them,  which  did  not  know  its  own  power. 
With  respect  to  the  lowest  class  of  all,  the  working  of  our 
own  system  of  representation  is  peculiarly  instructive.     That 
system,  by  its  letter,  attempted  to  throw  a  good  deal  of  power 
into  their  hands.     In  a  great  number  of  boroughs  the  suffrage, 
as  we  have  seen,  was  practically  all  but  universal ;  all  inhabitant 
householders  not  receiving  alms  very  frequently  had  votes. 
What   is    now  so   much  desired,   the    representation    of  the 
working-classes,  then  really  existed.      In  Stafford,  in  Coventry, 
and   in  other  places,  the   lowest  classes  were  preponderant. 
Those  classes  had  then  the  means  of  making  their  voice  heard, 
and  their  sentiments  known  in  Parliament.     They  had  some 
influence  in  the  State,  though  they  did  not  rule  the  State. 
In  theory   our  constitution   was  at  that  time  in  this  point 
perfect.     As  we  read  the  description  of  it,  we  believe  that 
nothing  could  be  better.      In  practice  it  was  a  failure.     The 
trial   of  the  experiment  demonstrated  that   it   is  useless  to 
provide  means  for  expressing  the  political  thoughts  of  classes 


248 


THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNREFORMED 


who  have  no  such  thoughts.  The  freemen  of  Stafford  and 
Coventry  did  not  send  to  Parliament  members  who  really  and 
truly  expressed  the  opinions  and  sentiments  of  the  working- 
classes,  because  the  working-classes  had  no  opinion  on  matters 
of  legislation  and  administration,  and  had  only  vague  ideas  of 
what  was  passing  in  their  time.  For  the  most  part,  they  used 
the  power  which  was  given  to  them,  not  as  an  opportunity  of 
influence,  but  as  a  source  of  income.  They  did  not  think  of 
it  as  something  by  which  they  could  control  the  rich,  but  as 
something  which  they  could  sell  to  the  rich.  Sheridan  has 
left  an  amusing  document  as  to  the  constituency  of  Stafford. 
They  probably  did  not  expect  that  so  unbusinesslike  a  person 
should  have  preserved  so  businesslike  a  document ;  but  it  is  as 
follows : — 

R.  B.  Sheridan^  Esq.     Expenses  at\  the  Borough   of  Stafford  for 

Election  anno  1784. 
248  Burgesses,  paid  £5     50  each         ....       ^1302     o     o 

Yearly  Expenses  since. 


House-rent  and  taxes         .     . 

23 

6 

6 

Servant   at   6s.   per   week    \ 
board  wages     .     .     .     .   / 

IS 

12 

o 

Ditto,  yearly  wages       .     .     . 

8 

8 

0 

Coals,  etc.             

10 

0 

0 

C7     6     6 

J  /       u       u 

Ale-tickets            

40 

o 

o 

Half  the  member's  plate     . 

25 

o 

o 

Swearing  young  burgesses     . 

IO 

o 

o 

Subscription  to  the   Infirmary 

5 

5 

o 

Ditto  clergymen's  widows 

2 

2 

0 

Ringers 

* 

A 

o 



•f 

86  ii     o 

One  year     . 

143   17     6 

Multiplied  by 

years 

6 

863    5     o 

Total  expense  of  six  years'  Parliament,  exclusive 
of  expense  incurred  during  the  time  of  election 
and  your  own  annual  expenses  ....  ^2165  5 

Corruption  of  this  kind,  and  perhaps  sometimes  greater  in 
degree,  prevailed  in  almost  every  town  in  which  the  suffrage 


PARLIAMENT,  AND  ITS  LESSONS  249 

was  very  extended.  As  the  wealth  of  the  country  grew,  the 
price  of  votes  became  greater.  If  the  old  system  of  representa- 
tion had  endured  till  now,  we  can  scarcely  estimate  how 
great  it  would  by  this  time  have  become.  Experience  proved 
what  our  theories  suggest,  that  the  enfranchisement  of  the 
corruptible  is  in  truth  the  establishment  of  corruption. 

In  one  respect,  however,  the  representation  of  the  working- 
classes  which  we  formerly  had  in  this  country  may  be  con- 
sidered to  have  been  successful.  The  towns  in  which  the 
suffrage  was  practically  universal  at  times  sent  to  the  House 
of  Commons,  not  spokesmen  of  their  own  grievances,  but 
spokesmen  of  grievances  in  general.  Sir  Francis  Burdett  is 
but  the  type,  and  the  best-known  instance,  of  a  whole  class  of 
members  who,  in  former  times,  were  always  ready  to  state  any 
one's  complaints,  without  much  inquiry  whether  they  were 
true ;  to  bring  forward  a  case,  without  much  asking  whether 
it  were  very  well  founded ;  to  make  a  general  declamation 
about  the  sufferings  of  the  country  which  was  a  kind  of  caveat 
against  abuses  in  general,  and  might  be  construed  as  a  protest 
against  any  particular  one  which  chanced  to  occur.  Such 
undiscriminating  and  vague  invectives  had  their  use.  They 
prevented  gross  instances  of  administrative  harshness — at  least 
they  tended  to  prevent  them.  They  prevented  the  air  of 
politics  from  becoming  stagnant ;  they  broke  the  monotony 
of  class  domination.  But  it  may  be  questioned  whether,  on 
the  whole,  their  influence  was  beneficial.  These  reckless 
orators  had  but  little  moral  weight ;  they  were  too  ready 
with  their  statements  to  get  them  trusted,  they  were  too 
undiscriminating  in  their  objections  for  those  objections  to 
|  have  influence.  A  weak  Opposition  is  commonly  said  to  be 
more  advantageous  to  a  Government  than  no  Opposition  at  all ; 
it  gives  an  impression  to  the  public  that  all  which  can  be  said 
against  the  plans  of  the  Cabinet  has  been  said ;  it  gives  an 
impression  that  what  is  unchecked  is  checked,  that  what  is 
uncontrolled  is  controlled.  It  diminishes  the  practical  re- 
sponsibility of  an  administration,  by  diminishing  the  popular 
conception  of  its  power.  In  the  same  way,  the  vague 
demagogues  who  occasionally  appeared  in  the  old  House  of 


2So         THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNREFORMED 

Commons  did  not  weaken  the  substantial  power  of  the  classes 
that  ruled  there.     They  were  "his  Majesty's"  objectors.     It 
was  their  province  to  say  that  whatever  was  done  was  done 
wrong.     It  was  not  therefore  of  much  consequence  what  the 
administration    did.     They  were  sure  of  its   being  opposed, 
they  were  sure  of  its  being  carried ;  and  they  had  therefore 
the  advantage  of  complete  power  without  the  odium  of  enforc- 
ing silence.     A  despotism  disguised  in  this  manner  is  perhaps 
more  uncontrolled  than  any  other  despotism : — such,  however, 
was  the  mode  in  which  the  attempt  of  our  old  system  of  re- 
presentation to  give  special  members  to   the  lowest  cl; 
really  operated.      It  failed   in  what    may   be   considered   it 
characteristic  function.     The  ideas    of  the    lowest  classes  01 
politics    were  still  unheard   in  the  legislature,  because    those 
classes  had  no  ideas.     A  confused  popular  feeling  sometime 
sent  popular  orators  to  Parliament.     But  the  kind  of  indi< 
criminate   objection  and    monotonous    invective  which    tho< 
orators  made  use  of  without  ceasing,  seem  to  have  been  rathe 
an  assistance   than  an  obstruction    to  the  governing  clas 
The  lesson  of  the  whole   history  indubitably  is,  that  it  is  ii 
vain  to  lower  the  level  of  political  representation  beneath  the 
level    of  political   capacity ;  that  below  that   level   you  ma} 
easily   give   nominal    power,   but   cannot    possibly   give   re 
power ;  that  at  best  you  give  a  vague  voice  to  an  unreasonii 
instinct,  that  in  general  you  only  give  the  corruptible  an  oj 
portunity  to  become  corrupt. 

It    is   often  said,  and   commonly  believed,  that   the   ol< 
system   of  representation   secured,    under  almost   all  circum- 
stances, the  existence  and  the  continuance  of  what  is  called 
a  strong  Government :  it  is  believed  that  under  that  system  tl 
administration  of  the  day  had    almost  always  the  power  t< 
carry  any  legislative  measure  which  it  deemed  beneficial,  am 
to  do  any  executive  act  which  it  might  think  fit      Histor 
however,  when  it  is  accurately  reviewed,  affords  little  or  nc 
confirmation  of  this  idea.    Many  parts  of  the  history  of  Englanc 
during  the  existence  of  our  old  constitution  bear,  on  the  ve 
face  of  them,  the  most  conspicuous  evidence  that  there  was  thei 
no  security  for  the  existence  of  a  strong  executive  Government 


PARLIAMENT,  AND  ITS  LESSONS  251 

Many  administrations  during  the  last  century,  so  far  from 
being  pre-eminently  powerful,  were  not  moderately  coherent. 
The  earlier  part  of  George  the  Third's  reign  is  simply  the 
history  of  a  series  of  feeble  Governments,  which  had  little 
power  to  act  as  they  intended,  or  to  legislate  as  they  desired. 
The  traditional  notion  of  the  strength  of  Governments  in 
former  times  is  founded  upon  the  enormous  strength  of  the 
administrations  which  successively  directed  the  long  struggle 
with  France  and  Napoleon.  The  French  revolution  frightened 
the  English  nation ;  it  haunted  the  people  of  that  generation 
so  much,  that  they  could  not  look  anywhere  but  they  imagined 
they  saw  the  traces  of  it.  Priestley  interpreted  the  prophecies 
by  means  of  it ;  Mitford  wrote  Grecian  history  by  the  aid  of  it. 
If  its  effect  was  so  striking  in  the  out-of-the-way  parts  of 
literature,  in  politics  its  effect  might  well  be  expected  to  be 
extreme.  It  was  extreme.  The  English  people  were  terrified 
into  unity.  They  ceased  to  be  divided  into  Parliamentary 
sections,  as  their  fathers  were  divided,  or  as  their  grandchildren 
are  now  divided.  The  process  by  which  the  unanimity  of  the 
nation  created  a  corresponding  unanimity  in  the  House  of 
Commons  was  simple  and  was  effectual.  The  noblemen  and 
gentlemen  who  had  the  greatest  influence  in  the  counties,  and 
a  certain  number  of  whom  were  proprietors  of  boroughs — the 
class  which,  as  we  have  seen,  had  a  despotic  control  over  the 
House  of  Commons  as  it  then  was — felt  the  antipathy  to 
French  principles  as  much  as  any  other  class ;  perhaps  they 
did  not  feel  it  more,  though  some  persons  have  thought  they 
did,  than  the  rest  of  the  nation  ;  but  they  undoubtedly  did  not 
feel  it  less.  The  Parliament  was  as  united  in  its  dislike  to 
Jacobinism,  and  in  its  resistance  to  Napoleon,  as  the  nation 
was  ;  and  it  could  not  be  more  so.  The  large  majorities, 
therefore,  of  the  administrations  of  Mr.  Pitt  and  Lord  Liver- 
pool, are  not  attributable  to  any  peculiar  excellence  in  the 
Parliamentary  constitution  of  that  period  ;  any  tolerable  system 
of  Parliamentary  representation  would  equally  have  produced 
them  ;  the  country  was  too  united  for  even  an  approximate 
representation  of  it  not  to  be  so. 

It  is  undoubtedly,  however,  believed  by  very  many  persons 


252         THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNREFORMED 

that  the  old  system  of  representation    contained   a    peculiar 
machinery  for  securing  the  strength  of  the  executive.     This 
theory,  it  has  been  well    observed,  constituted  the  "  esoteric 
doctrine  of  the  Tory  party.     The  celebrated  question  asked  by 
the  Duke  of  Wellington,  '  How  is  the  king's  Government  to  be 
carried   on  if  the  bill  passes  ? '    which  has   since   received 
practical  answer,  indicates  without  concealment  the  real  vie 
of  English  government  entertained    by   him    and   his  party. 
They  held  that  if  the  majority  of  the  House  of  Commons  con- 
sisted of  persons  not  nominated  by  great  borough  proprietor 
but  freely  chosen  by  genuine  popular  election,  the  Government 
could  not  be  carried  on.     They  believed  it  to  be  necessai 
that  a  Government  should  repose  upon  an  immovable  phalan: 
of  members  for  close  boroughs  ;  and  that  the  members  returne< 
for  open  seats  should  be  a  minority,  who  would  confine  them- 
selves to  criticising  the  Government  in  their  speeches,  without 
being  able  to  shake  its  stability  by  their  votes."  1    In  this  con- 
ception there  was,  indeed,  an  obvious  difficulty :  it  provid< 
that  a  large  majority  in  Parliament  should  be  always  main- 
tained by  the  close    union  of  the  members  for   the   small< 
boroughs.     But  who  was  to  keep  those  members  themselve 
united?     They  represented  only  the  proprietors  of  their  re 
spective  seats,   and  who  was  to  keep  either  them    or  those 
proprietors  always  of  one  mind?     If  the  nation  at  large  was 
divided,  why  should  not  these  persons  partake  of  the  division  ? 
The  advocates  of  this  theory  had  a  ready  answer ;  they  said 
that  the  proprietors  of  the  boroughs,  and  the  members  for 
them,  were  to  be  kept  on  the  side  of  the  Government  by  means 
of  the  patronage  of  the  Government ;  they  thought  that  place 
should  be  offered  to  the  borough  owners  and  to  the  borouj 
members  for  their  friends  and  for  themselves ;  and  that  in  this 
way  they  might  be  kept  united,  and  be  always  induced  to  suj 
port  the  administration.     This  theory  was  not  a  theory  merely 
it  was  reduced  to  practice  by  several  Prime  Ministers — by  the 
Duke  of  Newcastle,  by  Sir  Robert  Walpole,  and  by  others. 
Those  who  tried  it  had  undoubtedly  a  great  advantage ;  the 
had  the  materials  that  were  needful,  they  had  the  patronage. 

1  Edinburgh  Review,  Jan.  1859. 


PARLIAMENT,  AND  ITS  LESSONS  253 

We  have  no  space  to  inquire  how  the  establishments  of  the 
last  century  came  to  be  so  cumbrous ;  but  most  cumbrous 
they  were.  We  are  amazed  nowadays  at  the  names  of  the 
old  sinecures,  at  the  number  of  half-useless  places,  at  what 
seems  the  childish  lavishness  of  the  public  offices ;  but  this 
profusion,  though  not  perhaps  created  for  a  purpose,  was  used 
for  a  purpose.  Old  feudal  offices,  which  had  once  served  to 
mark  the  favour  or  the  gratitude  of  the  Crown,  were  employed 
as  a  kind  of  purchase-money  to  buy  the  adhesion  of  Parlia- 
mentary proprietors :  peerages,  too,  were  used  to  the  same 
end ;  all  the  available  resources  of  the  age,  were,  in  truth,  con- 
centrated upon  it.  In  part  this  consistent  exertion  of  very 
great  means  of  influence  was  effectual ;  sometimes  it  really  did 
make  a  Government  strong ;  and  some  writers,  who  have  not 
duly  weighed  the  facts  of  history,  have  believed  that  it  always 
must  do  so  :  but  there  are  in  its  very  nature  three  fundamental 
defects,  which  must  always  hinder  its  working  for  a  long  period 
with  constant  efficiency. 

In  the  first  place,  the  theory  of  this  machinery  is  that  the 
patronage  of  the  Crown  is  to  be  used  to  purchase  votes.  But 
who  is  to  use  the  patronage  ?  The  theory  assumes  that  it  is  to 
be  used  by  the  Minister  of  the  day.  According  to  it,  the  head 
of  the  party  which  is  predominant  in  Parliament  is  to  employ 
the  patronage  of  the  Crown  for  the  purpose  of  confirming  that 
predominance.  But  suppose  that  the  Crown  chooses  to  object 
to  this ;  suppose  that  the  king  for  the  time  being  should  say, 
"  This  patronage  is  mine ;  the  places  in  question  are  places  in 
my  service ;  the  pensions  in  question  are  pensions  from  me : 
I  will  myself  have  at  least  some  share  in  the  influence  that  is 
acquired  by  the  conferring  of  those  pensions,  and  the  distribu- 
tion of  those  places  ".  George  III.  actually  did  say  this.  He 
was  a  king  in  one  respect  among  a  thousand :  he  was  willing 
to  do  the  work  of  a  Secretary  of  the  Treasury ;  his  letters  for 
very  many  years  are  filled  with  the  petty  details  of  patronage ; 
he  directed  who  should  have  what,  and  stipulated  who  should 
not  have  anything.  This  interference  of  the  king  must  evi- 
dently in  theory,  and  did  certainly  in  fact,  destroy  the  efficiency 
of  the  alleged  expedient.  Very  much  of  the  patronage  of  the 


254         THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNREFORMED 

Crown  went,  not  to  the  adherents  of  the  Prime  Minister,  because 
they  were  his  adherents,  but  to  the  king's  friends,  because  they 
were  his  friends.     Many  writers  have   been  very  severe   on 
George  III.  for  taking  the  course  which  he  did  take,  and  have 
frequently  repeated  the  well-known  maxims  which  show  that 
what  he  did  was  a  deviation  from  the  constitution.     Very  likely 
it  was ;  but  what  is  the  use  of  a  constitution  which  takes  n< 
account  of  the  ordinary  motives  of  human  nature?     It    wa< 
inevitable  that  an  ambitious   king,  who  had  industry  enougl 
to  act  as  he  did,  would  so  act.     Let  us  consider  his  positioi 
He  was  invested  with  authority  which  was  apparently  great. 
He  was  surrounded  by  noblemen  and  gentlemen  who  pas< 
their  life  in  paying  him  homage,  and  in  professing  perha{ 
excessive  doctrines    of  loyal  obedience  to   him.     When   tl 
Duke  of  Devonshire,  or  the  Duke  of  Bedford,  or  the  Duke 
Newcastle  approached  the  royal  closet,  they  implied  by  woi 
and  manners  that  the  king  had  immeasurably  more  power  thai 
they  had.     In  fact,  it  was  expected  that  he  should  have  im- 
measurably less.     It  was  expected  that,  though  these  nobl< 
men  daily  acknowledged  that  he  was  their  superior,  he  shouk 
constantly  act  as  if  he  were  their  inferior.     The  Prime  Ministei 
was,  in  reality,  appointed  by  them,   and  it  was  expected  thai 
the  king  should  do  what  the  Prime  Minister  told  him  ;  that 
he  should  assent  to  measures  on  which  he  was  not  consulted 
that  he  should  make  peace  when  Mr.  Grenville  said  peace 
right ;  that  he  should  make  war  whenever  Mr.  Grenville  sai< 
war  was  right ;  that  he  should  allow  the  offices  of  his  hous 
hold  and  the  dignitaries  of  his  court  to  be  used  as  a  means  foi 
the  support  of  Cabinets  whose  members  he  disliked,  and  whose 
policy  he  disapproved  of.      It  is  evident  that  no  man  who  was 
not  imbecile  would  be  content  with  such  a  position.     It  is  not 
difficult  to  bear  to  be  without  power,  it  is  not  very  difficult  to 
bear  to  have  only  the  mockery  of  power ;  but  it  is  unbearabl 
to  have  real  power,  and  to  be  told  that  you  must  center 
yourself  with  the  mockery  of  it ;  it  is  unendurable  to  have  ii 
your  hands  an  effectual  instrument  of  substantial  influence,  an< 
also  to  act  day  by  day  as  a  pageant,  without  any  influen< 
whatever.     Human  nature  has  never  endured  this,  and  we  ma} 


PARLIAMENT,  AND  ITS  LESSONS  255 

be  quite  sure  that  it  never  will  endure  it.  It  is  a  fundamental 
error  in  the  "  esoteric  theory  "  of  the  Tory  party,  that  it  assumed 
the  king  and  the  Prime  Minister  to  be  always  of  the  same 
mind,  while  they  often  were  of  different  minds. 

A  still  more  remarkable  defect  in  the  so-called  strength 
procured  under  the  old  system  of  representation  by  the  use  of 
patronage,  was  the  instability  of  that  strength.  It  especially 
failed  at  the  moment  at  which  it  was  especially  wanted.  A 
majority  in  Psrliament  which  is  united  by  a  sincere  opinion, 
and  is  combined  to  carry  out  that  opinion,  is  in  some  sense 
secure.  As  long  as  that  opinion  is  unchanged,  it  will  remain ; 
it  can  only  be  destroyed  by  weakening  the  conviction  which 
binds  it  together.  A  majority  which  is  obtained  by  the  em- 
ployment of  patronage  is  very  different ;  it  is  combined  mainly 
by  an  expectation.  Sir  Robert  Walpole,  the  great  master  in 
the  art  of  dispensing  patronage,  defined  gratitude  as  an  anti- 
cipation of  future  favour ;  he  meant  that  the  majority  which 
maintained  his  administration  was  collected,  not  by  recollec- 
tion, but  by  hope ;  they  thought  not  so  much  of  favours 
which  were  past  as  of  favours  which  were  to  come.  At  a 
critical  moment  this  bond  of  union  was  ordinarily  weak.  If 
the  Minister  of  the  day  should  fail,  he  would  confer  favours 
no  longer ;  the  patronage  that  was  coveted  would  pass  into 
the  gift  of  the  Minister  who  succeeded  him.  The  expectation 
upon  which  a  Minister's  strength  under  the  old  system  of  re- 
presentation was  based,  varied,  therefore,  with  the  probability 
that  he  would  succeed.  It  was  most  potent  when  it  was 
certain  that  the  Minister  would  be  victorious ;  it  was  weak 
and  hesitating  when  it  was  dubious  whether  he  might  not  be 
beaten  and  retire.  In  other  words,  that  source  of  strength 
was  prolific  when  it  was  not  wanted ;  when  it  was  wanted,  it 
was  scarcely  perceptible.  In  a  time  of  doubt  and  difficulty 
every  member  of  such  a  majority  inevitably  distrusted  his 
neighbour.  If  others  deserted  the  Government,  his  support 
would  be  useless  to  the  Minister,  and  pernicious  to  himself. 
A  man  who  wanted  places  would  wish  to  support,  not  the 
administration  which  was  about  to  go  out,  but  the  administra- 
tion which  was  just  coming  in.  A  curious  example  of  this 


256         THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNREFORMED 

tendency  is  preserved  in  the  memoirs  of  Lord  Rockingham. 
"  I  will  go  through,"  said  the  Duke  of  Newcastle,  the  Minister 
who  was  just  going  out — "  I  will  go  through  the  elections  as 
well   as  I  can,  and  endeavour  to  see  what  they  (the  Court) 
really  intend.      I  think  it  is  too  late  for  them  to  do  any  mis- 
chief.    They  may  be  disagreeable,  and  defeat  some  of  our 
friends,  and  act  directly  contrary  to  what  they  promised ;  but 
they  can't  now  alter  the  tone  and  complexion   of  the  new 
Parliament :  that  is  all  settled,  and  so  far  my  staying  in  to 
this  time  has  been  of  use."     On  the  above  letter  the  secom 
Lord  Hardwicke  has  made  the  following  remark  :  "  Notwith- 
standing the  choice  of  the   Parliament,  which  the  Duke  ol 
Newcastle  piques  himself  upon,  they  forsook  him  for  Lore 
Bute  when  his  standard  was  set  up  ".     Lord  Bute  was  of  coui 
the  Minister  who  was  about  to  come  in,  and  who,  after  a  vei 
brief  interval,  did  come  in.      In  like   manner,   much   of  the 
strength  of  Sir  Robert  Walpole  passed  to  Mr.  Pelham,  am 
Mr.  Addington  succeeded   to   much  of  Mr.  Pitt's.     In  th< 
cases,  as  soon  as  it  became  pretty  clear  that  the  Minister  ol 
the  day  would  soon  cease  to  be  such,  almost  all  the  Parlh 
mentary  following,  which  was  procured  by  the  expectation 
receiving  from  him  places  and  pensions,  very  rapidly  melt< 
away. 

It  was,  of  course,  still  more  certain  that  when  the  Ministe 
of  the  day  had  really  ceased  to  be  Minister,  and  was  not  likeb 
to  return,  no  one  thought  much  about  him.  The  power  that 
was  gained  by  the  use  of  patronage  was  not  only  unstable  ii 
the  popular  sense  of  being  weak  and  easily  overthrown,  but 
it  was  unstable  also  in  the  peculiar  sense  in  which  the  math< 
maticians  use  that  word,  for  when  overthrown,  it  was  ve 
difficult  to  set  it  up  again.  It  had  not  any  intrinsic  tenden< 
to  return  of  itself  to  the  state  of  equilibrium.  The  best  ex- 
ample of  this  is  to  be  found  in  one  of  the  features  of  the  ol< 
system  of  representation  which  is  most  frequently  regarded 
strengthening  the  Government.  There  were  certain  borough' 
called  Treasury  boroughs,  in  which  there  were  dockyards 
other  Government  establishments,  and  in  which  the  administra- 
tion for  the  time  being  had,  as  such,  a  predominant  influence. 


PARLIAMENT,  AND  ITS  LZSSONS  257 

These  boroughs  ensured  the  Minister  who  was  in  power  at 
each  Parliamentary  election  some  sixteen  votes.  But  the 
singular  insecurity  of  such  a  source  of  strength  is  very  clear. 
The  existence  of  it  was  a  premium  upon  dissolutions.  A  new 
administration  could  certainly  count  in  a  new  Parliament  on 
diminishing  their  adversaries'  strength  by  a  considerable 
number  of  votes,  and  on  augmenting  their  own  strength  by 
the  same  number  of  votes,  also.  When  parties  were  equally 
divided,  such  a  foundation  of  power  could  not  but  be  weak. 
A  Minister  might  possess  it  to-day ;  but  if  his  adversary  should 
come  in  and  dissolve,  it  would  cease  to  aid  him,  and  begin  to 
aid  that  adversary.1 

This  characteristic  instability  of  a  majority  procured  by 

patronage  inevitably  weakened   the    confidence   of  a    Prime 

!  Minister  in  a  struggle  with  the  Crown.     Theoretical  writers 

j  have  often  blamed  the  successive  Prime  Ministers  of  George  III. 

for  permitting  him  to  interfere  with  the  distribution  of  what 

i  was,  by  the  ordinary  theory  of  the  constitution,  their  patronage. 

But  they  could  not  help  it.     The  king  had  at  critical  moments 

1  The  following  is  the  list  given  of  the  Government  boroughs  : — 

Treasury. 
Dartmouth      .........     2 

Dover    ..........     I 

Harwich          .........     2 

Hythe 2 

Windsor          .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .  I 

Hampshire 2 

Yarmouth  (Norfolk) i 

—  n 
Admiralty. 

Queenborough i 

Rochester i 

Sandwich        .........     2 

-  4 
Ordnance. 

Queenborough i 

Total  number  of  members  returned  by  Government  in 

England  and  Wales  only         .         .         .         .         16 
The  whole  representation  of  Scotland  was  in  much  the  same  position. 
VOL.  III.  17 


258         THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNREFORMED 

the  power  of  saying  who  should  be  Minister.  He  could  at 
least,  in  times  when  the  divisions  were  close  and  the  Govern- 
ment was  weak,  at  any  moment  transfer  the  purchasing  power 
from  the  head  of  the  administration  to  the  leader  of  the  Oppo- 
sition. It  was  in  consequence  impossible  for  any  Minister  on 
dubious  occasions  to  refuse  the  king  a  share  in  the  patronage. 
If  he  did  not  concede  some  of  it,  he  would  in  all  likelihood 
lose  the  whole  of  it. 

A  third  inherent  defect  in  the  administrative  strength  ol 
tained  by  the  use  of  patronage  is  its  certain  unpopularity 
Mankind  call  it  corruption.  Refined  reasoners  may  prove, 
fancy  they  prove,  that  it  is  desirable ;  they  may  demonstral 
that  it  is  possiby  in  some  degree  inevitable ;  but  {they  will  neve 
induce  ordinary  men  to  like  it.  Of  all  Governments,  it  is  tl 
least  impressive  to  the  popular  imagination.  It  seems  not  onl 
to  have  vice  for  its  adjunct,  but  vice  for  its  principle.  Al 
Governments  are  feeble  which  cannot  appeal  with  confidei 
to  the  moral  instincts  of  their  subjects ;  but  it  appears  alm< 
impudent  in  this  one  to  attempt  to  do  so.  It  exists  becai 
it  has  successfully  applied  bad  motives  to  men  susceptible 
bad  motives.  As  the  secret  of  its  power  appears  to  be  be 
it  loses  its  hold  over  the  loyalty  of  mankind.  We  have 
this  exemplified  in  a  conspicuous  instance  in  France.  Tl 
monarchy  of  Louis  Philippe  was  weak  because  it  was  believe 
to  be  maintained  by  bribery  and  to  be  supported  from  immoi 
motives.  The  same  cause  long  weakened,  and  was  at  last  tl 
chief  agent  in  destroying,  the  long,  prosperous,  and  able  Minist 
of  Sir  Robert  Walpole.  It  was  to  no  purpose  that  he  goverru 
well ;  it  was  to  no  purpose  that  he  administered  general  affaii 
consummately,  or  that  he  regulated  the  finances  wisely ;  it  We 
to  no  purpose  that  he  showed  that  those  who  opposed  him  we 
impelled  to  do  so  by  very  mean  motives :  no  defensive 
siderations  availed  him.  It  was  believed  that  his  Governme 
was  maintained  by  corruption,  and  a  kind  of  disgust  gradual! 
grew  up  towards  it,  long  impaired,  and  at  length  annihilat 
it.  Every  Government  under  the  old  system  of  representatic 
that  continued  long  in  office  was  sure  to  contract  this  staii 
that  of  Lord  Liverpool  did  not  escape  it.  There  were  sure 


PARLIAMENT,  AND  ITS  LESSONS  259 

be  some  instances  of  misapplied  patronage,  which  inevitably 
incurred  the'censure  and  irritated  the  feelings  of  thinking  men. 
This  unpopularity  is  a  source  of  more  continued  weakness  to 
a  Government  than  would  be  at  first  sight  imagined.  It  might 
be  thought  that  an  administration  with  plenty  of  votes  would 
have  plenty  of  courage ;  but  it  is  not  so.  A  certain  timidity 
belongs  to  all  oligarchies,  and  to  an  unpopular  oligarchy — to 
an  oligarchy  that  is  believed  to  rest  upon  corruption — above 
all.  It  is  timid  at  every  outcry,  and  it  yields  whenever  it  can. 
In  the  plenitude  of  power  Sir  Robert  Walpole  did  not  press 
his  excise  scheme,  though  it  was  a  wise  one,  and  though  he 
was  sure  that  it  was  so ;  he  felt  that  at  a  crisis  he  was  weak, 
that  the  popular  odium  was  not  compensated  by  Parliamentary 
support.  Make  what  refined  devices  we  may,  in  every  free 
Government  any  strong  opinion  that  possesses  the  multitude 
will  be  powerful ;  it  will  not  be  least  powerful  where  the  Govern- 
ment is  conscious  that  it  rests  upon  a  basis  which  is  odious  to 
common  men,  and  which  therefore  shuns  a  popular  scrutiny. 

For  these  reasons,  therefore,  we  think,  when  the  subject  is 
accurately  examined,  the  supposed  strength  which  the  adminis- 
trations of  the  last  century  are  commonly  said  to  have  derived 
from  the  employment  of  patronage  was  a  strength  rather  seem- 
ing than  substantial.  It  added  to  the  strength  of  administra- 
tions otherwise  strong,  and  that  did  not  need  it ;  but  it  was 
not  in  its  nature  to  strengthen  those  which  were  weak,  or  to 
!aid,  as  it  is  sometimes  believed  to  have  aided,  tottering  adminis- 
trations in  a  fatal  division. 

But  even  for  this  strength,  such  as  it  was,  the  people  of 
the  last  century  paid  a  very  heavy  price.  They  purchased  it 
by  the  almost  total  sacrifice  of  efficiency  in  administration. 
jWe  can  hardly  at  the  present  day  conceive  how  utterly  feeble 
that  administration  formerly  was ;  nor  have  we  space  to  go 
into  the  details  of  the  subject.  But  one  test  on  the  subject 
bay  be  easily  used ;  we  mean  the  test  of  success.  Our  ad- 
ministrative system  was  subjected  in  the  last  century  to  three 
pf  the  most  searching  tests  of  efficiency.  It  was  tried  by  a 
prolonged  riot  in  the  capital,  by  a  rebellion  within  the  island, 
py  the  resistance  of  our  greatest  colonies.  If  any  events  can 

17* 


260         THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNREFORMED 

bring  out  the  latent  vigour  of  an  administration,  these  would 
probably  bring  it  out.  They  did  not,  however,  do  so.  We 
all  know  the  utter  feebleness  and  miserable  inefficiency  wit! 
which  the  mobs  of  1780  were  resisted,  if  resistance  it  can 
called.  We  know  that  London  was  then  almost  as  much 
the  mercy  of  its  worst  inhabitants  as  Paris  has  ever 
But  it  is  not  so  generally  known  that  similar  events  nearly 
bad,  though  not  quite  as  bad,  had  happened  before ;  but  the 
did  happen.  In  Hume's  Correspondence  there  is  a  curious 
scription  of  the  riots  of  1765  :  "Another  very  extraordinai 
event  is  the  riot  which  the  silk-weavers  have  made  for  soi 
days  past.  They  got  a  bill  passed  in  the  House  of  Commoi 
to  prevent  more  effectually  the  importation  of  foreign  sill 
which  the  Duke  of  Bedford  threw  out  in  the  House  of  Loi 
The  next  day,  above  ten  thousand  of  these  people  came 
to  the  House,  desiring  redress,  with  drums  beating  and  colours 
flying.  They  attacked  the  Duke  of  Bedford  in  his  chariot,  and 
threw  so  large  a  stone  at  him,  that  if  he  had  not  put  out  his 
hand,  and  saved  his  head  by  having  his  thumb  cut  to  the  bor 
he  must  have  been  killed.  He  behaved  with  great  resolutioi 
and  got  free  of  them  ;  since  which  time  he  has  remained  bk 
aded  in  his  own  house,  and  defended  by  the  troops.  Yesterday 
the  same  number  of  weavers  assembled  again  at  the  House  of 
Lords,  where  the  horse  and  foot  guards  were  to  secure  the 
entry  for  the  peers.  The  mob  were  ranged  before  the  soldier 
and  their  colours  were  playing  in  the  faces  of  his  Majest 
troops.  The  degree  of  security  with  which  these  people 
mit  felony  seems  to  me  the  most  formidable  circumstance 
the  whole :  they  carry  in  their  whole  deportment  so  mi 
tranquillity  and  ease,  that  they  do  not  seem  apprised  of  tl 
illegality  of  their  proceedings.  It  is  really  serious  to  see  tl 
legislature  of  this  country  intimidated  by  such  a  rabble ;  ar 
to  see  the  House  of  Lords  send  for  Justice  Fielding,  to  h< 
him  prove  for  how  many  reasons  he  ought  not  to  do  his  dui 
The  Duke  of  Bedford  is  still  in  danger  of  his  life  if  he  goes  01 
of  his  house;  and  we  expect  to  see  the  same  number  of  peoj 
assembled  every  day,  till  something  more  vigorous  is  done  thi 
any  one  has  yet  chosen  to  propose.  The  spirit  of  robbing 


PARLIAMENT,  AND  ITS  LESSONS  261 

gone  forth  in  this  nation  to  a  degree  that  we  have  not  ex- 
perienced this  century  past,  and  it  will  not  be  found  so  easy  a 
matter  to  quell  it "  (pp.  55,  56). 

No  description  can  be  more  graphic  of  the  weakness  of 
a  feeble  administration,  unmoved  by  evident  danger.  We 
need  not  dwell  on  the  other  instances  of  inefficiency  to  which 
we  have  alluded.  In  1745,  the  administration  of  the  day — 
a  divided  and  discordant  administration,  it  is  true — permitted 
a  small  body  of  half-disciplined  Highlanders  to  advance  into 
the  centre  of  England.  So  imperfect  were  their  arrangements, 
that  some  good  judges  of  evidence  have  thought  that  if  Charles 
Edward  had  pushed  on  towards  London,  he  might  have  suc- 
ceeded in  taking  it.  The  war  with  our  North-American 
Colonies  was  conducted  with  as  little  wisdom  and  energy ;  it 
could  not  be  with  less.  The  whole  strength  of  the  empire 
was  never  put  forth ;  and  historians  have  often  wondered  at 
the  series  of  petty  expeditions  and  inconclusive  conflicts  with 
which  so  great  a  country  as  England  endeavoured  to  reduce 
so  great  a  country  as  America.  Lord  North's  Government 
was  perhaps  somewhat  feebler  than  many  of  the  Governments 
of  the  last  century  ;  but  even  if  so,  it  is  only  because  it  exhibits 
the  characteristic  defects  belonging  to  them  all  in  a  con- 
spicuous and  aggravated  form.  It  was  not  exceptionally 
inefficient,  but  characteristically  inefficient. 

The  explanation  of  this  inefficiency  is  simple.  It  was 
i  caused  by  the  abuse  of  patronage  ;  or  rather,  to  speak  the 
language  of  the  old  Tory  theory,  by  the  use  of  it  to  bribe 
members  of  Parliament  and  proprietors  of  boroughs.  George 
II.  is  reported  to  have  said  to  Sir  Robert  Walpole,  "  I  won't 
I  have  my  army  jobbed  away  for  your  members  :  it  shan't  be". 
!  It  had  been,  however ;  and  the  state  of  the  English  army  at 
the  commencement  of  the  long  war  with  France  is  a  con- 
clusive proof  of  it.  Burke,  in  his  speech  on  economical 
reform,  has  explained  this  point  with  more  humour  than  is 
usual  with  him  : — 

"There  was  another  disaster  far  more  doleful  than  this. 
I  shall  state  it,  as  the  cause  of  that  misfortune  lies  at  the 
bottom  of  almost  all  our  prodigality.  Lord  Talbot  attempted 


262         THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNREFORMED 

to  reform  the  kitchen ;  but  such,  as  he  well  observed,  is  the   I 
consequence   of  having   duty    done   by    one    person,   whilst   i 
another  enjoys  the  emoluments,  that  he  found  himself  frustrated    i 
in  all  his  designs.     On  that  rock  his  whole  adventure  split — 
his  whole  scheme  of  economy  was  dashed  to  pieces ;  his  de- 
partment became  more  expensive  than  ever ;  the  Civil   List    i 
debt  accumulated — why  ?     It  was  truly  from  a  cause  which,    i 
though  perfectly  adequate  to  the  effect,  one  would  not  have    j 
instantly  guessed — it  was  because  the  turnspit  in  the  king's   \ 
kitchen  was  a  member  of  Parliament}-     The  king's  domestic 
servants  were  all  undone  ;  his  tradesmen  remained  unpaid  and 
became  bankrupt — because  the  turnspit  in  the  king's  kitchen 
a  member  of  Parliament.     His  Majesty's   slumbers  were   in- 
terrupted, his  pillow  was  stuffed  with  thorns,  and  his  peace  oi 
mind  entirely  broken — because  the  king's  turnspit  was  a  mei 
of  Parliament.     The  judges  were  unpaid ;  the  justice  of  the 
kingdom  bent  and  gave  way ;  the  foreign  Ministers  remaine 
inactive  and  unprovided  ;  the  system  of  Europe  was  dissolved 
the   chain   of  our   alliances    was   broken ;  all   the    wheels 
Government  at  home  and  abroad  were  stopped — because 
king's  turnspit  was  a  member  of  Parliament"     The  efficient 
of  the  public  offices  was  sacrificed,  in  order  that  the  best 
in  them  might  be  better  used  as  Parliamentary  purchase-mont 
It  would  have  been  a  heavy  price  to  pay,  even  for  a  Govern- 
ment that  was  really  strong. 

It  is  curious,  that  though  under  our  old  constitution 
heavy  a  price  was  paid  for  Parliamentary  support,  and  so  little 
support  was  at  critical  moments  obtained  for  that  price,  the 
Governments  of  that  day  did  very  little  with  the  stren^ 
which  they  so  bought,  after  they  had  bought  it.  We  nowadays 
consider  that  the  first  use  which  a  Prime  Minister  will  make  of 
a  large  majority,  is  to  legislate  with  it.  In  the  last  centui 
men  did  not  think  so.  Lord  John  Russell  justly  said  in  th< 
House  of  Commons,  that  there  was  no  statute,  no  act 
legislation,  which  we  can  connect  with  or  can  trace  to  Loi 
Chatham,  who  was  the  most  celebrated  Minister  of  Englar 

1  Vide  "  Lord  Talbot's  speech,  in  Almond's  Parliamentary  Register 
vol.  vii.,  p.  79,  of  the  proceedings  of  the  Lords  ". 


PARLIAMENT,  AND  ITS  LESSONS  263 

during  the  last  century.  There  have  been  a  greater  number 
of  important  Acts  of  Parliament  passed  in  the  last  twenty 
years  than  in  the  previous  hundred  and  twenty.  The  people 
of  England,  a  hundred  years  ago,  and  their  Parliament  also, 
were  habitually  satisfied  with  their  existing  institutions :  they 
did  not  care  to  abolish  any  of  these,  or  to  introduce  any  new 
ones.  Accordingly,  when  the  Minister  at  that  time  had  bought 
his  majority,  he  had  nothing  to  do  with  it  except  to  keep  him- 
self Minister. 

On  the  whole,  therefore,  we  do  not  think  that  our  old 
system  of  representation  is  entitled  to  the  credit  which  it  has 
often  received  for  causing  and  maintaining  strong  administra- 
tions. The  ingenious  devices  which  it  contained  seem  to  us 
to  have  failed  whenever  they  were  really  wanted  ;  and  we  con- 
clude, from  the  entire  history  of  the  last  century,  that  Govern- 
ments were  then  only  strong  when  public  opinion  was  definite 
and  decided,  and  when  that  is  so  they  will  be  strong  now. 

The  only  one  of  our  questions  as  to  our  old  system  of  re- 
presentation that  is  still  unanswered  is,  What  was  the  degree 
of  its  suitability  for  training  and  developing  statesmen  ?  Lord 
Macaulay  has  in  more  than  one  part  of  his  writings  expressed 
a  doubt  whether  all  representative  systems  are  not  in  this 
respect  defective.  They  require,  he  says,  that  an  influential 
statesman  should  be  an  orator,  and  especially  a  ready  and  de- 
bating orator ;  and  this,  he  considers,  is  inexpedient.  He 
appears  to  believe,  both  that  the  practice  of  debating  injures 
the  intellect,  and  that  the  conviction  of  its  necessity  makes  a 
statesman  prize  and  practise  qualities  which  are  not  essential 
to  his  true  calling  in  preference  to  those  which  really  are  so. 
He  believes  that  the  statesman  is  induced  to  think  more  of  the 
House  of  Commons,  and  of  the  effect  which  his  measures  would 
produce  there,  than  is  desirable;  and  also,  that  the  habit  of 
defending  those  measures  by  very  questionable  arguments  dis- 
organises the  intellect  of  a  statesman  and  renders  it  much  less 
fit  than  it  would  otherwise  be  for  the  investigation  of  import- 
ant truths.  There  is  doubtless  some  truth  in  these  ideas ;  the 
practical  working  of  a  representative  Government  often  tends 
to  produce  these  hurtful  effects  upon  the  minds  of  the  states- 


264         THE  HISTORY  OF  THE   UNREFORMED 

men  who  are  eminent  under  it.  And  not  only  so.  All  free 
Governments  are  to  some  extent  unfavourable  to  much  origin- 
ality of  mind  in  their  influential  statesmen.  They  necessitate 
an  appeal  to  the  people ;  and  the  mind  of  the  people  is  almost 
by  definition  ordinary  and  commonplace.  The  opinions  of  the 
majority  of  mankind  necessarily  partake  of  these  qualities ; 
and  those  who  have  to  please  that  majority  must  in  all  ages, 
to  some  extent,  cultivate  them.  And  these  are  serious  disad- 
vantages. But,  on  the  other  hand,  it  may  be  fairly  believed 
that  no  system  which  has  yet  been  devised  secures  for  the 
most  eminent  statesmen  in  a  nation  so  large  a  number  of  great 
qualities  as  are  necessary  for  the  Prime  Minister  under  a  well- 
developed  system  of  Parliamentary  government.  It  is  true, 
that  a  man  who  is  eminent  in  that  position  may  not  be  in 
the  least  eminent  in  abstract  or  original  reflection ;  it  is 
possible  that  he  may  be  beneath  the  average  capacity  of  men 
in  that  respect.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  this  defect  is  not 
peculiar  to  a  Parliamentary  system  of  government.  No 
device  has  yet  been  suggested  for  securing  the  supremacy  in 
the  State  to  persons  capable  of  original  thought.  A  Prime 
Minister  under  a  Parliamentary  constitution  must  have  a  very 
great  number  of  other  great  qualities.  He  must  be  a  man  of 
business  long  trained  in  great  affairs  ;  he  must  be,  if  not  a  great 
orator,  a  great  explainer ;  he  must  be  able  to  expound  with 
perspicuity  to  a  mixed  assembly  complicated  measures  and  in- 
volved transactions  ;  he  must  be  a  great  party  leader,  and  have 
the  knowledge  of  men,  the  easy  use  of  men,  and  the  miscella- 
neous sagacity,  which  such  eminence  necessarily  implies ;  he 
must  be  a  ready  man,  a  managing  man,  and  an  intelligible 
man :  and  under  no  other  system  of  government  with  which 
we  are  acquainted  is  there  any  security  that  all  these,  or  an 
equal  number  of  other,  important  qualities  will  constantly  be 
found  in  the  ruler  of  a  nation.  All  these  qualities  the  system 
of  representation  which  existed  in  England  during  the  last 
century  secured  to  the  utmost.  We  might  easily  run  over  the 
names  of  the  eminent  statesmen  whom  it  produced,  but  it  is 
needless ;  we  know  that  they  were  eminent,  and  we  know  that 
they  were  many.j 


PARLIAMENT,  AND  ITS  LESSONS  265 

A  claim  has  often  been  made  on  behalf  of  the  old  close 
boroughs,  that  the  number  and  the  greatness  of  these  statesmen 
is  due  to  them.  A  very  long  list  of  the  names  of  the  statesmen 
who  were  brought  into  Parliament  during  the  last  century  by 
those  boroughs  is  set  forth,  and  it  is  alleged  that  the  excellence 
of  these  great  statesmen  was  a  conspicuous  advantage  which 
resulted  from  the  machinery  that  introduced  them  to  public 
life.  But  to  this  argument  there  will  be  found,  when  the  sub- 
ject is  narrowly  examined,  to  be  several  important  quali- 
fications. 

In  the  first  place,  a  great  number  of  remarkable  men  un- 
doubtedly came  into  Parliament  under  the  old  system  of  repre- 
sentation by  means  of  the  close  boroughs,  simply  and  solely 
because  that  was  at  that  time  the  readiest  and  simplest  mode 
of  coming  in.  If  any  other  mode  had  been  the  readiest,  they 
would  have  availed  themselves  of  that  instead.  Take  the  case 
of  Sir  Robert  Walpole.  Had  any  man  that  ever  lived  more  of 
the  qualities,  the  good  and  the  bad  qualities,  of  a  great  popular 
candidate  ?  He  was  genial,  sagacious,  and  unsensitive.  He 
would  have  managed  the  mob,  and  managed  the  attorney,  and 
managed  the  electors,  better  almost  than  any  other  of  our  re- 
markable statesmen ;  yet  he  came  in  for  a  close  borough. 
Circumstances  threw  that  mode  of  entering  public  life  into  his 
path,  and  he  took  advantage  of  it  immediately ;  but  if  the 
system  of  representation  then  prevailing  in  England  had  been 
a  different  one,  he  would  have  taken  advantage  of  that  also. 
We  must  not  give  the  close  boroughs  a  peculiar  credit  for  all 
the  eminent  statesmen  who  entered  into  the  House  of  Commons 
by  means  of  them,  but  only  for  such  of  the  great  statesmen  as 
from  the  nature  of  their  mind  and  the  peculiarity  of  their  cir- 
cumstances, would  most  likely  not  have  entered  Parliament  in 
any  other  way ;  and  these  are  not  many. 

This  is  one  great  qualification.  A  still  more  important  one 
remains.  A  great  number  of  able  men  came  into  Parliament 
formerly  who  do  not  appear  there  now,  because  there  was 
a  motive  to  enter  it  at  that  time  which  does  not  now  exist. 
Public  life  was  in  the  last  century  not  only  a  career,  but  a 
livelihood.  It  was  possible  to  make  a  subsistence,  and  even 


266         THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  VNREFORMED 

a  fortune,  by  it.  Take  the  case  of  the  first  Lord  Liverpool : 
he  was  a  man  of  no  extraordinary  genius  or  unequalled 
abilities ;  he  was  simply  a  man  of  plain,  strong,  ordinary 
understanding  ;  he  had  good  sense,  and  good  habits  of  busi- 
ness :  he  had  no  qualities  which  a  very  great  number  of  young 
men  in  every  generation  may  not  be  sure  that  they  have. 
Nevertheless  he  began  life  with  scarcely  any  money,  he  passed 
a  long  life  in  the  service  of  the  State,  he  lived  in  affluence, 
and  he  provided  amply  for  his  family.  The  possibility  of  such 
a  career  could  not  but  render  public  life  in  the  highest  degree 
attractive.  Fortune  as  well  as  fame  were,  it  was  evident,  to 
be  obtained  in  it  by  sound  abilities  and  good  management. 
In  consequence,  a  very  great  number  of  young  men  were  glad 
to  enter  Parliament ;  and  if  the  same  incentives  had  been 
continued  to  the  present  day,  when  education  is  so  much 
more  general,  and  social  advantages  so  much  more  diffused, 
it  is  difficult  to  say  how  much  that  number  might  not  have 
been  by  this  time  augmented.  If  the  places  and  pensions, 
the  patent  offices  and  the  sinecures,  from  which  the  profit- 
ableness of  public  life  was  derived,  were  still  in  existence, 
very  many  of  the  ablest,  the  most  cultivated,  and  the  most 
interesting  young  men  in  every  generation  would  be  desirous 
to  enter  Parliament.  They  would  throng  any  avenue  which 
was  open  for  their  purpose ;  they  would  address,  and  perhaps 
not  unsuccessfully,  the  electors  of  boroughs,  whether  small  or 
large ;  they  would  attempt  to  gain  a  share  of  our  county 
representation,  exclusive  as  that  still  in  some  degree  is.  We 
perhaps  are  not  likely  to  see  again  in  England  a  time  when 
public  life  will  afford  the  means  of  subsistence,  as  well  as  the 
opportunities  of  ambition.  We  do  not,  on  the  whole,  regret 
the  change  that  has  taken  place.  We  do  not  say  that  it  should 
be  lamented ;  but  it  has  its  disadvantages.  The  public 
cannot  expect  to  be  so  well  served  by  its  statesmen  now  that 
it  is  served  gratuitously,  as  it  was  when  it  paid  highly  for  their 
services.  Instead  of  the  number  of  remarkable  statesmen  who 
were  introduced  into  the  House  of  Commons  by  means  of  the 
close  boroughs  being  so  great  as  to  excite  our  wonder,  we  may 
rather  be  surprised  that  it  was  not  greater.  The  incentives  to 


PARLIAMENT,  AND  ITS  LESSONS  267 

a  public  career  were  then  so  strong,  that  we  may  wonder  that 
more  remarkable  persons  did  not  enter  upon  it.  The  close 
boroughs  must  have  been  almost  as  much  an  impediment  as 
an  aid,  or  the  number  of  statesmen  attracted  in  the  last  century 
to  the  service  of  the  nation  must  have  been  much  larger  than 
in  fact  it  was. 

Such  was  in  part  the  case.  The  close  boroughs  did  not, 
in  truth,  introduce  conscientious  and  scrupulous  men  to  an 
attractive  position  in  public  life.  The  position  of  a  member 
nominated  to  the  representation  of  a  close  borough  by  its 
proprietor  was  a  position  of  dependence.  He  was  an  employe. 
He  had  to  vote  as  often  as,  and  just  as,  the  owner  of  the 
borough  told  him.  If  he  did  not  do  so,  he  might  at  the  next 
election  be  excluded  entirely  from  public  life,  or  be  obliged 
to  search  through  the  list  of  borough  owners  for  a  new  patron. 
Even  when  the  member  for  a  close  borough  was  permitted  to 
exercise  his  own  judgment,  the  public  would  scarcely  believe 
that  he  was  so.  They  attributed  all  which  he  did  to  the 
influence  of  the  proprietor  of  his  seat ;  and  if  there  chanced  to 
be  an  apparent  difference  of  opinion,  they  were  more  disposed 
to  attribute  some  sinister  design  to  the  owner  of  the  borough 
than  any  substantial  independence  to  the  member  for  it.  The 
votes  of  a  nominated  member  were  not  regarded  as  his  own, 
even  when  in  fact  they  were  so.  As  we  might  expect,  persons 
of  high  character  and  sensitive  nature  shrank  from  this  depen- 
dence. They  could  not  endure  that  it  should  be  said  that 
they  had  no  control  over  the  course  which  they  adopted  in 
politics ;  the  possibility  of  the  supposition  that  they  must 
vote  according  to  the  edict  of  some  one  else  was  nearly  as 
odious  as  the  having  so  to  vote.  A  curious  example  of  this 
inevitable  tendency  in  men  of  high  and  susceptible  natures 
may  be  found  in  the  life  of  Sir  Samuel  Romilly.  He  avowedly 
preferred  the  purchase  of  a  seat  to  a  position  in  which  he 
might  be  imagined  to  be  dependent.  He  preferred  to  be  the 
member  for  a  borough  which  was  publicly  known  to  be  com- 
monly venal,  to  being  the  member  for  a  borough  of  which 
a  nobleman  or  gentleman  who  took  a  genuine  interest  in 
politics  was  the  proprietor.  He  preferred  its  being  known 


268         THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNREFORMED 

that  he  had  bought  his  seat,  to  the  possibility  of  a  suspicion 
that  he  held  it  upon  a  tenure  of  base  service.  In  very  many 
cases,  which  cannot  now  be  known  by  us,  an  analogous  feeling 
must  have  prevented  shrinking  and  delicate  men  from  occupy- 
ing the  seats  for  rotten  boroughs,  or  from  associating  with  the 
great  noblemen  who  owned  them.  Aristocratic  patronage  is 
never  very  pleasant  to  men  of  this  character ;  and  it  is  unen- 
durable to  them  that  such  patronage  should  be  the  basis  of 
their  career,  and  an  essential  pre-requisite  to  habitual  life 
Exceptional  instances  apart,  the  close  boroughs  were  rather 
an  obstruction  than  an  opening  to  persons  of  original  minds 
and  delicate  dispositions. 

Nor  was  it  natural  that  the  owners  of  boroughs  should 
commonly  desire  to  introduce  such  men.  If  these  proprietors 
had  views  of  their  own,  they  selected  men  who  would  give 
effect  to  those  views ;  and  these  would  ordinarily  be  men  of 
pliant  characters  and  unsuggestive  intellects.  If  such  pro- 
prietors had  no  opinion,  they  ordinarily  put  the  seat  up  to 
auction  in  the  market,  and  got  as  much  money  as  they  could 
get  for  it.  Nor,  in  the  few  cases  in  which  noblemen  introduced 
men  of  the  highest  order  of  minds  into  Parliament,  and  in 
which  they  treated  them  with  tenderness  and  delicacy,  were 
they  by  any  means  disposed  to  admit  them  to  an  equality 
with  themselves,  or  with  the  near  connections  of  great  families. 
They  reserved  high  office  as  much  as  possible  for  themselves, 
and  for  those  who  mingled  by  right  of  birth  in  their  own 
society  ;  and  believed  that  they  had  done  much  in  giving  the 
opportunity  of  a  public  career  and  the  profit  of  a  minor  place 
to  able  men  of  humbler  station  whom  they  had  brought  into 
the  House  of  Commons.  The  Rockingham  party,  the  best 
party  that  ever  was  composed  of  the  associated  proprietors  of 
close  boroughs,  thus  treated  Mr.  Burke,  who  was  the  greatest 
man  who  ever  sat  for  a  close  borough.  We  cannot  but  be 
indignant  at  such  conduct ;  we  cannot  help  saying  that  it 
showed  high-bred  exclusiveness,  and  aristocratic  narrowness  of 
mind  :  but  we  also  cannot  help  perceiving  that  it  was  natural. 
The  same  thing  would  be  sure  to  happen  again  in  any  similar 
circumstances.  The  owners  of  seats  inevitably  believed  that 


PARLIAMENT,  AND  ITS  LESSONS  269 

they  were  theirs ;  that  they,  and  that  men  of  their  family  and 
their  station,  had  an  evident  right  to  enjoy  whatever  was  most 
desirable  in  the  consequences  of  them.  They  believed  that 
they  had  a  right  to  their  own,  and  to  all  it  produced.  His- 
torians may  lament  that  Lord  John  Cavendish  was  preferred 
to  Mr.  Burke  ;  but  if  the  old  system  of  representation  were 
once  more  re-established,  a  similar  phenomenon  would  happen 
again  :  the  near  connections  of  the  large  proprietors  of  Par- 
liamentary property  would  again  be  preferred  by  those  pro- 
prietors to  all  others.  The  universal  tendencies  of  human 
nature  ensure  that  it  should  be  so. 

On  the  other  hand,  although  the  close  boroughs  did  not 
aid  men  of  able  minds  and  sensitive  natures  in  the  entrance  to 
public  life,  they  did  aid  men  of  able  minds  and  coarse  natures. 
The  latter  were  willing  to  be  dependents,  and  were  able  to  be 
serviceable  dependents  ;  they  were  inclined  to  be  slaves,  and 
were  able  to  be  useful  slaves.  The  pecuniary  profits  derivable 
from  a  public  career,  the  places  and  pensions  open  to  and 
readily  obtainable  by  an  able  public  man,  brought  a  large 
number  of  such  men  into  Parliament.  We  need  not  cite  many 
instances,  for  the  fact  is  evident.  The  entire  history  of  the 
last  century  is  full  of  such  men — as  Mr.  Rigby,  as  the  first 
Lord  Holland,  as  Budd  Doddington.  The  suspicion  of  de- 
pendence, and  the  reality  of  aristocratic  patronage,  were  easily 
endured  by  men  of  covetous  dispositions  and  vulgar  characters  : 
they  only  desired  to  have  as  much  as  possible  of  whatever 
profits  were  obtainable,  and  whatsoever  the  path  to  great  pro- 
fits might  be,  that  was  the  road  for  them.  And  independently 
of  these  extreme  cases,  the  close  boroughs  tended  to  fill  the 
House  of  Commons  with  men  of  commonplace  opinions  and 
yielding  characters,  who  accepted  the  creed  of  their  patrons 
very  easily,  and  without,  in  all  ordinary  cases,  any  conscious 
suppression  of  their  own.  Their  preferences  were  so  languid, 
that  they  were  not  conscious  of  relinquishing  them.  The 
facile  flexibility  of  decorous  mediocrity  is  one  of  the  most 
obvious  facts  of  human  nature ;  and  it  is  one  of  the  most 
valuable  facts,  for  without  it  the  requisite  union  of  great 
political  parties  would  scarcely  be  attainable. 


270         THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNREFORMED 

Such  and  so  great  seem  to  us  the  deductions  which  are  to 
be  made  from  the  common  belief  that  the  close  boroughs 
tended  to  open  the  House  of  Commons  to  men  of  original 
minds  and  refined  dispositions.  They  are  so  great,  as  to  make 
it  dubious  whether  that  observation  has  even  a  nucleus  of 
truth  ;  they  indisputably  show  that  in  its  ordinary  form  it  is 
an  extreme  exaggeration  ;  and  they  suggest  a  doubt  whether 
as  much  or  more  may  not  be  said  for  the  very  opposite  of  it. 

We  have  now,  therefore,  completed  our  long  investigation. 
We  have  inquired  whether  our  old  system  of  Parliamentary 
representation  did  or  did  not  give  us  a  Parliament  substantially 
accordant  with  the  true  public  opinion  of  the  English  nation ; 
whether  it  gave,  to  all  classes  who  had  political  ideas  to  ex- 
press, the  means  of  expressing  them ;  whether  it  had  any 
peculiar  tendency  to  produce  great  and  original  statesmen. 
What,  then,  are  the  results  which  we  have  learned  from  this 
investigation  ?  What  are  the  lessons  which  this  remarkable 
history,  when  it  is  examined,  tends  to  teach  us  ? 

First,  we  should  learn  from  it  to  distrust  complicated 
expedients  for  making  strong  administrations,  and  refined 
expedients  for  producing  wise  and  able  statesmen.  The 
sole  security  upon  which  we  can  depend  for  a  strong  Govern- 
ment is  a  consistent  union  in  the  nation.  If  we  have  that, 
we  shall  have  a  strong  Government  under  any  tolerable  Parlia- 
mentary system  ;  and  if  we  have  not  that,  we  shall  not  have 
under  any  a  really  strong  Government  on  ordinary  occasions. 
The  true  security  for  having  a  sufficient  supply  of  good  states- 
men is  to  maintain  a  sufficient  supply  of  good  constituencies. 
We  need  not  regret  the  rotten  boroughs,  if  we  have  instead  of 
them  an  adequate  number  of  tolerably  educated  and  not  too 
numerous  constituencies,  in  which  the  great  majority  of  the 
voters  are  reasonably  independent  and  tolerably  incorrupt. 
There  is  nothing  in  either  of  these  two  respects  very  valuable 
in  our  old  system  of  representation.  It  did  not  secure  to  us 
an  unusual  number  of  coherent  and  powerful  administrations  ; 
it  did  not  of  itself  give  us  an  exceptionally  great  number  of 
able  and  honest  statesmen. 

Secondly,  we  should   learn  from   the  history  of  the  last 


PARLIAMENT,  AND  ITS  LESSONS  271 

century  that  it  is  perfectly  idle  to  attempt  to  give  political 
power  to  persons  who  have  no  political  capacity,  who  are  not 
intellectual  enough  to  form  opinions,  or  who  are  not  high- 
minded  enough  to  act  on  those  opinions.  This  proposition 
is  admitted  in  words ;  everybody  says  it  is  a  truism.  But  is 
it  admitted  in  reality?  Do  not  all  the  ordinary  plans  for  a  uni- 
form extension  of  the  suffrage  practically  deny  it  ?  Will  not 
their  inevitable  effect  be,  in  the  smaller  and  poorer  boroughs 
at  least,  to  throw,  or  to  attempt  to  throw,  much  power  into 
the  hands  of  the  voters  who  are  sure  to  be  ignorant,  and  who 
are  almost  sure  to  be  corrupt  ? 

Lastly,  the  events  of  the  earlier  part  of  the  last  century 
show  us — demonstrate,  we  may  say,  to  us — the  necessity  of 
retaining  a  very  great  share  of  power  in  the  hands  of  the 
wealthier  and  more  instructed  classes — of  the  real  rulers  of 
public  opinion.  We  have  seen  that  we  owe  the  security  of 
our  present  constitutional  freedom  to  the  possession  by  these 
classes  of  that  power :  we  have  learned  that  under  a  more 
democratic  system  the  House  of  Stuart  might  have  been  still 
upon  the  throne ;  that  the  will  of  the  numerical  majority  in 
the  nation  would  probably  have  placed  it  there,  and  would 
probably  have  kept  it  there ;  that  the  close  boroughs  of 
former  times  gave,  in  an  indirect  form  arid  in  an  objectionable 
manner,  the  requisite  influence  to  the  instructed  classes ;  and 
we  must  infer,  therefore,  that  we  should  be  very  cautious  how 
we  now  proceed  to  found  a  new  system,  without  any  equivalent 
provision,  and  with  no  counterbalancing  weight,  to  the  scanty 
intelligence  of  very  ordinary  persons  and  to  the  unbridled 
passions  of  the  multitude. 

If  we  duly  estimate  the  significance  of  these  conclusions, 
we  shall  perhaps  think  that  to  have  been  once  more  reminded 
of  them,  at  a  critical  instant,  is  a  result  of  sufficient  signifi- 
cance to  justify  this  protracted  investigation,  and  an  adequate 
apology  for  the  detail  which  has  been  necessary  to  render  it 
intelligible. 


MR.  GLADSTONE.1 

(1860.) 

WE  believe  that  Quarterly  essayists  have  a  peculiar  mission  in 
relation  to  the  characters  of  public  men.  We  believe  it  is 
their  duty  to  be  personal.  This  idea  may  seem  ridiculous  to 
some  of  our  readers ;  but  let  us  consider  the  circumstances 
carefully.  We  allow  that  personality  abounds  already,  that 
the  names  of  public  men  are  for  ever  on  our  lips,  that  we 
never  take  up  a  newspaper  without  seeing  them.  But  this 
incessant  personality  is  wholly  fragmentary ;  it  is  composed 
of  chance  criticism  on  special  traits,  of  fugitive  remarks  on 
temporary  measures,  of  casual  praise  and  casual  blame.  We 
can  expect  little  else  from  what  is  written  in  haste,  or  is  spoken 
without  limitation.  Public  men  must  bear  this  criticism  as  they 
can.  Those  whose  names  are  perpetually  in  men's  mouths 
must  not  be  pained  if  singular  things  are  sometimes  said  of 
them.  Still  some  deliberate  truth  should  be  spoken  of  our 
statesmen,  and  if  Quarterly  essayists  do  not  speak  it,  who 
will  ?  We  fear  it  will  remain  unspoken. 

Mr.  Gladstone  is  a  problem,  and  it  is  very  remarkable  that 
he  should  be  a  problem.  We  have  had  more  than  ordinary 
means  for  judging  of  him.  He  has  been  in  public  life  for 
seven  and  twenty  years ;  he  has  filled  some  of  the  most  con- 
spicuous offices  in  the  State;  he  has  been  a  distinguished 
member  of  the  Tory  party ;  he  is  a  distinguished  member  of 
the  Liberal  party ;  he  has  brought  forward  many  measures ; 
he  has  passed  many  years  in  independent  Opposition,  which 

1  Speech  of  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  on  the  Finance  of  the 
Year  and  the  Treaty  of  Commerce  with  France.  Delivered  in  the  House 
of  Commons  on  Friday,  loth  February,  1860.  Corrected  by  the  Author. 

272 


MR.  GLADSTONE  273 

is  unquestionably  the  place  most  favourable  to  the  display  of 
personal  peculiarities  in  Parliament ;  he  is  the  greatest  orator 
in  the  House  of  Commons  ;  he  never  allows  a  single  important 
topic  to  pass  by  without  telling  us  what  he  thinks  of  it ; — and 
yet,  with  all  these  data,  we  are  all  of  us  in  doubt  about  him. 
What  he  will  do,  and  what  he  will  think,  still  more,  why  he 
will  do  it,  and  why  he  will  think  it,  are  qucestiones  vexatce  at 
every  political  conjuncture.  At  the  very  last  ministerial  crisis, 
when  the  Government  of  Lord  Derby  was  on  the  verge  of  ex- 
tinction, when  every  vote  on  Lord  John's  resolution  l  was  of 
critical  importance,  no  one  knew  till  nearly  the  last  hour  how 
Mr.  Gladstone  would  vote,  and  in  the  end  he  voted  against 
his  present  colleagues.  The  House  of  Commons  gossips  are 
generally  wrong  about  him.  Nor  is  the  uncertainty  confined 
to  Parliamentary  divisions ;  it  extends  to  his  whole  career. 
Who  can  calculate  his  future  course?  Who  can  tell  whether 
he  will  be  the  greatest  orator  of  a  great  administration  ;  whether 
he  will  rule  the  House  of  Commons ;  whether  he  will  be,  as 
his  gifts  at  first  sight  mark  him  out  to  be,  our  greatest  states- 
man ?  or  whether,  below  the  gangway,  he  will  utter  unintelligible 
discourses ;  will  aid  in  destroying  many  ministries  and  share 
in  none ;  will  pour  forth  during  many  hopeless  years  a  bitter, 
a  splendid,  and  a  vituperative  eloquence  ? 

We  do  not  profess  that  we  can  solve  all  the  difficulties 
that  are  suggested  even  by  the  superficial  consideration  of  a 
character  so  exceptional.  We  do  not  aspire  to  be  prophets. 
Mr.  Gladstone's  destiny  perplexes  us — perhaps  as  much  as  it 
perplexes  our  readers.  But  we  think  that  we  can  explain  much 
of  his  past  career ;  that  many  of  his  peculiarities  are  not  so 
unaccountable  as  they  seem ;  that  a  careful  study  will  show 
us  the  origin  of  most  of  them  ;  that  we  may  hope  to  indicate 
some  of  the  material  circumstances  and  conditions  on  which 
his  future  course  depends,  though  we  should  not  be  so  bold  as 
to  venture  to  foretell  it. 

During  the  discussion  on  the  Budget,  an  old  Whig  who 
did  not  approve  of  it,  but  who  had  to  vote  for  it,  muttered  of 

1  On  the  Parliamentary  Reform  Bill  brought  forward  by  Lord  Derby's 
Government  in  1859. 

VOL.  III.  1 8 


274  MR.  GLADSTONE 

its  author,  "  Ah,  Oxford  on  the  surface,  but  Liverpool  below  ". 
And  there  is  truth  in  the  observation,  though  not  in  the 
splenetic  sense  in  which  it  was  intended.  Mr.  Gladstone 
does  combine,  in  a  very  curious  way,  many  of  the  character- 
istics which  we  generally  associate  with  the  place  of  his  edu- 
cation and  many  of  those  which  we  usually  connect  with  the 
place  of  his  birth.  No  one  can  question  the  first  part  of  the 
observation.  No  man  has  through  life  been  more  markedly 
an  Oxford  man  than  Mr.  Gladstone.  His  Church  and  State, 
published  after  he  had  been  several  years  in  public  life,  was 
instinct  with  the  very  spirit  of  the  Oxford  of  that  time.  Hi< 
Homer,  published  the  other  day,  bears  nearly  equal  traces  of 
the  school  in  which  he  was  educated.  Even  in  his  ordinary 
style  there  is  a  tinge  half  theological,  half  classical,  which 
recalls  the  studies  of  his  youth.  Many  Oxford  men  much 
object  to  the  opinions  of  their  distinguished  representative; 
but  none  of  them  would  deny,  that  he  remarkably  embodies 
the  peculiar  results  of  the  peculiar  teaching  of  the  place. 

And  yet  he  has  something  which  his  collegiate  training 
never  would  have  given  him,  which  it  is  rather  remarkable 
it  has  not  taken  away  from  him.  There  is  much  to  be  said 
in  favour  of  the  University  of  Oxford.  No  one  can  den; 
to  it  very  great  and  very  peculiar  merits.  But  certainly  it 
is  not  an  exciting  place,  and  its  education  operates  as  a  nar- 
cotic rather  than  as  a  stimulant.  Most  of  its  students  devote 
their  lives  to  a  single  profession,  and  we  may  observe  among 
them  a  kind  of  sacred  torpidity.  In  many  rural  parsonages 
there  are  men  of  very  great  cultivation,  who  are  sedulous  in 
their  routine  duties,  who  attend  minutely  to  the  ecclesiastic; 
state  of  the  souls  in  their  village,  but  who  are  perfectly  devoi< 
of  general  intellectual  interests.  They  have  no  anxiety  t( 
solve  great  problems  ;  to  busy  themselves  with  the  specula- 
tions of  their  age ;  to  impress  their  peculiar  theology — for 
peculiar  it  is  both  in  its  expression  and  in  its  substance — on 
the  educated  mind  of  their  time.  Oxford,  it  has  been  said, 
"disheartens  a  man  early".  At  any  rate,  since  Newmanism 
lost  Father  Newman,  few  indeed  of  her  acknowledged  sons 
attain  decided  eminence  in  our  deeper  controversies.  Jowett 


MR.  GLADSTONE  275 

she  would  repudiate,  and  Mansel  is  but  applying  the  weapons 
of  scepticism  to  the  service  of  credulity.  The  most  charac- 
teristic of  Oxford  men  labour  quietly,  delicately,  and  let  us 
hope  usefully,  in  a  confined  sphere ;  they  hope  for  nothing 
more,  and  wish  for  nothing  more.  Even  in  secular  literature 
we  may  observe  an  analogous  tone.  The  Saturday  Review  is 
remarkable  as  an  attempt  on  the  part  of  "  university  men  " 
to  speak  on  the  political  topics  and  social  difficulties  of  the 
time.  And  what  do  they  teach  us?  It  is  something  like 
this :  "  So-and-so  has  written  a  tolerable  book,  and  we  would 
call  attention  to  the  industry  which  produces  tolerable  books. 
So-and-so  has  devoted  himself  to  a  great  subject,  and  we 
would  observe  that  the  interest  now  taken  in  great  subjects 
is  very  commendable.  Such-and-such  a  lady  has  delicate 
feelings,  which  are  desirable  in  a  lady,  though  we  know  that 
they  are  contrary  to  the  facts  of  the  world.  All  common 
persons  are  doing  as  well  as  they  can,  but  it  does  not  come  to 
much  after  all.  All  statesmen  are  doing  as  ill  as  they  can, 
and  let  us  be  thankful  that  that  does  not  come  to  much  either. '!__, 
We  may  search  and  search  in  vain  through  this  repository  of 
the  results  of  "  university  teaching  "  for  a  single  truth  which  it 
has  established,  for  a  single  high  cause  which  it  has  advanced, 
for  a  single  deep  thought  which  is  to  sink  into  the  minds  of 
its  readers.  We  have,  indeed,  a  nearly  perfect  embodiment  ' 
of  the  corrective  scepticism  of  a  sleepy  intellect.  "  A  B  says 
he  has  done  something,  but  he  has  not  done  it ;  C  D  has  made 
a  parade  of  demonstrating  this  or  that  proposition,  but  he  does 
not  prove  his  case ;  there  is  one  mistake  in  page  5  >  and  an- 
other in  page  1 1 3  ;  a  great  history  has  been  written  of  this  or 
that  century,  but  the  best  authorities  as  to  that  period  have 
not  been  consulted,  which,  however,  is  not  very  remarkable, 
as  there  is  nothing  in  them."  We  could  easily  find,  if  it 
were  needful,  many  traces  of  the  same  indifferent  habit,  the 
same  apathetic  culture,  in  the  more  avowed  productions  of 
Oxford  men.  The  shrewd  eye  of  Mr.  Emerson,  stimulated 
doubtless  by  the  contrast  to  America,  quickly  caught  the  trait. 
"After  all,"  says  the  languid  Oxford  gentleman  of  his  story, 
"  there  is  nothing  true  and  nothing  new,  and  no  matter ! " 

18* 


276 


MR.  GLADSTONE 


To  this,  as  to  every  other  species  of  indifferentism,  Mr. 
Gladstone  is  the  antithesis.  Oxford  has  not  disheartened 
him.  Some  of  his  colleagues  would  say  they  wished  it  had. 
He  is  interested  in  everything  he  has  to  do  with,  and  often 
interested  too  much.  He  proposes  to  put  a  stamp  on  con- 
tract notes  with  an  eager  earnestness  as  if  the  destiny  of 
Europe,  here  and  hereafter,  depended  upon  its  enactment. 
He  cannot  let  anything  alone.  "  Sir,"  said  an  old  distributor 
of  stamps  in  Westmoreland,  "  my  head,  sir,  is  worn  out.  I 
must  resign.  The  Chancellor,  sir,  is  imposing  of  things  that 

1  can't  understand."      The  world  is  not  well  able  to  under- 
stand   them    either.      The    public   departments    break    down 
under  the  pressure  of  the  industry  of  their  superior.     Mr. 
Gladstone  is  ready  to  work   as   long  as  his  brain  will  hold 
together — to  make  speeches  as  long  as  he  has  utterance  (words 
he  is  sure  to  have)  ;    but  the  subordinate  officials  will  not 
work  equally  hard.      They  have  none  of  the  excitement  of 
origination ;  they  will  not  share  the  credit  of  success.     They 
do,  however,  share  the  discredit  of  failure.     In  the  high-pres- 
sure season  of  this  year's  Budget,  Acts  of  Parliament  have 
been  passed  in  which  essential  provisions  were  not  to  be  found, 
in  which  what  was  intended  to  be  enacted  was  omitted  or 
exceeded,  in  which  the  marginal  notes  were  widely  astray  of 
the  text.     In  his  literary  works   Mr.  Gladstone  is   the  same. 
His  book  on  Homer  is  perhaps  the  most  zealous  work  which 
this  generation  has  produced.     He  has  the  enthusiasm  of  a 
German  professor  for  the  scholastic  detail,  for  the  exact  meaning 
of  word  No.  i,  for  the  precise  number  of  times  which  word  No. 

2  is  used  by  the  poet ;  he  has  the  enthusiasm  of  a  lover  for 
Helen,  the  enthusiasm  of  an  orator  for  the  speeches.     Of  his 
theological  books  we  need  not  speak  ;  every  reader  will  recall 
the  curious  succession  of  needless  quastiunculce  by  which  theii 
interest  is  marred. 

Some  of  this  energy  Mr.  Gladstone  probably  owes  to  the 
place  of  his  birth.  Lancashire  is  sometimes  called  "  America- 
and-water " :  we  suspect  it  is  America  and  very  little  water. 
The  excessive  energy  natural  to  half-educated  men  who  have 
but  a  single  pursuit  cannot,  indeed,  in  any  part  of  England, 


MR.  GLADSTONE  277 

produce  the  monstrous  results  which  it  occasionally  produces 
in  the  United  States ;  it  is  kept  in  check  by  public  opinion, 
by  the  close  vicinity  of  an  educated  world.  But  in  its  own 
pursuit,  in  commerce,  we  question  whether  New  York  itself 
is  more  intensely  eager  than  Liverpool — at  any  rate,  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  conceive  how  it  can  be.  Like  several  other  remarkable 
men  whose  families  belong  to  the  place,  Mr.  Gladstone  has 
carried  into  other  pursuits,  the  eagerness,  the  industry — we 
are  loth  to  say  the  rashness,  but  the  boldness — which  Liverpool 
men  apply  to  the  business  of  Liverpool.  Underneath  the 
scholastic  polish  of  his  Oxford  education,  he  has  the  specu- 
lative hardihood,  the  eager  industry  of  a  Lancashire  merchant. 

Such  is  one  of  the  principal  peculiarities  which  Mr.  Glad- 
stone's character  presents  even  to  a  superficial  observer. 
But  something  more  than  superficial  observation  is  necessary 
really  to  understand  a  character  so  complicated  and  so  odd. 
We  will  touch  upon  some  of  the  traits  which  are  among  the 
most  important ;  and  if  our  minute  analysis  has,  or  seems 
to  have,  some  of  the  painfulness  of  a  vivisection,  we  would 
observe  that  a  defect  of  this  kind  is  in  some  degree  insepar- 
able from  the  task  we  have  undertaken.  We  cannot  explain 
the  special  peculiarities  of  a  singular  man  of  genius  without  a 
somewhat  elaborate  and  a  half-metaphysical  discussion. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  Mr.  Gladstone  is  a  great  orator. 
Oratory  is  one  of  the  pursuits  as  to  which  there  is  no  error. 
The  criterion  is  ready.  Did  the  audience  feel?  were  they 
excited?  did  they  cheer?  These  questions,  and  others  such 
as  these,  can  be  answered  without  a  mistake.  A  man  who 
can  move  the  House  of  Commons — still,  after  many  changes, 
the  most  severe  audience  in  the  world — must  be  a  great 
orator.  The  most  sincere  admirers  and  the  most  eager  de- 
predators of  Mr.  Gladstone  are  agreed  on  this  point,  and  it 
is  almost  the  only  point  on  which  they  are  agreed. 

It  will  be  well,  however,  to  pause  upon  this  characteristic 
of  Mr.  Gladstone's  genius,  and  to  examine  the  nature  of  it 
rather  anxiously,  because  it  seems  to  afford  the  true  key  to 
some  of  his  most  perplexing  peculiarities.  Mr.  Gladstone 
has,  beyond  every  other  man  in  this  generation,  what  we 


278 


MR.  GLADSTONE 


may  call  the  oratorical  impulse.  We  are  in  the  habit  of 
speaking  of  rhetoric  as  an  art,  and  also  of  oratory  as  a  faculty, 
and  in  both  cases  we  speak  quite  truly.  No  man  can  speak 
without  a  special  intellectual  gift,  and  no  man  can  speak  well 
without  a  special  intellectual  training.  But  neither  this  gift 
of  the  intellect  nor  this  education  will  suffice  of  themselves. 
A  man  must  not  only  know  what  to  say,  he  must  have  a 
vehement  longing  to  get  up  and  say  it.  Many  persons,  rather 
sceptical  persons  especially,  do  not  feel  this  in  the  least. 
They  see  before  them  an  audience — a  miscellaneous  collection 
of  odd-looking  men — but  they  feel  no  wish  to  convince  them 
of  anything.  "  Are  not  they  very  well  as  they  are  ?  They 
believe  what  they  have  been  brought  up  to  believe."  "  Con- 
firm every  ,man  in  his  own  manner  of  conceiving,"  said  one 
great  sage.  "A  savage  among  savages  is  very  well,"  re- 
marked another.  You  may  easily  take  away  one  creed  and 
then  not  be  able  to  implant  another.  "  You  may  succeed  in 
unfitting  men  for  their  own  purposes  without  fitting  them  for 
your  purposes" — thus  thinks  the  cut  bono  sceptic.  Another 
kind  of  sceptic  is  distrustful,  and  speaks  thus  :  "  I  know  /  carii 
convince  these  people ;  if  I  could,  perhaps  I  would,  but  I 
can't.  Only  look  at  them  !  they  have  all  kinds  of  crotchets 
in  their  heads.  There  is  a  wooden-faced  man  in  spectacles. 
How  can  you  convince  a  wooden-faced  man  in  spectacles? 
And  see  that  other  man  with  a  narrow  forehead  and  com- 
pressed lips — is  it  any  use  talking  to  him  ?  It  is  of  no  use ; 
do  not  hope  that  mere  arguments  will  impair  the  prepossessioi 
of  nature  and  the  steady  convictions  of  years."  Mr.  Gladstoru 
would  not  feel  these  sceptical  arguments.  He  would  get  uj 
to  speak.  He  has  the  didactic  impulse.  He  has  the  "  coura^ 
of  his  ideas  ".  He  will  convince  the  audience.  He  knows  an 
argument  which  will  be  effective,  he  has  one  for  one  am 
another  for  another  ;  he  has  an  enthusiasm  which  he  feels  will 
rouse  the  apathetic,  a  demonstration  which  he  thinks  must 
convert  the  incredulous,  an  illustration  which  he  hopes  will 
drive  his  meaning  even  into  the  heads  of  the  stolid.  At  an) 
rate,  he  will  try.  He  has  a  nature,  as  Coleridge  might  have 
said,  towards  his  audience.  He  is  sure,  if  they  only  knew 


MR.  GLADSTONE  279 

what  he  knows,  they  would  feel  as  he  feels,  and  believe  as  he 
believes.  And  by  this  he  conquers.  This  living  faith,  this 
enthusiasm,  this  confidence,  call  it  as  we  will,  is  an  extreme 
power  in  human  affairs.  One  croyant,  said  the  Frenchman, 
is  a  greater  power  than  fifty  incre'dules.  In  the  composition 
of  an  orator,  the  hope,  the  credulous  hope,  that  he  will  con- 
vince his  audience,  is  the  primum  mobile^  it  is  the  primitive 
incentive  which  is  the  spring  of  his  influence  and  the  source  of 
his  power.  Mr.  Gladstone  has  this  incentive  in  perhaps  an 
excessive  and  dangerous  measure.  Whatever  may  be  right 
or  wrong  in  pure  finance,  in  abstract  political  economy,  it  is 
certain  that  no  one  save  Mr.  Gladstone  would  have  come  down 
with  the  Budget  of  1860  to  the  Commons  of  1860.  No  other 
man  would  have  believed  that  such  a  proposal  would  have 
a  chance.  Yet  after  the  warning — the  disheartening  warning 
of  a  reluctant  Cabinet — Mr.  Gladstone  came  down  from  a  de- 
pressing sick-bed,  with  semi-bronchitis  hovering  about  him, 
entirely  prevailed  for  the  moment,  and  three  parts  conquered 
after  all.  We  will  not  say  that  the  world  is  given  to  men  of 
this  temperament  and  this  energy ;  on  the  contrary,  there  is 
often  a  turn  in  the  tide,  the  ovation  of  the  spring  may  be  the 
prelude  to  unpopularity  in  the  autumn ;  but  we  see  that 
audiences  are  given  them  ;  we  see  that  unimpressible  men  are 
deeply  moved  by  them — that  the  driest  topics  of  legislation 
and  finance  are  for  the  instant  affected  by  them — that  the  pro- 
longed effects  of  that  momentary  influence  may  be  felt  for 
many  years,  sometimes  for  centuries.  The  orator  has  a  do- 
minion over  the  critical  instant,  and  the  consequences  of  the 
decisions  taken  during  that  instant  may  last  long  after  the 
orator  and  the  audience  have  both  passed  away. 

Nor  is  the  didactic  impulse  the  only  one  which  is  essential 
to  a  great  political  orator;  nor  is  it  the  only  one  which  Mr. 
Gladstone  has.  We  say  it  with  respect ;  but  he  has  the  con- 
tentious impulse.  He  illustrates  the  distinction  between  the 
pacific  and  the  peaceful.  On  all  great  questions,  on  the  con- 
troversies of  states  and  empires,  Mr.  Gladstone  is  the  most 
pacific  of  mankind.  He  hates  the  very  rumour  of  war ;  he 
trusts  in  moral  influences ;  he  detests  the  bare  idea  of  military 


28o  MR.  GLADSTONE 

preparations.  He  will  not  believe  that  preparations  are  neces- 
sary till  the  enemy  is  palpable.  In  the  early  part  of  1853 
he  did  not  believe  that  the  Russian  war  was  impending ;  after 
the  conversations  of  the  Emperor  Nicholas  with  Sir  Hamilton 
Seymour,  he  proposed  to  Parliament  a  scheme  for  converting 
some  portions  of  the  National  Debt,  which  could  only  be 
successful  if  peace  continued,  and  which,  after  the  outbreak  of 
the  war,  failed  ignominiously.  In  1860,  mutatis  mutandis,  he 
has  done  the  same.  He  staked  his  financial  reputation  upon 
a  fine  calculation ;  he  gave  us  a  Budget  in  which  the  two  ends 
scarcely  met.  The  Chinese  war  came,  and  they  no  longer  meet. 
We  believe  that  Mr.  Gladstone  so  much  hates  the  bare  idea 
of  the  possibility  of  war,  that  after  many  warnings,  after  at 
least  one  failure  which  must  have  been  painful,  and  which 
should  have  been  instructive,  he  has  refused  to  take  even  the 
contingency  of  hostilities  into  his  calculations.  Some  one 
said  he  was  not  only  a  Christian,  but  a  morbid  Christian. 
He  cannot  imagine  that  anything  so  coarse  as  war  will  occur ; 
when  it  does  occur,  he  has  a  tendency  to  disapprove  of  it  as 
soon  as  he  can.  During  the  Russian  war  he  soon  joined,  in 
fact  if  not  in  name,  the  peace-at-all-price  party ;  he  exerted 
his  finest  reasonings  and  his  most  persuasive  eloquence  against 
a  war  which  was  commenced  with  his  consent.  At  the 
present  moment  no  Englishman,  not  Mr.  Bright  himself,  feels 
so  little  the  impulse  to  arm.  He  will  not  believe  in  a  war  till 
he  sees  men  fighting.  He  is  the  most  pacific  of  our  states- 
men in  theory  and  in  policy.  When  you  hear  Mr.  Gladstone, 
he  is  about  the  most  combative.  He  can  bear  a  good  deal 
about  the  politics  of  Europe ;  but  let  a  man  question  the  fees 
on  vatting,  or  the  change  in  the  game  certificate,  or  the  stamp 
on  bills  of  lading — what  melodious  thunders  of  loquacious 
wrath !  The  world,  he  hints,  is  likely  to  end  at  such  observa- 
tions, and  it  is  dreadful  that  they  should  be  made  by  the 
honourable  member  who  made  them — "by  the  honourable 
member  who  four  years  ago  said  so-and-so,  and  five  years 
before  that  moved,"  etc.  etc.  The  number  of  well-intentioned 
and  tedious  persons  whom  Mr.  Gladstone  annually  scolds  into 
a  latent  dislike  of  him  must  be  considerable. 


MR.  GLADSTONE  281 

But  though  we  may  smile  at  the  minuticz  in  which  this  con- 
tentious impulse  sometimes  shows  itself,  we  must  remember 
that  the  impulse  itself  is  essential  to  a  great  political  orator,  every- 
where in  some  degree,  but  in  England  especially.  To  be  an 
influential  speaker  in  the  House  of  Commons,  a  man  must  be 
a  great  debater.  He  must  excel  not  only  in  elaborate  set 
speeches,  but  likewise  in  quick  occasional  repartee.  No  one 
but  a  rather  contentious  person  will  ever  so  excel.  Mr.  Fox, 
the  most  genial  of  men,  was  asked  why  he  disputed  so  vehem- 
ently about  some  trifle  or  other.  He  said,  "  I  must  do  so ;  I 
can't  live  without  discussion  ".  And  this  is  the  temperament 
of  a  great  debater.  It  must  be  a  positive  pain  to  him  to  be 
silent  under  questionable  assertions,  to  hear  others  saying  that 
which  he  cannot  agree  with.  An  indifferent  sceptic  such  as  we 
formerly  spoke  of,  endures  this  very  easily.  "  He  thinks,  no 
doubt,  that  what  the  speaker  is  saying  is  quite  wrong ;  but 
people  do  not  understand  what  he  is  saying ;  very  likely  they 
won't  understand  the  answer  :  besides,  we've  a  majority ;  what 
is  the  use  of  arguing  when  you  have  a  majority  ?  Let  us  out- 
vote him  on  the  spot,  and  go  to  bed."  And  so,  report  says, 
have  whips  argued  to  Mr.  Gladstone,  but  he  is  ever  ready. 
He  takes  up  the  parable  of  disputation  at  a  quarter  past  twelve, 
and  goes  on  till  he  has  exhausted  argument,  illustration,  in- 
genuity, and  research.  To  hardly  any  man  have  both  the  im- 
pulses of  the  political  orator  been  given  in  so  great  a  measure  : 
the  didactic  orator  is  usually  felicitous  in  exposition  only ;  the 
great  debater  is,  like  Fox,  only  great  when  stung  to  reply  by 
the  cestrus  of  contention.  But  Mr.  Gladstone  is  by  nature,  by 
vehement  overruling  nature,  great  in  both  arts  ;  he  longs  to  pour 
forth  his  own  belief;  he  cannot  rest  till  he  has  contradicted 
every  one  else. 

In  addition  to  this  oratorical  temperament,  Mr.  Gladstone 
has  in  a  high  degree  the  most  important  intellectual  talent  of 
an  orator ;  he  has  what  we  may  call  an  adaptive  mind.  He 
has  described  this  himself  better  than  most  people  would  de- 
scribe it : — 

"  Poets  of  modern  times  have  composed  great  works  in  ages  that  stopped 
their  ears  against  them.  Paradise  Lost  does  not  represent  the  time  of 


282  MR.  GLADSTONE 

Charles  the  Second,  nor  the  Excursion  the  first  decades  of  the  present 
century.  The  case  of  the  orator  is  entirely  different.  His  work,  from  its 
very  inception,  is  inextricably  mixed  up  with  practice.  It  is  cast  in  th 
mould  offered  to  him  by  the  mind  of  his  hearers.  It  is  an  influenc 
principally  received  from  his  audience  (so  to  speak)  in  vapour,  which  h 
pours  back  upon  them  in  a  flood.  The  sympathy  and  concurrence  of  his 
time,  is,  with  his  own  mind,  joint  parent  of  his  work.  He  cannot  follow 
nor  frame  ideals  :  his  choice  is,  to  be  what  his  age  will  have  him,  what  i 
requires  in  order  to  be  moved  by  him,  or  else  not  to  be  at  all.  And 
when  we  find  the  speeches  in  Homer,  we  know  that  there  must  have 
men  who  could  speak  them,  so,  from  the  existence  of  units  who  could  s 
them,  we  know  that  there  must  have  been  crowds  who  could  feel  them." 

We  may  judge  of  the  House  of  Commons  in  the  same  way  froi 
the  great  Budget  speech.     No  one,  indeed,  half  guides,  hall 
follows  the  moods  of  his  audience  more  quickly,  more  easily, 
than  Mr.  Gladstone.     There  is  a  little  playfulness  in  his  manner, 
which  contrasts  with  the  dryness  of  his  favourite  topics,  anc 
the  intense  gravity  of  his  earnest  character.     He  has  the  sam< 
sort  of  control  over  the  minds  of  those  he  is  addressing  that 
good  driver  has  over  the  animals  he  guides  :  he  feels  the  min< 
of  his  hearers  as  the  driver  the  mouths  of  his  horses. 

The  species  of  intellect  that  is  required  for  this  task 
pre-eminently   the   advocate's    intellect.     The    instrument 
oratory,  at  least  of  this  kind  of  oratory,  is  the  argumentum 
hominem.     It  is  inextricably  mixed  up  with  practice.     Itargu< 
from  the  data  furnished  to  him  "  by  the  mind  of  his  hearers  ". 
He  receives  his  premises  from  them  "  like  a  vapour,"  and  poui 
out  his  "  conclusions  upon  them  like  a  flood  ".     Such  an  oral 
may  believe  his  conclusions,  but  he  can  rarely  believe  them  foi 
the  reasons  which  he  assigns  for  them.     He  may  be  an 
thusiast  in  his  creed,  he  may  be  a  zealot  in  his  faith,  but  n< 
the  less  will  he  be  an  advocate  in  his  practice  ;  not  the  less  wil 
he  catch  at  disputable  premises  because  his  audience  accept 
them ;  not  the  less  will  he  draw  inferences  from  them  whicl 
suit  his  momentary  purpose ;  not  the  less  will  he  accept  the 
most  startling  varieties  of  assertion,  for  he  will  imbibe  from  on< 
audience  a  different  "vapour"  of  premises  from  that  whicl 
he  will  receive  from  another;   not  the  less  will  he  have 

1  Homer,  vol.  iii.,  p.  107. 


! 

1C 


MR.  GLADSTONE  283 

chameleon-like  character  which  we  associate  with  a  consum- 
mate advocate ;  not  the  less  will  he  be  one  thing  to-day,  with 
the  colour  of  one  audience  upon  him  ;  not  the  less  will  he  be 
another  to-morrow,  when  he  has  to  address,  persuade,  and  in- 
fluence some  different  set  of  persons. 

We  scarcely  think,  with  Mr.  Gladstone,  that  this  style  of 
oratory  is  the  very  highest,  though  it  is  very  natural  that  he 
should  think  so,  for  it  exactly  expresses  the  oratory  in  which 
he  is  the  greatest  living  master.  Mr.  Gladstone's  conception 
of  oratory,  in  theory  and  in  practice,  is  the  oratory  of  Pitt,  not 
the  oratory  of  Chatham  or  of  Burke  :  it  is  the  oratory  of  adapta- 
tion. We  do  not  deny  that  this  is  the  kind  of  oratory  which 
is  most  generally  useful,  the  only  kind  which  is  commonly  per- 
missible, the  only  one  which  in  general  would  not  be  a  bore  ; 
but  we  must  remember  that  there  is  an  eloquence  of  great 
principles  which  the  hearers  scarcely  heed,  and  do  not  accept — 
such  as,  in  its  highest  parts,  is  the  eloquence  of  Burke — we 
must  remember  that  there  is  an  eloquence  of  great  passions,  of 
high-wrought  intense  feeling,  which  is  nearly  independent  of 
the  peculiarities  of  its  audience,  because  it  appeals  to  our 
elemental  human  nature — which  is  the  same,  or  much  the  same, 
in  almost  every  audience,  which  is  everywhere  and  always 
susceptible  to  the  union  of  vivid  genius  and  eager  passion. 
Such  as  this  last  was,  if  we  may  trust  tradition,  the  eloquence 
of  Chatham,  the  source  of  his  rare,  magical,  and  occasional 
power.  Mr.  Gladstone  has  neither  of  these.  Few  speakers 
equally  great  have  left  so  few  passages  which  can  be  quoted — 
so  few  which  embody  great  principles  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
be  referred  to  by  coming  generations.  He  has  scarcely  given 
us  a  sentence  that  lives  in  the  memory  ;  nor  is  his  declamation, 
facile  and  effective  as  it  always  is,  the  very  highest  declamation  : 
it  is  a  nearly  perfect  expression  of  intellectualised  sentiment, 
but  it  wants  the  volcanic  power  of  primitive  passion. 

The  prominence  of  advocacy  in  Mr.  Gladstone's  mind  is  in 
appearance,  though  not  in  reality,  diminished  by  the  purity  and 
intensity  of  his  zeal.  There  is  an  elastic  heroism  about  him. 
When  he  begins  to  speak,  we  may  know  that  we  are  going  to 
hear  what  we  shall  not  agree  with.  We  may  believe  that  the 


284 


MR.  GLADSTONE 


measures  he  proposes  are  mischievous ;  we  may  smile  at  the 
emphasis  with  which  some  of  their  minutice  are  insisted  upon ; 
but  we  inevitably  feel  that  we  have  left  the  ordinary  eai 
We  know  that  high  sentiments  will  be  appealed  to  by  one  wh( 
feels  high  sentiments ;  that  strong  arguments  will  be  strongly 
stated  by  one  who  believes  that  argument  should  decide  conti 
versy.  We  know  that  we  are  beyond  the  realm  of  the  Patron? 
Secretary ;  we  have  left  behind  us  the  doctrine  that  corruptior 
is  the  ruling  power  in  popular  assemblies,  that  patronage  is  the 
purchase-money  of  power.  We  are  not  alleging  that  in  the 
real  world  in  which  we  live  there  is  not  some  truth — more 
less  of  truth — in  these  lower  maxims  ;  but  they  do  not  rule  ii 
Mr.  Gladstone's  world.  He  was  not  born  to  be  a  Secretary  ol 
the  Treasury.  If  he  tried  his  hand  at  it,  he  would  perplex  tl 
borough  attorneys  out  of  their  lives.  And  he  could  not  keej 
the  office  a  month  ;  he  would  evince  a  real  disgust  at  detestabl< 
requests,  arid  guide  with  odd  impulsiveness  the  delicate  anc 
latent  machinery.  His  natural  element  is  a  higher  one.  H< 
has — and  it  is  one  of  the  springs  of  great  power — a  real  faith  ii 
the  higher  parts  of  human  nature ;  he  believes,  with  all  hi; 
heart  and  soul  and  strength,  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  truth 
he  has  the  soul  of  a  martyr  with  the  intellect  of  an  advocate. 
Another  of  Mr.  Gladstone's  characteristics  is  an  extra- 
ordinary love  of  labour.  We  have  alluded  several  times  te 
his  taste,  we  might  almost  say  his  whimsical  taste,  for  minutiae. 
He  is  ready  with  whatever  detail  may  be  necessary  on  an] 
subject,  no  matter  of  what  kind.  He  covers  his  greatest 
schemes  with  a  crowd  of  irrelevant  appendages,  till  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  see  their  outline.  The  Budget  of  1860  was  large 
enough  and  complicated  enough,  one  would  have  thought,  in 
its  essential  irremovable  features  ;  but  its  author  did  not  think 
so.  He  had  supplementary  provisions  respecting  game  certifi- 
cates, respecting  the  transmission  of  newspapers  by  the  post, 
respecting  "  several  other  minuter  changes  with  which  he  was 
almost  ashamed  to  trouble  the  committee ".  The  labour 
necessary  to  all  these  accessories  must  have  been  enormous. 
Many  of  the  alterations  may  have — must  have — been  lying 
ready  in  his  memory,  or  in  some  old  note-book,  for  many 


MR.   GLADSTONE  285 

years.  But  the  industry  to  furbish  them  up,  to  get  them  into 
a  practicable,  or  even  into  a  proposable  shape,  would  frighten 
not  only  most  persons,  but  most  laborious  persons.  And 
Mr.  Gladstone's  energy  seems  to  be  strictly  intellectual. 
Nothing  in  his  outward  appearance  indicates  the  iron  physique 
that  often  carries  inferior  men  through  heavy  tasks.  What- 
ever he  does  that  is  peculiar,  he  does  by  the  peculiarity  of  his 
mind.  He  is  carried  through  his  work,  or  seems  to  be  so,  by 
pure  will,  zeal,  and  effort. 

The  last  characteristic  of  Mr.  Gladstone  which  is  very 
remarkable,  or  which  we  shall  mention,  is  his  scholastic 
intellect.  We  have  not  much  of  this  in  conspicuous  men  in 
the  present  day,  but  in  former  times  there  was  a  good  deal 
of  it.  Lord  Bacon  had  something  like  it  in  his  eye  when  he 
spoke  of  minds  which  were  not  "  discursive  "  or  skilful  in 
discovering  analogies,  but  were  discriminative  or  skilful  in 
detecting  differences.  The  best  scene  for  training  this  sort 
of  intellect  is  the  law-court.  Lord  Bacon  must  have  seen 
much  of  it  in  the  work  of  Gray's  Inn  when  he  was  young,  and 
traces  of  the  discipline  which  he  then  underwent  may  perhaps 
be  found  even  in  books  which  were  written  by  him  many 
years  afterwards.  When,  as  in  positive  law,  the  first  principles 
are  fixed,  there  is  no  room  for  the  highest  originality ;  the 
only  admissible  controversy  is  whether  a  particular  case 
comes  or  does  not  come  within  a  particular  principle.  On 
this  point  there  is  room  for  endless  distinctions  and  eternal 
hair-splitting.  When  the  principles  settled  by  authority  are 
not  entirely  consistent,  the  function  of  this  kind  of  distinguish- 
ing reason  is  even  greater ;  it  has  to  suggest  nice  refinements, 
which  may  reconcile  the  apparent  differences  between  the 
principles  themselves,  as  well  as  to  settle  the  exact  relation 
of  the  case,  or  the  facts,  to  the  doctrine  of  the  authorities. 
Accordingly,  the  scholastic  theologians  of  mediaeval  times 
were  the  most  expert  masters  of  the  discriminative  ratiocina- 
tion which  the  world  has  ever  seen.  They  had  to  reconcile 
the  recognised  authorities  of  the  Catholic  Church — authorities 
vast  in  size,  and  scattered  over  centuries  in  time — with  one 
another,  with  good  sense,  with  the  facts  of  special  cases,  with 


286  MR.  GLADSTONE 

the  general  exigencies  of  the  age.     By  their  labour  was  formed 
that  acute  logic,  that  subtle,  if  unreal  philosophy  which  fell 
at  the    Reformation,   when    the    authorities   of  the    Catholic 
Church  were  no  longer  conclusive,  and  the  art  of  arranging 
them  was  no  longer  important.     We  have  learned  to  smile 
at  the  scholastic  distinctions  of  former  times  ;  the  inductive 
philosophy,  which  is  now  our  most  conspicuous  pursuit,  do( 
not  need  them  ;  the  popular  character  of  our  ordinary  discus 
sion    does  not  admit    of  them.     In  a  free  country  we  mu< 
use  the  sort  of  argument  which  plain  men  understand — an< 
plain  men  certainly  do  not  appreciate  or  apprehend  scholastic 
refinements.      So  at  least   we  should    say  beforehand.      Y< 
Mr.  Gladstone  is  the  statesman  whose  expositions  have,  fc 
good  or  for  evil,  more  power  than  those  of  any  other  ;  hi 
voice  is  a  greater  power  in  the  country  of  plain  men  than  an] 
other   man's ;  nevertheless,    his    intellect  is  of  a   thoroughly 
scholastic  kind.     He  can  distinguish  between    any  two  pi 
positions  ;  he  never  allowed,  he  could  not  allow,  that  any  tw< 
were  identical.     If  anyone  on  either  side  of  the  House  is  bol 
enough  to   infer  anything  from   anything,  'Mr.   Gladstone 
ready   to  deny    that  the   inference  is   correct — to  suggest 
distinction  which  he  says  is  singularly  important — to  illustrat 
an   apt  subtlety   which,  in  appearance  at   least,   impairs  tl 
validity  of  the  deduction.     No  schoolman  could  be  readier 
such  work.     We  may  find  the  same  tendency  of  mind  eve 
more  strikingly  illustrated  in  his  writings.     At  the  time 
the  Gorham  case,  for  example,  he  wrote  a  pamphlet  on 
Royal  Supremacy.     For  the  purposes  of  that  case,  it  was 
the   last  importance  to  determine  the   exact  position  of 
Crown  with  respect  to  ecclesiastical  affairs,  and  especially 
the  offence  of  heresy.     The  law  at  first  seems  distinct  enouj 
on  the  matter.     The  1st  of  Elizabeth  provides   "  that  su< 
jurisdictions,     privileges,     superiorities,     and     pre-eminen< 
spiritual  and  ecclesiastical,  as  by  any  spiritual  or  ecclesiast 
cal  power  or  authority  hath  heretofore  been  or  may  lawfully 
be  exercised    or  used    for  the  visitation  of  the   ecclesiastical 
state  and  persons,  and  for  reformation,  order  and  correction 
of  the  same,  and  of  all  manner  of  errors,  heresies,  schisms 


MR.  GLADSTONE  287 

abuses,  offences,  contempts,  and  enormities,  shall  for  ever,  by 
authority  of  this  present  Parliament,  be  united  and  annexed 
to  the  imperial  Crown  of  this  realm  ".  These  words  would 
have  seemed  distinct  and  clear  to  most  persons.  They  would 
have  seemed  to  give  to  the  Crown  all  the  power  it  could  wish 
to  exercise — all  that  any  spiritual  authority  had  ever  "  thereto- 
fore exercised  " — all  that  any  temporal  authority  could  ever 
use.  We  should  think  it  was  clear  that  Queen  Elizabeth 
would  have  applied  a  rather  summary  method  of  instruction 
to  any  one  who  attempted  to  limit  the  jurisdiction  conferred 
by  this  enactment.  If  Mr.  Gladstone  had  lived  in  the  times 
about  which  he  was  writing,  he  might  have  had  to  make  a 
choice  between  being  silent  and  being  punished ;  but  in  the 
times  of  Queen  Victoria  he  is  not  subjected  to  an  alternative 
so  painful.  He  writes  securely  : — 

"  We  have  now  before  us  the  terms  of  the  great  statute  which,  from 
the  time  it  was  passed,  has  been  the  actual  basis  of  the  royal  authority  in 
matters  ecclesiastical  ;  and  I  do  not  load  these  pages  by  reference  to 
declarations  of  the  Crown,  and  other  public  documents  less  in  authority 
than  this,  in  order  that  we  may  fix  our  view  the  more  closely  upon  the 
expressions  of  what  may  fairly  be  termed  a  fundamental  law  in  relation  to 
the  subject-matter  before  us. 

"  The  first  observation  I  make  is  this  :  there  is  no  evidence  in  the 
words  which  have  been  quoted  that  the  Sovereign  is,  according  to  the 
intention  of  the  statute,  the  source  or  fountain-head  of  ecclesiastical  juris- 
diction. They  have  no  trace  of  such  a  meaning,  in  so  far  as  it  exceeds 
(and  it  does  exceed)  the  proposition,  that  this  jurisdiction  has  been  by 
law  united  or  annexed  to  the  Crown. 

"  I  do  not  now  ask  what  have  been  the  glosses  of  lawyers — what  are 
the  reproaches  of  polemical  writers — or  even  what  attributes  may  be 
ascribed  to  prerogative,  independent  of  statute,  and  therefore  applicable 
to  the  Church  before  as  well  as  after  the  Reformation.  I  must  for  the 
purposes  of  this  argument  assume  what  I  shall  never  cease  to  believe 
until  the  contrary  conclusion  is  demonstrated  by  fact,  namely,  that,  in  the 
case  of  the  Church,  justice  is  to  be  administered  from  the  English  bench 
upon  the  same  principles  as  in  all  other  cases — that  our  judges,  or  our 
judicial  committees,  are  not  to  be  our  legislators — and  that  the  statutes  of 
the  realm,  as  they  are  above  the  sacred  majesty  of  the  Queen,  so  are 
likewise  above  their  ministerial  interpreters.  It  was  by  statute  that  the 
changes  in  the  position  of  the  Church  at  that  great  epoch  were  measured 
— by  statute  that  the  position  itself  is  defined  ;  and  the  statute,  I  say, 
contains  no  trace  of  such  a  meaning  as  that  the  Crown  either  originally 


288 


MR.  GLADSTONE 


was  the  source  and  spring  of  ecclesiastical  jurisdiction,  or  was  to  become 
such  in  virtue  of  the  annexation  to  it  of  the  powers  recited  ;  but  simply 
bears  the  meaning,  that  it  was  to  be  master  over  its  administration." 

So  that  which  seems  a  despotism   is   gradually  prun< 
down   into  a  vicegerency.      "All   the  superiorities  and  pn 
eminences  spiritual  and  ecclesiastical,"  which  had  ever  beet 
lawfully  exercised,  are   restricted  to  the  single  function 
regulation;    and  by  a  judicious  elaboration   the  Crown 
comes  scarcely  the  head  of  the  Church,  but  only  the  visitc 
and  corrector  of  it,  as  of  several  other  corporations.     We  ai 
not  now  concerned  with  the  royal   supremacy — we  have  nc 
wish  to  hint  or  intimate  an  opinion  on  a  vast  legal  discussion 
but  we  are  concerned  with  Mr.  Gladstone.     And  we  ventui 
to  say   that  a  subtler  gloss,    more  scholastically  expn 
never  fell  from  lawyer  in  the  present  age,  or  from  schoolrcu 
in  times  of  old. 

The  great  faculties  we  have  mentioned  give  Mr.  Gl; 
stone,  it  is  needless  to  say,  an  extraordinary  influence  ii 
English  politics.  England  is  a  country  governed  mainly 
labour  and  by  speech.  Mr.  Gladstone  will  work  and  cai 
speak,  and  the  result  is  what  we  see.  With  a  flowing  el< 
quence  and  a  lofty  heroism ;  with  an  acute  intellect  and  en< 
less  knowledge ;  with  courage  to  conceive  large  schemes,  ai 
a  voice  which  will  persuade  men  to  adopt  those  schemes — it  ij 
not  singular  that  Mr.  Gladstone  is  of  himself  a  power  in  Parli< 
mentary  life.  He  can  do  there  what  no  one  else  living  can  d( 

But  the  effect  of  these  peculiar  faculties  is  by  no  mear 
unmixedly  favourable.  In  almost  every  one  of  them  soi 
faulty  tendency  is  latent,  which  may  produce  bad  effects- 
in  Mr.  Gladstone's  case  has  often  done  so,  perhaps  does 
still.  His  greatest  characteristic,  as  we  have  indicated, 
the  singular  vivacity  of  his  oratorical  impulse.  But  gn 
as  is  the  immediate  power  which  a  vehement  oratorical  pn 
pensity,  when  accompanied  by  the  -requisite  faculties,  secui 
to  the  possessor,  the  advantage  of  possessing  it,  or  rather 
being  subject  to  it,  is  by  no  means  without  an  alloy.  W( 
have  all  heard  that  Paley  said  he  knew  nothing  against  soi 
one  but  that  he  was  a  popular  preacher.  And  Paley  kn< 


MR.  GLADSTONE  289 

what  he  was  saying.  The  oratorical  impulse  is  a  disorganising 
impulse.  The  higher  faculties  of  the  mind  require  a  certain 
calm,  and  the  excitement  of  oratory  is  unfavourable  to  that 
calm.  We  know  that  this  is  so  with  the  hearers  of  oratory  ; 
we  know  that  they  are  carried  away  from  their  fixed  principles, 
from  their  habitual  tendencies,  by  a  casual  and  unexpected 
stimulus.  We  speak  commonly  of  the  power  of  the  orator. 
But  the  orator  is  subject  himself  to  much  the  same  calamity. 
The  force  which  carries  away  his  hearers  must  first  carry  away 
himself.  He  will  not  persuade  any  of  his  hearers  unless  he 
has  first  succeeded,  for  the  moment  at  least,  in  persuading  his 
own  mind.  Every  exciting  speech  is  conceived,  planned,  and 
spoken  with  excitement.  The  orator  feels  in  his  own  nerves, 
even  in  a  greater  degree,  that  electric  thrill  which  he  is  to 
communicate  to  his  hearers.  The  telling  ideas  take  hold  of 
him  with  a  sort  of  seizure.  They  fasten  close  upon  his  brain. 
He  has  a  sort  of  passionate  impulse  to  tell  them.  He  hungers, 
as  a  Greek  would  have  said,  till  they  are  uttered.  His  mind 
is  full  of  them.  He  has  the  vision  of  the  audience  in  his 
mind.  Until  he  has  persuaded  these  men  of  these  things,  life 
is  tame,  and  its  other  stimulants  are  uninteresting.  So  much 
excitement  is  evidently  unfavourable  to  calm  reflection  and 
deliberation.  Mr.  Pitt  is  said  to  have  thought  more  of  the 
manner  in  which  his  measures  would  strike  the  House  than  of 
the  manner  in  which,  when  carried,  they  would  work.  Of 
course  he  did — every  great  orator  will  do  so,  unless  he  has  a 
supernatural  self-control.  An  ordinary  man  sits  down — say 
to  make  a  Budget :  he  arranges  the  accounts ;  adds  up  the 
figures ;  contrasts  the  effects  of  different  taxes ;  works  out 
steadily  hour  after  hour  their  probable  incidence,  first  of  one, 
then  of  another.  Nothing  disturbs  him.  With  the  orator  it 
is  different.  During  that  whole  process  he  is  disturbed  by 
the  vision  of  his  hearers.  How  they  will  feel,  how  they  will 
think,  how  they  will  like  his  proposals — cannot  but  occur  to 
him.  He  hears  his  ideas  rebounding  in  the  cheers  of  his 
hearers ;  he  is  disheartened,  at  fancying  that  they  will  fall 
[tamely  on  an  inanimate  and  listless  multitude.  He  is  subject 
I  to  two  temptations ;  he  is  turned  aside  from  the  conceptions 
VOL.  IIL  19 


2  90  MR.  GLADSTONE 

natural  to  the  subject  by  an  imagination  of  his  audience ;  his 
own  eager  temperament  naturally  inclines  him  to  the  views 
which  will  excite  that  audience  most  effectually.  The  tran- 
quil deposit  of  ordinary  ideas  is  interrupted  by  the  sudden 
eruption  of  volcanic  forces.  We  know  that  the  popular  in- 
stinct suspects  the  judgment  of  great  orators ;  we  know  that 
it  does  not  give  them  credit  for  patient  equanimity ;  and  the 
popular  instinct  is  right. 

Nor  is  cool  reflection  the  only  higher  state  of  mind  whicl 
the  oratorical  impulse  interferes  with  ;  we  believe  that  it  is 
singularly  unfavourable  also  to  the  exercise  of  the  higher  kinx 
of  imagination.     Several  great  poets  have  written  good  di 
matic  harangues ;  but  no  great  practical  orator  has  ever  writ! 
a  great  poem.     The  creative  imagination  requires  a  singular 
calm :  it  is  "  the  still  unravished  bride  of  quietness,"  as  th( 
poets  say,  "  the  foster-child  of  silence  and  slow  time  "-1     N< 
great  work  has  ever  been  produced  except  after  a  long  intervs 
of  still  and  musing  meditation.     The  oratorical  impulse  inter- 
feres with  this.     It  breaks  the  exclusive  brooding  of  the  mine 
upon  the  topic ;  it  brings  in  a  new  set  of  ideas,  the  faces  of 
the  audience  and  the  passions  of  listening  men  ;  it  jerks  the 
mind,  if  the  expression  may  be  allowed,  just  when  the  delicat 
poetry  of  the  mind  is  crystallising  into  symmetry.     The  prc 
cess  is  stayed,  and  the  result  is  marred. 

Mr.  Gladstone  has  suffered  from  both  these  bad  effects 
the  oratorical  temperament.      His  writings,  even  on  imagin- 
ative subjects,  even  on  the  poetry  of  Homer,  are  singularly 
devoid  of  the  highest  imagination.     They  abound   in  acute 
remarks ;  they  excel  in  industry  of  detail  ;  they  contain  many 
animated  and  some  eloquent  passages.     But  there  is  no  central 
conception  running  through  them  ;  there  is  no  binding  idea  ii 
them  ;  there  is  nothing  to  fuse  them  together ;  they  are  elal 
ate  aggregates  of  varied  elements ;  they  are  not  shaped  an< 
consolidated  wholes.     Nor,  it  is  remarkable,  has  his  style 
delicate  graces  which  mark  the  productions  of  the  gentle  an< 
meditative   mind ;    there  is   something   hard   in    its    textui 
something   dislocated  in    its    connections.      In    his    writii 

1  Keats,  Ode  on  a  Grecian  Urn. 


MR.  GLADSTONE  291 

rhere  he  is  removed  from  the  guiding  check  of  the  listening 
udience,  he  starts  off,  just  where  you  least  expect  it.  He 
urries  from  the  main  subject  to  make  a  passing  and  petty 
emark.  As  he  has  not  the  central  idea  of  his  work  vividly 
efore  him,  he  overlays  it  with  tedious,  accessory,  and  some- 
mes  irrelevant  detail. 

His  intellect  has  suffered  also.  He  is  undeniably  defective 
n  the  tenacity  of  first  principle.  Probably  there  is  nothing 
hich  he  would  less  like  to  have  said  of  him,  and  yet  it  is 
ertainly  true.  We  speak,  of  course,  of  intellectual  consistency, 
ot  of  moral  probity.  And  he  has  not  an  adhesive  mind; 
uch  adhesiveness  as  he  has  is  rather  to  projects  than  principles. 
Ve  will  give — it  is  all  we  have  space  to  give — a  single  re- 
larkable  instance  of  his  peculiar  mutability.  He  has  adhered 
n  the  year  1 860  to  his  project  of  reducing  the  amount  levied 

England  by  indirect  taxation.     He  announced  in  1853  that 
e  would  do  so,  and,  what  was  singular  enough,  he  was  able 
o  do  it  when  the  time  came.     But  this  superficial  consistency 
ust  not  disguise  from  us  the  entire  inconsistency  in  abstract 
rinciple  between  the  Budget  of  1853  and  the  Budget  of  1860. 
he  most  important  element  in  English  finance  at  present  is 
le  income-tax.     In    1853   that   tax   was,  Mr.  Gladstone  ex- 
lained  to  us,  an  occasional,  an  exceptional,  a  sacred  reserve, 
t  had  done  much  that  was  wonderful  for  our  fathers  in  the 
rench  war ;  Sir  R.  Peel  had  used  it  with  magical  efficiency 
n  our  own  time ;  but  it  was  to  be  kept  for  first-rate  objects. 
1860   the   income-tax   has    become  the  tax  of  all  work. 
Whatever  is  to  be  done,  whatever  other  tax  is  to  be  relinquished, 

is  but  a  penny  more  or  a  penny  less  of  this  ever-ready  and 
mnipotent  impost.  We  do  not  blame  Mr.  Gladstone  for 
langing  his  opinion.  We  believe  that  an  income-tax  of 
oderate  amount  should  be  a  permanent  element  in  our 
nancial  system.  We  think  that  additions  to  it  from  time  to 
me  are  the  best  ways  of  meeting  any  sudden  demand  for 
xceptional  expenditure.  But  we  cannot  be  unaware  of  the 

nsition  which  he  has  made.  His  opinion  as  to  our  most 
emarkable  tax  has  varied,  not  only  in  detail  but  in  essence, 
t  was  to  be  a  rare  and  residuary  agency  ;  it  is  now  a  permanent 

19* 


292  MR.  GLADSTONE 

and  principal  force.  The  inconsistency  goes  further.  He 
used  to  think  that  he  would  be  guilty  of  a  "  high  political 
offence "  if  he  altered  the  present  mode  of  assessing  the 
income-tax,  if  he  equalised  the  pressure  on  industrial  and 
permanent  incomes.  But  he  is  now  ready  to  consider  any 
plan  with  that  object — in  other  words,  he  is  ready  to  do  it  if 
he  can.  A  great  change  in  his  fundamental  estimate  of  our 
greatest  tax  has  made  an  evident  and  indisputable  change  in 
his  mode  of  viewing  proposed  reforms  and  alterations  in  it. 

Mr.  Gladstone's  inclination — his  unconscious  inclination 
for  the  art  of  advocacy — increases  his  tendency  to  suffer  from 
the  characteristic  temptations  of  his  oratorical  temperament. 
It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say  that  professional  advocacy  is 
unfavourable  to  the  philosophical  investigation  of  truth ;  a 
more  battered  commonplace  cannot  be  found  anywhere.  To 
catch  at  whatever  turns  up  in  favour  of  your  own  case ; 
be  obviously  blind  to  everything  which  tells  in  favour  of  tl 
case  of  your  adversary ;  to  imply  doubts  as  to  principl< 
which  it  is  not  expedient  to  deny ;  to  suggest  with  delicat 
indirectness  the  conclusive  arguments  in  favour  of  principle 
which  it  is  not  wise  directly  to  affirm — these,  and  such 
these,  are  the  arts  of  the  advocate.  A  political  orator  hj 
them  almost  of  necessity,  and  Mr.  Gladstone  is  not  exem] 
from  them.  Indeed,  without  any  fault  of  his  own,  he 
them,  if  not  to  an  unusual  extent,  at  least  with  a  very  unusu? 
conspicuousness.  His  vehement  temperament,  his  "  intern 
and  glowing  mind,"  1  drive  him  into  strong  statements,  int 
absolute  and  unlimited  assertions.  He  lays  down  a  princi] 
of  tremendous  breadth  to  establish  a  detail  of  exceedii 
minuteness.  He  is  not  a  "  hedging  "  advocate.  He  does  nc 
understand  the  art  which  Hume  and  Peel — different  as 
their  respective  spheres — practised  with  almost  equal  effect 
those  spheres.  Mr.  Gladstone  dashes  forth  to  meet  his' 
opponents.  He  will  believe  easily — he  will  state  strongly 
whatever  may  confute  them.  An  incessant  use  of  ingenious 
and  unqualified  principles  is  one  of  Mr.  Gladstone's  most 
prominent  qualities;  it  is  unfavourable  to  exact  consistency 

1  Wordsworth,  The  Excursion. 


MR.  GLADSTONE 


293 


of  explicit  assertion,  and  to  latent  consistency  of  personal 
belief.  His  scholastic  intellect  makes  matters  worse.  He  will 
show  that  any  two  principles  are  or  may  be  consistent  ;  that 
if  there  is  an  apparent  discrepancy,  they  may  still,  after  the 
manner  of  Oxford,  "  be  held  together ".  One  of  the  most 
remarkable  of  Father  Newman's  Oxford  Sermons  explains 
how  science  teaches  that  the  earth  goes  round  the  sun,  and 
how  Scripture  teaches  that  the  sun  goes  round  the  earth  ;  and 
it  ends  by  advising  the  discreet  believer  to  accept  both.  Both, 
it  is  suggested,  may  be  accommodations  to  our  limited  intellect 
— aspects  of  some  higher  and  less  discordant  unity.  We  have 
often  smiled  at  the  recollection  of  the  old  Oxford  training  in 
watching  Mr.  Gladstone's  ingenious  "  reconcilements ".  It 
must  be  pleasant  to  have  an  argumentative  acuteness  which 
is  quite  sure  to  extricate  you,  at  least  in  appearance,  from  any 
intellectual  scrape.  But  it  is  a  dangerous  weapon  to  use,  and 
particularly  dangerous  to  a  very  conscientious  man.  He  will 
not  use  it  unless  he  believes  in  its  results  ;  but  he  will  try  to 
believe  in  its  results,  in  order  that  he  may  use  it.  We  need 
not  spend  further  words  in  proving  that  a  kind  of  advocacy 
at  once  acute,  refined,  and  vehement,  is  unfavourable  both  to 
consistency  of  statement  and  to  tenacious  sluggishness  of  belief. 

In  this  manner,  the  disorganising  effects  of  his  greatest 
peculiarities  have  played  a  principal  part  in  shaping  Mr. 
Gladstone's  character  and  course.  They  have  helped  to  make 
him  annoy  the  old  Whigs,  confound  the  country  gentlemen, 
and  puzzle  the  nation  generally.  They  have  contributed  to 
bring  on  him  the  long  array  of  depreciating  adjectives,  "  ex- 
travagant," "inconsistent,"  "incoherent,"  and  "incalculable". 

Mr.  Gladstone's  intellectual  history  has  aggravated  the 
unfavourable  influence  of  his  characteristic  tendencies.  Such 
a  mind  as  his  required,  beyond  any  man's,  the  early  inculcation 
of  a  steadying  creed.  It  required  that  the  youth,  if  not  the 
child,  should  be  father  to  the  man :  it  required  that  a  set  of 
fixed  and  firm  principles  should  be  implanted  in  his  mind  in 
its  first  intellectual  years — that  those  principles  should  be 
precise  enough  for  its  guidance,  tangible  enough  to  be  com- 
monly intelligible,  true  enough  to  stand  the  wear  and  tear  of 


294 


MR.  GLADSTONE 


ordinary  life.  The  tranquil  task  of  developing  coherent 
principle  might  have  calmed  the  vehemence  of  Mr.  Gladstone's 
intellectual  impulses — might  have  steadied  the  impulsive  dis- 
cursiveness of  his  nature.  A  settled  and  plain  creed,  which 
was  in  union  with  the  belief  of  ordinary  men,  might  have  kept 
Mr.  Gladstone  in  the  common  path  of  plain  men — might  have 
made  him  intelligible  and  safe.  But  he  has  had  no  such  good 
fortune.  He  began  the  world  with  a  vast  religious  theory ; 
he  embodied  it  in  a  book  on  Church  and  State  ;  he  defended 
it,  as  was  said,  mistily — at  any  rate,  he  defended  it  in  a  manner 
which  requires  much  careful  pains  to  appreciate,  and  much 
preliminary  information  to  understand ;  he  puzzled 
ordinary  mass  of  English  Churchmen  ;  he  has  been  half  out  of 
sympathy  with  them  ever  since.  The  creed  which  he  has 
chosen,  or  which  his  Oxford  training  stamped  upon  him,  was 
one  not  likely  to  be  popular  with  common  Englishmen.  It 
had  a  scholastic  appearance  and  a  mystical  essence  which  they 
dislike  almost  equally.  But  this  was  not  its  worst  defect. 
It  was  a  theory  which  broke  down  when  it  was  tried.  It  was 
a  theory  with  definite  practical  consequences,  which  no  one  in 
these  days  will  accept — which  no  one  in  these  days  will  prc 
pose.  It  was  a  theory  to  be  shattered  by  the  slightest  touch 
of  real  life,  for  it  had  a  definite  teaching  which  was  inconsistent 
with  the  facts  of  that  life — which  all  persons  who  were  engaged 
in  it  were,  on  some  ground  or  other,  unanimous  in  rejecting. 
In  Mr.  Gladstone's  case  it  had  been  shattered.  He  maintained, 
that  a  visible  Church  existed  upon  earth ;  that  every  State 
was  bound  to  be  directed  by  that  Church  ;  that  all  members 
of  that  State  should,  if  possible,  be  members  of  that  Church 
that  at  any  rate  none  of  the  members  should  be  utterly  oul 
of  sympathy  with  her ;  that  the  State  ought  to  aid  her  in  h< 
characteristic  work,  and  refrain  from  aiding  her  antagonists  in 
that  work  ;  that  within  her  own  sphere  the  Church,  though 
thus  aided,  is  substantially  independent ;  that  she  has  an 
absolute  right  to  elect  her  own  bishops,  to  determine  her  owr 
creed,  to  make  her  own  definitions  of  orthodoxy  and  heresy. 
This  is  the  high  Oxford  creed,  and,  in  all  essential  points,  it 
was  Mr.  Gladstone's  first  creed. 


MR.   GLADSTONE  295 

But  a  curious  series  of  instructive  events  proved  that 
England  at  least  would  not  adopt  it, — that  the  actual  Church 
of  England  is  not  the  Church  of  which  it  speaks, — that  the 
actual  English  State  is  by  no  means  the  State  of  which  it 
speaks.  The  additional  endowment  of  the  Maynooth  College 
which  Sir  Robert  Peel  proposed  was  an  express  relinquishment 
of  the  principle  that  the  Church  of  England  had  an  exclusive 
right  to  assistance  from  the  State ;  it  proved  that  the  Con- 
servative party  —  the  special  repository  of  constitutional 
traditions — was  ready  to  aid  a  different  and  antagonistic 
communion.  The  removal  of  the  Jewish  disabilities  struck  a 
still  deeper  blow :  it  proved  that  persons  who  could  not  be 
said  to  participate  in  even  the  rudiments  of  Anglican  doctrine 
might  be  Prime  Ministers  and  rulers  in  England.  The  theory 
of  the  exclusive  union  of  a  visible  Church  with  a  visible  State 
vanished  into  the  air.  The  real  world  would  not  endure  it. 
We  fear  it  must  be  said  that  the  theory  of  the  substantial 
independence  of  the  English  Church  has  vanished  too.  The 
case  of  Dr.  Hampden  proved  conclusively  that  the  intervention 
of  the  English  Church  in  the  election  of  her  bishops  was  an 
ineffectual  ceremony;  that  it  could  not  be  galvanised  into 
effective  life  ;  that  it  was  one  of  those  lingering  relics  of  the 
past  which  the  steady  English  people  are  so  loth  to  disturb. 
Undisputed  practice  shows  that  the  Prime  Minister,  who  is 
clearly  secular  prince,  is  the  dispenser  of  ecclesiastical  dignities. 
And  the  judgment  of  her  Majesty's  Council  in  the  Gorham 
case  went  further  yet.  It  touched  on  the  finest  and  tenderest 
point  of  all.  It  decided  that,  on  the  critical  question,  heresy 
or  no  heresy,  the  final  appeal  was  not  to  an  ecclesiastical  court, 
but  to  a  lay  court — to  a  court,  not  of  saintly  theologians,  but 
of  tough  old  lawyers,  to  men  of  the  world  most  worldly.  The 
Oxford  dream  of  an  independent  Church,  the  Oxford 
dream  of  an  exclusive  Church,  are  both  in  practice  forgotten ; 
their  very  terms  are  strange  in  our  ears  ;  they  have  no  reference 
to  real  life.  Mr.  Gladstone  has  had  to  admit  this.  He  has 
voted  for  the  endowment  of  Maynooth ;  he  has  voted  for  the 
admission  of  Jews  to  the  House  of  Commons ;  he  has  ac- 
quiesced in  the  Hampden  case;  he  sees  daily  the  highest 


296 


MR.  GLADSTONE 


patronage  of  the  Church  distributed  by  Lord  Palmerston,  the 
very  man  who,  on  any  high-church  theory,  ought  not  to  dis- 
pense it,  to  the  very  men  who,  on  any  high-church  theory, 
ought  not  to  receive  it.  He  wrote  a  pamphlet  on  the  Gorham 
case,  but  he  does  not  practically  propose  to  alter  the  constitu- 
tion of  the  Judicial  Committee  of  the  Privy  Council ;  he  has 
never  proposed  to  bring  in  a  bill  for  that  purpose ;  he  ac- 
quiesces in  the  supreme  decision  of  the  most  secular  court 
which  can  exist  over  the  most  peculiarly  ecclesiastical  ques- 
tions that  can  be  thought  of.  These  successive  changes  do 
credit  to  Mr.  Gladstone's  good  sense ;  they  show  that  he  has 
a  susceptible  nature,  that  he  will  not  live  out  of  sympathy 
with  his  age.  But  what  must  be  the  effect  of  such  changes 
upon  any  mind,  especially  on  a  delicate  and  high-toned  mind  ? 
They  tend,  and  must  tend,  to  confuse  the  first  principles  of 
belief;  to  disturb  the  best  landmarks  of  consistency;  to  leave 
the  mind  open  to  attacks  of  oratorical  impulse ;  to  foster  the 
catching  habit  of  advocacy  ;  to  weaken  the  guiding  element  in 
a  disposition  which  was  already  defective  in  that  element.  The 
"  movement  of  1833,"  as  Father  Newman  calls  it,  has  wrecked 
many  fine  intellects,  has  broken  many  promising  careers.  It 
could  not  do  either  for  Mr.  Gladstone,  for  his  circumstances 
were  favourable,  and  his  mental  energy  was  far  too  strong  ; 
but  it  has  done  him  harm,  nevertheless :  it  has  left  upon  his 
intellect  a  weakening  strain  and  a  distorting  mark. 

Mr.  Gladstone  was  a  likely  man  to  be  enraptured  with  the 
first  creed  with  which  he  was  thrown,  and  to  push  it  too  far. 
He  wants  the  warning  instincts.  Some  one  said  of  him 
formerly,  "  He  may  be  a  good  Christian,  but  he  is  an  atrocious 
pagan  "  ;  and  the  saying  is  true.  He  has  not  a  trace  of  the 
protective  morality  of  the  old  world,  of  the  modus  in  rebus> 
the  pea-ov,  the  shrinking  from  an  extreme,  which  are  the  pro- 
minent characteristics  of  the  ethics  of  the  old  world,  which  are 
still  the  guiding  creed  of  the  large  part  of  the  world  that  is,— 
scarcely  altered  after  two  thousand  years.  And  this  much  we 
may  concede  to  the  secular  moralists — unless  a  man  have 
from  nature  a  selective  tact  which  shuns  the  unlimited,  unless 
he  have  a  detective  instinct  which  unconsciously  but  sensitively 


MR.  GLADSTONE  297 

shrinks  from  the  extravagant,  he  will  never  enjoy  a  placid  life, 
he  will  not  pass  through  a  simple  and  consistent  career.  The 
placid  moderation  which  is  necessary  to  coherent  success 
cannot  be  acquired,  it  must  be  born. 

Perhaps  we  may  seem  already  to  have  more  than  ac- 
counted for  the  prominence  of  Mr.  Gladstone's  characteristic 
defects.  We  may  seem  to  have  alleged  sufficient  reasons  for 
his  being  changeable  and  impulsive,  a  vehement  advocate  and 
an  audacious  financier.  But  we  have  other  causes  to  assign 
which  have  aggravated  these  faults.  We  shall  not,  indeed, 
after  what  we  have  said,  venture  to  dwell  on  them  at  length. 
We  will  bear  in  mind  the  precept,  "  If  you  wish  to  exhaust 
your  readers,  exhaust  your  subject ".  But  we  will  very  slightly 
allude  to  one  of  them. 

A  writer  like  Mr.  Gladstone,  fond  of  deriving  illustration 
from  the  old  theology,  might  speak  of  public  life  in  England 
as  an  economy.  It  is  a  world  of  its  own,  far  more  than  most 
Englishmen  are  aware  of.  It  presents  the  characters  of  public 
men  in  a  disguised  form ;  and  by  requiring  the  seeming  adop- 
tion of  much  which  is  not  real,  it  tends  to  modify  and  to 
distort  much  which  is  real.  An  English  statesman  in  the 
present  day  lives  by  following  public  opinion ;  he  may  profess 
to  guide  it  a  little ;  he  may  hope  to  modify  it  in  detail  ;  he  may 
help  to  exaggerate  and  to  develop  it ;  but  he  hardly  hopes  for 
more.  Many  seem  not  willing  to  venture  on  so  much.  And 
what  does  this  mean  except  that  such  a  statesman  has  to 
follow  the  varying  currents  of  a  varying  world  ;  to  adapt  his 
public  expressions,  if  not  his  private  belief,  to  the  tendencies 
of  the  hour ;  to  be  in  no  slight  measure  the  slave — the  petted 
and  applauded  slave,  but  still  the  slave — of  the  world  which 
he  seems  to  rule  ?  Nor  is  this  all.  A  Minister  is  not  simply 
the  servant  of  the  public,  he  is  likewise  the  advocate  of  his 
colleagues.  No  one  supposes  that  a  Cabinet  can  ever  agree ; 
when  did  fifteen  able  men — fifteen  able  men,  more  or  less  rivals 
— ever  agree  on  anything  ?  We  are  aware  that  differences  of 
opinion,  more  or  less  radical,  exist  in  every  Cabinet ;  that  the 
decisions  of  every  Cabinet  are  in  nearly  every  case  modified  by 
concession  ;  that  a  minority  of  the  Cabinet  frequently  dissents 


298  MR.  GLADSTONE 

from  them.  Yet  all  this  latent  discrepancy  of  opinion  is  never 
hinted  at,  much  less  is  it  ever  avowed.  A  Cabinet  Minister 
comes  down  to  the  House  habitually  to  vote  and  occasionally 
to  speak  in  favour  of  measures  which  he  much  dislikes,  from 
which  he  has  in  vain  attempted  to  dissuade  his  colleagues. 
The  life  of  a  great  Minister  is  the  life  of  a  great  advocate.  No 
life  can  be  imagined  which  is  worse  for  a  mind  like  Mr.  Glad- 
stone's. He  was  naturally  changeable,  susceptible,  prone  to 
unlimited  statements  —  to  vehement  arguments.  He  has 
followed  a  career  in  which  it  is  necessary  to  follow  a  changing 
guide  and  to  obey  more  or  less,  but  always  to  some  extent,  a 
fluctuating  opinion  ;  to  argue  vehemently  for  tenets  which  you 
dislike  ;  to  defend  boldly  a  given  law  to-day,  to  propose  boldly 
that  the  same  law  should  be  repealed  to-morrow.  Accumulated 
experience  shows  that  the  public  life  of  our  Parliamentary 
statesmen  is  singularly  unsteadying,  is  painfully  destructive  of 
coherent  principle  ;  and  we  may  easily  conceive  how  dangerous 
it  must  be  to  a  mind  like  Mr.  Gladstone's — to  a  mind,  by  its 
intrinsic  nature,  impressible,  impetuous,  and  unfixed. 

What,  then,  is  to  be  the  future  course  of  the  remarkabl< 
statesman  whose  excellences  and  whose  faults  we  have  vei 
tured  to  analyse  at  such  length  ?  No  wise  man  would  ven- 
ture to  predict.  A  wise  man  does  not  predict  much  in  this 
complicated  world,  least  of  all  will  he  predict  the  exact 
course  of  a  perplexing  man  in  perplexing  circumstances. '  But 
we  will  hazard  three  general  remarks. 

First,  Mr.  Gladstone  is  essentially  a  man  who  cannot  im- 
pose his  creed  on  his  time,  but  must  learn  his  creed  of  his  time. 
Every  Parliamentary  statesman  must,  as  we  have  said,  do  so  in 
some  measure  ;  but  Mr.  Gladstone  must  do  so  above  all  men. 
The  vehement  orator,  the  impulsive  advocate,  the  ingenious  but 
somewhat  unsettled  thinker,  is  the  last  man  from  whom  we 
should  expect  an  original  policy,  a  steady  succession  of  mature 
and  consistent  designs.  Mr.  Gladstone  may  well  be  the  ex- 
positor of  his  time,  the  advocate  of  its  conclusions,  the  admired 
orator  in  whom  it  will  take  pride  ;  but  he  cannot  be  more. 
Parliamentary  life  rarely  admits  the  autocratic  supremacy  of  an 
original  intellect ;  the  present  moment  is  singularly  unfavour- 
able to  it ;  Mr.  Gladstone  is  the  last  man  to  obtain  it. 


MR.  GLADSTONE 


299 


Secondly,  Mr.  Gladstone  will  fail  if  he  follow  the  seductive 
example  of  Sir  Robert  Peel.  It  is  customary  to  talk  of  the 
unfavourable  circumstances  in  which  the  latter  was  placed,  but 
in  one  respect  those  circumstances  were  favourable.  He  had 
very  unusual  means  of  learning  the  ideas  of  his  time.  They 
were  forced  upon  him  by  a  loud  and  organised  agitation.  The 
repeal  of  the  corn-laws,  the  repeal  of  the  Catholic  disabilities — 
the  two  Acts  by  which  he  will  be  remembered — were  not  chosen 
by  him,  but  exacted  from  him.  The  world  around  him 
clamoured  for  them.  But  no  future  statesman  can  hope  to 
have  such  an  advantage.  The  age  in  which  Peel  lived  was  an 
age  of  destruction :  the  measures  by  which  he  will  be  remem- 
bered were  abolitions.  We  have  now  reached  the  term  of  the 
destructive  period.  We  cannot  abolish  all  our  laws  ;  we  have 
few  remaining  with  which  educated  men  find  fault.  The  ques- 
tions which  remain  are  questions  of  construction — how  the  lower 
classes  are  to  be  admitted  to  a  share  of  political  power  without 
absorbing  the  whole  power  ;  how  the  natural  union  of  Church 
and  State  is  to  be  adapted  to  an  age  of  divided  religious  opinion, 
and  to  the  necessary  conditions  of  a  Parliamentary  government. 
These,  and  such  as  these,  are  the  future  topics  of  our  home 
policy.  And  on  these  the  voice  of  the  nation  will  never  be 
very  distinct.  Destruction  is  easy,  construction  is  very  diffi- 
cult A  statesman  who  will  hereafter  learn  what  our  real 
public  opinion  is,  will  not  have  to  regard  loud  agitators,  but 
to  disregard  them ;  will  not  have  to  yield  to  a  loud  voice,  but 
to  listen  for  a  still  small  voice ;  will  have  to  seek  for  the  opinion 
which  is  treasured  in  secret  rather  than  for  that  which  is  noised 
abroad.  If  Mr.  Gladstone  will  accept  the  conditions  of  his  age  ; 
if  he  will  guide  himself  by  the  mature,  settled,  and  cultured 
reflection  of  his  time,  and  not  by  its  loud  and  noisy  organs; 
if  he  will  look  for  that  which  is  thought,  rather  than  for  that 
which  is  said — he  may  leave  a  great  name,  be  useful  to  his 
country,  may  steady  and  balance  his  own  mind.  But  if  not, 
not.  The  coherent  efficiency  of  his  career  will  depend  on  the 
the  guide  which  he  takes,  the  index  which  he  obeys,  the  Scupwv 
which  he  consults. 

There   are  two  topics  which    are  especially  critical.     Mr. 


3oo 


MR,  GLADSTONE 


Gladstone  must  not  object  to  war  because  it  is  war,  or  to 
expenditure  because  it  is  expenditure.  Upon  these  two  points 
Mr.  Gladstone  has  shown  a  tendency — not,  we  hope,  an  uncon- 
trollable tendency,  but  still  a  tendency — to  differ  from  the 
best  opinion  of  the  age.  He  has  been  unfortunately  placed. 
His  humane  and  Christian  feeling  are  opposed  to  war  ;  he  has 
a  financial  ideal  which  has  been  distorted,  if  not  destroyed,  by 
a  growing  expenditure.  But  war  is  often  necessary ;  finance  is 
not  an  end  ;  money  is  but  a  means.  A  statesman  who  would 
lead  his  age  must  learn  its  duties.  It  may  be  that  the  defence 
of  England,  the  military  defence,  is  one  of  our  duties.  If  so, 
we  must  not  sit  down  to  count  the  cost.  If  so,  it  is  not  the 
age  for  arithmetic.  If  so,  it  is  for  our  statesmen — it  is 
especially  for  Mr.  Gladstone,  who  is  the  most  splendidly  gifted 
amongst  them — to  sacrifice  cherished  hopes  ;  to  forego  treasured 
schemes ;  to  put  out  of  their  thoughts  the  pleasant  duties  of  a 
pacific  time  ;  to  face  the  barbarism  of  war  ;  to  vanquish  the  in- 
stinctive shrinkings  of  a  delicate  mind. 

Lastly,  Mr.  Gladstone  must  beware  how  he  again  commits 
himself  to  a  long  period  of  bewildering  opposition.  Office  is  a 
steadying  situation.  A  Minister  has  means  of  learning  from  his 
colleagues,  from  his  subordinates,  from  unnumbered  persons 
who  are  only  too  ready  to  give  him  information,  what  the  truth 
is,  and  what  public  opinion  is.  Opposition,  on  the  other  hand, 
is  an  exciting  and  a  misleading  situation.  The  bias  of  every 
one  who  is  so  placed  is  to  oppose  the  Ministry.  Yet  on  a 
hundred  questions  the  Ministry  are  likely  to  be  right.  They  have 
special  information,  long  consultations,  skilled  public  servants 
to  guide  them.  On  most  points  there  is  no  misleading  motive. 
Every  Minister  decides,  to  the  best  of  his  ability,  upon  most  of 
the  questions  which  come  before  him.  A  bias  to  oppose  him, 
therefore,  is  always  dangerous.  It  is  peculiarly  dangerous  to 
those  in  whom  the  contentious  impulse  is  strong,  whose  life  is 
in  debate.  If  Mr.  Gladstone's  mind  is  to  be  kept  in  a  useful 
track,  it  must  be  by  the  guiding  influence  of  office,  by  an  ex- 
emption from  the  misguiding  influence  of  opposition. 

No  one  desires  more  than  we  do  that  Mr.  Gladstone's 
future  course  should  be  enriched,  not  only  with  oratorical  fame, 


MR.  GLADSTONE  301 

but  with  useful  power.  Such  gifts  as  his  are  amongst  the  rarest 
that  are  given  to  men ;  they  are  amongst  the  most  valuable ; 
they  are  singularly  suited  to  our  Parliamentary  life.  England 
cannot  afford  to  lose  such  a  man.  If  in  the  foregoing  pages 
we  have  seemed  often  to  find  fault,  it  has  not  been  for  the 
sake  of  finding  fault.  It  is  necessary  that  England  should 
comprehend  Mr.  Gladstone.  If  the  country  have  not  a  true 
conception  of  a  great  statesman,  his  popularity  will  be  ca- 
pricious, his  power  irregular,  and  his  usefulness  insecure. 


MEMOIR  OF  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 
JAMES  WILSON.1 

(1860.) 

PERHAPS  some  of  the  subscribers  to  the  Economist  would 
not  be  unwilling  to  read  a  brief  memoir  of  Mr.  Wilson,  even 
if  the  events  narrated  were  in  no  respect  peculiar.  They 
might  possibly  be  interested  in  the  biography  of  an  author  of 
whose  writings  they  have  read  so  many,  even  if  the  narrative 
related  no  marked  transitions  and  no  characteristic  events. 
But  there  were  in  Mr.  Wilson's  life  several  striking  changes. 
The  scene  shifts  from  the  manufactory  of  a  small  Scotch 
hatter  in  a  small  Scotch  town,  to  London — to  the  Imperial 
Parliament — to  the  English  Treasury — to  the  Council  Board 
of  India.  Such  a  biography  may  be  fairly  expected  to  have 
some  interest.  The  life  perhaps  of  no  Political  Economist  has 
been  more  eventful. 

James  Wilson  was  born  at  Hawick,  in  Roxburghshire, 
on  3rd  June,  1805.  His  father,  of  whose  memory  he  always 
spoke  with  marked  respect,  was  a  thriving  man  of  business, 
extensively  engaged  in  the  woollen  manufacture  of  that  place. 
He  was  the  fourth  son  in  a  family  of  fifteen  children,  of  whom, 
however,  only  ten  reached  maturity.  Of  his  mother,  who 
died  when  he  was  very  young,  he  scarcely  retained  any 
remembrance  in  after-life.  As  to  his  early  years  little  is  now 
recollected,  except  that  he  was  a  very  mild  and  serious  boy, 
usually  successful  during  school  hours,  but  not  usually  suc- 
cessful in  the  play-ground. 

As  Mr.  Wilson's  father  was  an  influential  Quaker,  he  was 

1  This  was  published  as  a  supplement  to  the  Economist,  soon  after 
Mr.  Wilson's  death  in  1860, 

302 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE  JAMES  WILSON    303 

sent  when  ten  years  old  to  a  Quaker  school  at  Ackworth, 
where  he  continued  for  four  years.  At  that  time — it  may 
surprise  some  of  those  who  knew  him  in  later  life  to  be  told 
— he  was  so  extremely  fond  of  books  as  to  wish  to  be  a 
teacher ;  and  as  his  father  allowed  his  sons  to  choose  their  line 
in  life,  he  was  sent  to  a  seminary  at  Earl's  Colne  in  Essex, 
to  qualify  himself  for  that  occupation.  But  the  taste  did  not 
last  long.  As  we  might  expect,  the  natural  activity  of  his 
disposition  soon  induced  him  to  regret  his  choice  of  a  seden- 
tary life.  He  wrote  to  Hawick,  "I  would  rather  be  the  most 
menial  servant  in  my  father's  mill  than  be  a  teacher "  ;  and 
he  was  permitted  to  return  home  at  once. 

Many  years  later  he  often  narrated  that  after  leaving 
Earl's  Colne,  he  had  much  wished  to  study  for  the  Scottish 
Bar,  but  the  rules  of  the  Society  of  Friends,  as  then  under- 
stood, would  not  allow  his  father  to  consent  to  the  plan.  He 
was  sometimes  inclined  half  to  regret  that  he  had  not  been 
able  to  indulge  this  taste,  and  he  was  much  pleased  at  being 
told  by  a  great  living  advocate  that  "  if  he  had  gone  to  the 
Bar  he  would  have  been  very  successful ".  But  at  the  time 
there  was  no  alternative,  and  at  sixteen  he  accordingly  com- 
menced a  life  of  business.  He  did  not,  however,  lose  at  once 
his  studious  predilections.  For  some  years  at  least  he  was 
in  the  habit  of  reading  a  good  deal,  very  often  till  late  in  the 
night.  It  was  indeed  then  that  he  acquired  almost  all  the 
knowledge  of  books  which  he  ever  possessed.  In  later  life  he 
was  much  too  busy  to  be  a  regular  reader,  and  he  never 
acquired  the  habit  of  catching  easily  the  contents  of  books  or 
even  of  articles  in  the  interstices  of  other  occupations.  What- 
ever he  did,  he  did  thoroughly.  He  would  not  read  even  an 
article  in  a  newspaper  if  he  could  well  help  doing  so ;  but  if 
he  read  it  at  all,  it  was  with  as  much  slow,  deliberate  atten- 
tion as  if  he  were  perusing  a  Treasury  minute. 

At  the  early  age  we  have  mentioned  he  commenced  his 
business  life  by  being  apprenticed  to  a  small  hat  manufacturer 
at  Hawick  ;  and  it  is  still  remembered  that  he  showed  re- 
markable care  and  diligence  in  mastering  all  the  minutice  of 
the  trade.  There  was,  indeed,  nothing  of  the  amateur  man 


304        MEMOIR  OF  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 

of  business  about  him  at  any  time.  After  a  brief  interval  his 
father  purchased  his  master's  business  for  him  and  for  an 
elder  brother,  named  William,  and  the  two  brothers  in  con- 
junction continued  to  carry  it  on  at  Hawick  during  two  01 
three  years  with  much  energy.  So  small  a  town,  however, 
as  Hawick  then  was,  afforded  no  scope  for  enterprise  in  thi< 
branch  of  manufacture,  and  they  resolved  to  transfer  them- 
selves to  London. 

Accordingly,  in  1824,  Mr.  Wilson  commenced  a  mercantile 
life  in  London  (the   name  of  the  firm  being  Wilson,   Irwii 
&    Wilson),    and   was   very    prosperous    and    successful    foi 
many  years.     His  pecuniary  gains  were  considerable,  and  to 
the  practical  instruction  which  he  then  obtained  he  always 
ascribed  his  success  as  an  economist  and  a  financier.      "  Be- 
fore I  was  twenty  years  of  age,"  he  said  at  Devonport  in 
1859,  "I  was  partner  in  a  firm  in  London,  and  I  can  only  say, 
if  there  is  in  my  life  one  event  which  I  regard  with  satisfactior 
more  than  another,  it  is  that  I  had  then  an  opportunity  of  ol 
taining  experience  by  observation  which  has  contributed  ii 
the  main  to  what  little  public  utility  I  have  since  been  to 
country.      During   these    few   years    I    became  acquainted- 
well    acquainted — with   the    middle    classes  of  this  country. 
I  also  became  acquainted  in  some  degree  with  the  workii 
classes;   and  also,  to  a  great  extent,  with  the  foreign  com- 
merce of  this  country  in  pretty  nearly  all  parts  of  the  world 
and  I  can  only  say  the  information  and  the  experience  I  thi 
derived   have   been  to  me  in   my  political  career  of  greal 
benefit  than  I  can  now  describe." 

In   1831   the  firm   of  Wilson,  Irwin   &  Wilson   was  di< 
solved  by  mutual  consent.     But  Mr.  Wilson  (under  the  fii 
of  James  Wilson   &  Co.)   continued  to   carry  on  the  sai 
kind  of  business,  and  continued  to  obtain  the  same  su< 
He  began  in   1824  with  £2000,  the  gift  of  his  father,  and  ii 
1837  was  worth  nearly  £25,000 — a  fair  result  for  so  short 
period,  and  evincing  a  steady  business-like  capacity  and  judg- 
ment;  for  it  was  the  fruit  not  of  sudden   success  in  casu< 
speculation,  but  of  regular  attention  during  several  years 
one  business.     From  circumstances  which  we  shall  presently 


JAMES  WILSON  305 

state,  he  was  very  anxious  that  this  part  of  his  career  should 
be  very  clearly  understood. 

During  these  years  Mr.  Wilson  led  the  life  of  a  prosperous 
and  intellectual  man  of  business.  He  married,1  and  formed 
an  establishment  suitable  to  his  means,  first  near  his  manu- 
factory in  London,  and  afterwards  at  Dulwich.  He  took 
great  pleasure  in  such  intellectual  society  as  he  could  obtain ; 
was  specially  fond  of  conversing  on  political  economy,  politics, 
statistics,  and  the  other  subjects  with  which  he  was  subse- 
quently so  busily  occupied.2  Through  life  it  was  one  of  his 
remarkable  peculiarities  to  be  a  very  animated  man,  talking  by 
preference  and  by  habit  on  inanimate  subjects.  All  the  verve, 
vigour,  and  life  which  lively  people  put  into  exciting  pursuits, 
he  put  into  topics  which  are  usually  thought  very  dry.  He 
discussed  the  Currency  or  the  Corn-laws  with  a  relish  and 
energy  which  made  them  interesting  to  almost  every  one. 
"  How  pleasant  it  is,"  he  used  to  say,  "  to  talk  a  subject  out," 
and  he  frequently  suggested  theories  in  the  excitement  of 
conversation  upon  his  favourite  topics  which  he  had  never 
thought  of  before,  but  to  which  he  ever  afterwards  attached, 
as  was  natural,  much  importance.  The  instructiveness  of  his 
conversation  was  greatly  increased  as  his  mind  progressed 
and  his  experience  accumulated.  But  his  genial  liveliness 
and  animated  vigour  were  the  same  during  his  early  years  of 
business  life  as  they  were  afterwards  when  he  filled  important 
offices  of  State  in  England  and  in  Calcutta.  Few  men  can 
have  led  a  more  continuously  prosperous  and  happy  life  than 

1  He  was  married  on  5th  January,  1832,  to  Miss  Elizabeth  Preston,  of 
Newcastle,  and  this  has  given  rise  to  a  statement  that  he  was  once  in 
business  at  Newcastle.      This  is,  however,  an  entire  mistake.      He  was 
never  in  business  anywhere  except  at  Hawick  and  London.       It  may  be 
added,  that  on  the  occasion  of  his  marriage  he  voluntarily  ceased  to  be  a 
member  of  the  Society  of  Friends,  for  whom  he  always,  however,  retained 
a  high  respect.     During  the  rest  of  his  life  he  was  a  member  of  the  Church 
of  England. 

2  Among  his  friends  of  this  period,  should  be  especially  mentioned  Mr. 
G.  R.  Porter,  of  the  Board  of  Trade,  the  author  of  The  Progress  of  the 
Nation,  whose  mind  he  described  twenty  years  later  as  the  most  accurate 
he  had  ever  known. 

VOL.  III.  20 


306        MEMOIR  OF  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 

he   did   during   those   years.     Unfortunately   it  was   not  to 
continue. 

In    1836,  or  thereabouts,   Mr.  Wilson   was  unfortunatel; 
induced  to  commence  a  speculation  in  indigo,  in  conjunctioi 
with  a  gentleman  in  Scotland.       It  was  expected  that  indig< 
would  be  scarce,   and   that  the  price  would  rise  rapidly    ii 
consequence.       Such  would  indeed  appear  to  have  been  th< 
case  for   a  short   period,   since  the  first  purchases  in    whicl 
Mr.   Wilson  took  part  yielded  a  profit.      In  consequence 
this  success,  he  was  induced  to  try  a  larger  venture, — indeec 
to   embark   most   of  his    disposable   capital.      Unfortunately, 
the  severe  crisis  of  1837   disturbed  the  usual  course  of  all 
trades,  and  from  its  effect  or  from  some  other  cause,  indigo, 
instead   of  rising  rapidly,   fell    rapidly.      The  effect    on   Mr. 
Wilson's    position    may   be    easily    guessed.      A    very   great 
capitalist  would  have  been  able  to  hold  till  better  times,  but 
he  was  not.     "  On  ist  January,"  he  said  at  Devonport,  "in 
given  year,  my  capital  was  nearer  £25,000  than  £24,1 
and  it  was  all  lost."     Numerous  stories  were  long  circulatec 
most  of  them  exaggerated,  and  the  remainder  wholly  untru< 
as  to  this  period  of  misfortune  in  Mr.  Wilson's  life  ;  but  tl 
truth    is  very  simple.      As   is    usual   in   such  cases,   various 
arrangements  were  proposed  and  agreed  to,  were  afterwai 
abandoned,  and  others  substituted  for  them.     A  large  bundle 
of  papers  carefully  preserved  by  him  records  with  the  utmos 
accuracy  the  whole  of  the  history.      The  final  result  will 
best   described  in  his  own  words  at  Devonport,  which  pi 
cisely  correspond  with  the  balance  sheets  and  other  document 
still  in  existence.       They  are  part  of  a  speech  in  answer  to 
calumnious  rumour  that  had  been  circulated  in  the  town : — 

"  Now,  how  did  I  act  on  this  occasion  ?  and  this  is  whs 
this  placard  has  reference  to.  By  my  own  means  alone, 
was  enabled  at  once  to  satisfy  in  full  all  claims  against 
individually,  and  to  provide  for  the  early  payment  of  om 
half  of  the  whole  of  the  demands  against  the  firm,  consistii 
of  myself  and  three  partners.  I  was  further  enabled,  or 
firm  was  enabled,  at  once  to  assign  property  of  sufHcie 
value,  as  was  supposed,  to  the  full  satisfaction  of  the  whol 


JAMES  WILSON  307 

of  the  remainder  of  the  liabilities.  An  absolute  agreement 
was  made,  an  absolute  release  was  given,  to  all  the  partners ; 
there  was  neither  a  bankruptcy  nor  insolvency,  neither  was 
the  business  stopped  for  one  day.  The  business  was  con- 
tinued under  the  new  firm,  with  which  I  remained  a  partner, 
and  from  which  I  ultimately  retired  in  good  circumstances. 
Some  years  afterwards  it  turned  out  that  the  foreign  property 
which  was  assigned  for  the  remaining  half  of  the  debts  of  the 
old  firm,  of  which  I  was  formerly  a  partner,  proved  insuffi- 
cient to  discharge  them.  The  legal  liability  was,  as  you 
know,  all  gone ;  the  arrangement  had  been  accepted — an 
arrangement  calculated  and  believed  by  all  parties  to  be 
sufficient  to  satisfy  all  claims  in  full ;  but  when  the  affairs  of 
the  whole  concern  were  fully  wound  up,  finding  that  the 
foreign  property  had  not  realised  what  was  anticipated,  I  had 
it,  I  am  glad  to  say,  in  my  power  to  place  at  my  banker's, 
having  ascertained  the  amount,  a  sum  of  money  to  discharge 
all  the  remainder  of  that  debt,  which  I  considered  morally, 
though  not  legally,  due.  This  I  did  without  any  kind  of 
solicitation — the  thing  was  not  named  to  me,  and  I  am  quite 
sure  never  were  the  gentlemen  more  taken  by  surprise  than 
when  a  friend  of  mine  waited  on  them  privately  in  London, 
and  presented  each  of  them  with  a  cheque  for  the  balance 
due  to  them.  Now,  perhaps,  I  have  myself  to  blame  for  this 
anonymous  attack.  I  probably  brought  it  on  myself,  for  I 
always  felt  that  if  this  matter  were  made  public,  it  might 
look  like  an  act  of  ostentatious  obtrusion  on  my  part,  and 
therefore,  when  I  put  aside  the  sum  of  money  necessary  for 
the  purpose,  I  made  a  request,  in  the  letter  I  wrote  to  my 
bankers,  desiring  them  as  an  especial  favour  that  they  would 
instruct  their  clerks  to  mention  the  matter  to  no  one ;  and  in 
I  order  that  it  should  be  perfectly  private,  I  employed  a  per- 
|  sonal  friend  of  my  own  in  the  city  of  London,  in  whose  care 
I  placed  the  whole  of  the  cheques,  to  wait  on  those  gentle- 
I  men  and  present  each  of  them  with  a  cheque,  and  I  obtained 
I  from  him  a  promise,  and  he  from  them,  not  to  name  the 
circumstance  to  any  one."  The  secrecy  thus  enjoined  was 
I  well  preserved.  Many  of  the  most  intimate  friends  of  Mr. 

20* 


3o8        MEMOIR  OF  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 

Wilson,  and  his  family  also,  were  entirely  unacquainted  with 
what  he  had  done,  and  learnt  it  only  through  the  accidental 
medium  of  an  electioneering  speech.  It  may  be  added,  too, 
that  some  of  those  who  knew  the  circumstances,  and  who  have 
watched  Mr.  Wilson's  subsequent  career,  believe  that  at  no 
part  of  his  life  did  he  show  greater  business  ability,  self-com- 
mand, and  energy,  than  at  the  crisis  of  his  mercantile  mis- 
fortunes. 

It  is    remarkable  that  the  preface   to   Mr.  Wilson's  first 
pamphlet,   on  the  Influences  of  the  Corn-laws ',   is    dated    i: 
March,  1839,  the  precise  time  at  which  he  was  negotiating 
with  his  creditors   for  a   proper  arrangement  of  his  affairs 
and  to  those  who  have  had  an  opportunity  of  observing 
completely  pecuniary  misfortune  unnerves  and  unmans  m( 
— mercantile  men,    perhaps,  more  than  any   others — it   wil 
not  seem  unworthy  of  remark  that  a  careful  pamphlet,  wil 
elaborate  figures,  instinct  in  every  line  with  vigour  and  enei 
should  emanate  from  a  man  struggling  with  extreme  pecuniar 
calamity,  and  daily  harassed  with  the  painful  details  of  it. 

After  1839  Mr.  Wilson  continued  in  business  for  sevei 
years,  and  with  very  fair  success,  considering  that  his  capil 
was  much  diminished,  and  that  the  hat  manufacture  was  in 
state  of  transition.  He  finally  retired  in  1844,  and  invest* 
most  of  his  capital  in  the  foundation  and  extension  of  tl 
Economist. 

These  facts  prove,  as  we  believe,  the  conclusion  which  ru 
was  very  desirous  to  make  clear — that,  though  unfortunate 
a  particular  occasion,  Mr.  Wilson  was  by  no  means,  as  a  rul( 
unsuccessful  in  business.  He  did  not  at  all  like  to  have  it  saic 
that  he  was  fit  to  lay  down  the  rules  and  the  theory  of  busii 
but  not  fit  to  transact  business  itself.  And  the  whole  of  hi 
life,  on  the  contrary,  proves  that  he  possessed  an  unusi 
capacity  for  affairs — an  extraordinary  transacting  ability. 

It  may,  however,  be  admitted  that   Mr.  Wilson  was 
several  respects  by  no  means  an  unlikely  man  to  meet,  especially 
in  early  life,  with  occasional  misfortune.     To  the  last  hour  of 
his  life  he  was  always  sanguine.     He  naturally  looked  at  every- 
thing in  a  bright  and  cheerful  aspect ;  his  tendency  was  always 


JAMES  WILSON  309 

to  form  a  somewhat  too  favourable  judgment  both  of  things 
and  men.  One  proof  of  this  may  be  sufficient :  he  was  five 
years  Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  and  he  did  not  leave  it  a 
suspicious  man. 

Moreover,  Mr.  Wilson's  temperament  was  very  active  and 
his  mind  was  very  fertile.  And  though  in  many  parts  of 
business  these  gifts  are  very  advantageous,  in  many  also  they 
are  very  dangerous,  if  not  absolutely  disadvantageous.  Fre- 
quently they  are  temptations.  Capital  is  always  limited  ;  often 
it  is  very  limited ;  and  therefore  a  man  of  business,  who  is 
managing  his  own  capital,  has  only  defined  resources,  and  can 
engage  only  in  a  certain  number  of  undertakings.  But  a  person 
of  active  temperament  and  fertile  mind  will  soon  chafe  at  that 
restriction.  His  inventiveness  will  show  him  many  ways  in 
which  money  might  easily  be  made,  and  he  cannot  but  feel 
that  with  his  energies  he  would  like  to  make  it.  If  he  have 
besides  a  sanguine  temperament,  he  will  believe  that  he  can 
make  it.  The  records  of  unfortunate  commerce  abound  in 
instances  of  men  who  have  been  unsuccessful  because  they  had 
great  mind,  great  energy,  and  great  hope,  but  had  not  money 
in  proportion.  Some  part  of  this  description  was,  perhaps, 
applicable  to  Mr.  Wilson  in  1839,  but  exactly  how  much 
cannot,  after  the  lapse  of  so  many  years,  be  now  known  with 
any  accuracy. 

Mr.  Wilson's  position  in  middle  life  was  by  no  means  un- 
suitable to  a  writer  on  the  subjects  in  which  he  afterwards 
attained  eminence.  He  had  acquired  a  great  knowledge  of 
business  through  a  long  course  of  industrious  years ;  he  had 
proved  by  habitual  success  in  business  that  his  habitual  judg- 
ment on  it  was  sound  and  good.  If  he  had  been  a  man  of 
only  ordinary  energy  and  only  ordinary  ability,  he  would  pro- 
bably have  continued  to  grow  regularly  richer  and  richer.  But 
by  a  single  error  natural  to  a  very  sanguine  temperament  and 
a  very  active  mind,  he  had  destroyed  a  great  part  of  the  results 
of  his  industry.  He  had  a  new  career  to  seek.  He  was 
willing  to  expend  on  it  the  whole  of  his  great  energies.  He 
was  ready  to  take  all  the  pains  which  were  necessary  to  fit 
himself  for  success.  When  he  wrote  his  first  pamphlet  he  used 


3io        MEMOIR  OF  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 

to  say  that  he  thought  "  the  sentences  never  would  come  right ". 
In  later  life  he  considered  three  leading  articles  in  the  Economist^ 
full  of  facts  and  figures,  an  easy  morning's  work,  which  woul< 
not  prevent  his  doing  a  good  deal  else  too.     Mr.  Wilson 
a  finished  man  of  business  obliged  by  necessity  to  become 
writer  on  business.     Perhaps  no  previous  education  and  m 
temporary  circumstances  could  be  conceived  more  likely 
train  a  great  financial  writer  and  to  stimulate  his  powers. 

In  1839  Mr.  Wilson  published  his  Influences  of  the  Corn- 
laws ;  in  1840,  the  Fluctuations  of  Currency ',  Commerce^ 
Manufactures ;  in  1841,  The  Revenue ;  or,  What  should  t> 
Chancellor  do  ?  in  September,  1 843,  he  established  the  Economist. 
The  origin  of  the  latter  may  be  interesting  to  our  readers.  Mr. 
Wilson  proposed  to  the  editor  of  the  Examiner  that  he  shoul< 
furnish  gratuitously  a  certain  amount  of  writing  to  that  journal 
on  economic  and  financial  subjects  ;  but  the  offer  was  declined, 
though  with  some  regret,  on  account  of  the  expense  of  type 
and  paper.  A  special  paper  was,  therefore,  established,  which 
proved  in  the  end  as  important  as  the  Examiner  itself.  From 
the  first,  Mr.  Wilson  was  the  sole  proprietor  of  the  Economist, 
though  he  obtained  pecuniary  assistance — especially  from  th< 
kindness  of  Lord  Radnor.  He  embarked  some  capital  of  his 
own  in  it  from  the  first,  and  afterwards  repaid  all  loans  made 
to  him  for  the  purpose  of  establishing  it. 

It  would  not  be  suitable  to  the  design  of  this  memoir 
give  any  criticism  of  Mr.  Wilson's  pamphlets,  still  less  wouh 
it  become  the  Economist  to  pronounce  in  any  manner  a  judg- 
ment on  itself.  Nevertheless,  it  is  a  part  of  the  melancholy 
duty  we  have  undertaken  to  give  some  account  of  Mr.  Wilson's 
characteristic  position  as  a  writer  on  Political  Economy,  am 
of  the  somewhat  peculiar  mode  in  which  he  dealt  with  that 
subject. 

Mr.  Wilson  dealt  with  Political  Economy  like  a  practu 
man.     Persons   more  familiar  with  the  literature  of  scienc 
might  very  easily  be  found.     Mr.  Wilson's  faculty  of  reading 
was  small,  nor  had  he  any  taste  for  the  more  refined  abstrac- 
tions in  which  the  more  specially  scientific  political  economist 
had  involved  themselves,     "  Political  Economy,"  said  Sydi 


JAMES  WILSON  31 1 

Smith,  "  is  become  in  the  hands  of  Malthus  and  Ricardo,  a 
school  of  metaphysics.  All  seem  to  agree  what  is  to  be  done  ; 
the  contention  is  how  the  subject  is  to  be  divided  and  defined. 
Meddle  with  no  such  matters."  We  are  far  from  alleging  that 
this  saying  is  just ;  nor  would  Mr.  Wilson  have  by  any  means 
assented  to  it.  But  though  he  would  have  disavowed  it  in 
theory,  it  nevertheless  embodies  his  instinctive  feeling  and 
characteristic  practice.  He  "  meddled  with  no  such  matters  "  ; 
though  he  did  not  deny  the  utility  of  theoretical  refinements, 
he  habitually  and  steadily  avoided  them. 

Mr.  Wilson's  predominating  power  was  what  may  be  called 
a  business  imagination.  He  had  a  great  power  of  conceiving 
transactions.  Political  economy  was  to  him  the  science  of 
buying  and  selling,  and  of  the  ordinary  bargains  of  men  he 
had  a  very  steady  and  distinct  conception.  In  explaining  such 
subjects  he  did  not  begin,  as  political  economists  have  been 
wittily  said  to  do,  with  "  Suppose  a  man  upon  an  island,"  but 
"  What  they  do  in  the  city  is  this.  The  real  course  of  business 
is  so  and  so."  Most  men  of  business  will  think  this  character- 
istic a  great  merit,  aad  even  a  theoretical  economist  should  not 
consider  it  a  defect.  The  practical  value  of  the  science  of 
political  economy  (the  observation  is  an  old  one  as  to  all 
sciences)  lies  in  its  "  middle  principles  ".  The  extreme  abstrac- 
tions from  which  such  intermediate  maxims  are  scientifically 
deduced  lie  at  some  distance  from  ordinary  experience,  and 
are  not  easily  made  intelligible  to  most  persons,  and  when  they 
are  made  intelligible,  most  persons  do  not  know  how  to  use 
them.  But  the  intermediate  maxims  themselves  are  not  so 
difHcult ;  they  are  easily  comprehended  and  easily  used.  They 
have  in  them  a  practical  life,  and  come  home  at  once  to  the 
"business"  and  the  "bosoms"  of  men.  It  was  in  these  that 
Mr.  Wilson  excelled.  His  "business  imagination"  enabled 
him  to  see  "what  men  did,"  and  "why  they  did  it";  "why 
they  ought  to  do  it,"  and  "why  they  ought  not  to  do  it". 
His  very  clear  insight  into  the  real  nature  of  mercantile  trans- 
actions made  him  a  great  and  almost  an  instinctive  master  ot 
statistical  selection.  He  could  not  help  picking  out  of  a  mass 
of  figures  those  which  would  tell  most.  He  saw  which  were 


312        MEMOIR  OF  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 

really  material ;  he  put  them  prominently  and  plainly  forward, 
and  he  left  the  rest  alone.  Even  now  if  a  student  of  Parlia- 
mentary papers  should  alight  on  a  return  "  moved  for  by  Mr. 
Wilson,"  he  will  do  well  to  give  to  it  a  more  than  ordinary 
attention,  for  it  will  be  sure  to  contain  something  attainable, 
intelligible,  and  distinct. 

Mr.  Wilson's  habit  of  always  beginning  with  the  facts, 
always  arguing  from  the  facts,  and  always  ending  with  a  result 
applicable  to  the  facts,  obtained  for  his  writings  an  influence 
and  a  currency  more  extensive  than  would  have  been  antici- 
pated for  any  writings  on  political  economy.  It  is  not  for  the 
Economist  to  speak  of  the  Economist ;  but  we  may  observe 
that  through  the  pages  of  this  journal  certain  doctrines, 
whether  true  or  false,  have  been  diffused  far  more  widely  than 
they  ever  were  in  England  before — far  more  widely  than  from 
their  somewhat  abstract  nature  we  could  expect  them  to 
be  diffused — far  more  widely  than  they  are  diffused  in  any 
other  country  but  this.  The  business-like  method  and  vigor- 
ous simplicity  of  Mr.  Wilson's  arguments  converted  very  many 
ordinary  men  of  business,  who  would  have  distrusted  any 
theoretical  and  abstruse  disquisition,  and  would  not  have 
appreciated  any  elaborate  refinements.  Nor  was  this  special 
influence  confined  to  mercantile  men.  It  penetrated  where 
it  could  not  be  expected  to  penetrate.  The  Duke  of  Welling- 
ton was,  perhaps,  more  likely  to  be  prejudiced  against  a 
theoretical  political  economist  than  any  eminent  man  of  his 
day  ;  he  belonged  to  the  "  pre-scientific  period  "  ;  he  had  much 
of  the  impatient  practicality  incident  to  military  insight ;  he 
was  not  likely  to  be  very  partial  to  the  "doctrines  of  Mr. 
Huskisson  "  ; — nevertheless,  the  Duke  early  pointed  out  Mr. 
Wilson's  writings  to  Lord  Brougham  as  possessing  especi; 
practical  value ;  and  when  the  Duke  at  a  much  later  peri( 
was  disposed  to  object  to  the  repeal  of  the  Navigation  Laws, 
Mr.  Wilson  had  a  special  interview  to  convince  him  of  its 
expediency. 

Nor  is  this  faculty  of  exposition  by  any  means  a  trifling 
power.  On  many  subjects  it  is  a  common  saying  "  that  he 
only  discovers  who  proves  "  ;  but  in  practical  politics  we  may 


JAMES  WILSON  313 

almost  say  that  he  only  discovers  who  convinces.  It  is  of  no 
use  to  have  practical  truths  received  by  extraordinary  men, 
unless  they  are  also  accepted  by  ordinary  men.  Whether 
Mr.  Wilson  was  exactly  a  great  writer,  we  will  not  discuss : 
but  he  was  a  great  belief -producer  ;  he  had  upon  his  own  sub- 
jects a  singular  gift  of  efficient  argument — a  peculiar  power  of 
bringing  home  his  opinions  by  convincing  reasons  to  convinc- 
ible  persons. 

The  time  at  which  Mr.  Wilson  commenced  his  career  as  an 
economical  writer  was  a  singularly  happy  one.  An  economi- 
cal century  has  elapsed  since  1839.  The  Corn-laws  were  then 
in  full  force,  and  seemed  likely  to  continue  so  ;  the  agri- 
culturists believed  in  them,  and  other  classes  acquiesced  in 
them  ;  the  tentative  reforms  of  Mr.  Huskisson  were  half  for- 
gotten ;  our  tariff  perhaps  contained  some  specimen  of  every 
defect — it  certainly  contained  many  specimens  of  most  defects ; 
duties  abounded  which  cramped  trade,  which  contributed 
nothing  to  the  Exchequer,  which  were  maintained  that  a 
minority  might  believe  they  profited  at  the  expense  of  the 
majority  ;  all  the  now  settled  principles  of  commercial  policy 
were  unsettled ;  the  "  currency  "  was  under  discussion ;  the 
Bank  of  England  had  been  reduced  to  accept  a  loan  from  the 
Bank  of  France  ;  capitalists  were  disheartened  and  operatives 
disaffected  ;  the  industrial  energies,  which  have  since  multiplied 
our  foreign  commerce,  were  then  effectually  impeded  by  legis- 
lative fetters  and  financial  restraints.  On  almost  all  of  these 
restraints  Mr.  Wilson  had  much  to  say. 

Upon  the  Corn-laws  Mr.  Wilson  developed  a  theory  which 
was  rare  when  he  first  stated  it,  but  which  was  generally 
adopted  afterwards,  and  which  subsequent  experience  has  con- 
firmed. He  was  fond  of  narrating  an  anecdote  which  shows 
his  exact  position  in  1839.  There  had  just  been  a  meeting  of 
the  Anti-Corn-law  League  at  Manchester,  and  some  speakers 
had  maintained,  with  more  or  less  vehemence,  that  the  coming 
struggle  was  to  be  one  of  class  against  class,  inasmuch  as  the 
Corn-laws  were  beneficial  to  the  agriculturists,  though  they 
were  injurious  to  manufacturers.  The  tendency  of  the  argu- 
ment was  to  set  one  part  of  the  nation  against  another  part. 


314        MEMOIR  OF  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 

Mr.  Wilson  was  travelling  in  the  North,  and  was  writing  in  a 
railway  carriage  part  of  the  Influences  of  the  Corn-laws.  By 
chance  a  distinguished  member  of  the  League,  whom  Mr. 
Wilson  did  not  know,  happened  to  travel  with  him,  and  asked 
him  what  he  was  about.  "  I  am  writing  on  the  Corn-laws,' 
said  Mr.  Wilson,  "something  in  answer  to  the  rubbish  they 
have  been  talking  at  Manchester."  "  You  are  a  bold  man,"  was 
the  reply  ;  "  Protection  is  a  difficult  doctrine  to  support  by 
argument ".  But  it  soon  appeared  that  Mr.  Wilson  was  the 
better  Free-trader  of  the  two.  He  held  that  the  Corn-laws 
were  injurious  to  all  classes  ;  that  the  agriculturists  suffered 
from  them  as  much  as  the  manufacturers  ;  that,  in  consequence, 
it  was  "  rubbish"  to  raise  a  class-enmity  on  the  subject,  for 
the  interest  of  all  classes  was  the  same. 

"  We  cannot  too  much  lament,"  he  says  in  his  Influences  of  the  Corn- 
laws,  "  and  deprecate  the  spirit  of  violence  and  exaggeration  with  which 
this  subject  has  always  been  approached  by  each  party,  which  no  doubt 
has  been  the  chief  cause  why  so  little  of  real  truth  or  benefit  has  resulted 
from  the  efforts  of  either  ;  the  arguments  on  either  side  have  been  sup- 
ported by  such  absurd  and  magnified  statements  of  the  influences  of  those 
prohibitory  laws  on  their  separate  interests,  as  only  to  furnish  each  other 
with  a  good  handle  to  turn  the  whole  argument  into  ridicule.  It  therefore 
appears  to  be  necessary  to  a  just  settlement  of  this  great  question,  that 
these  two  parries  should  be  first  reconciled  to  a  correct  view  of  the  real 
influences  thus  exerted  over  their  interests,  and  the  interests  of  the  country 
at  large  ;  to  a  conviction  that  the  imaginary  fears  of  change  on  the  one 
hand,  and  the  exaggerated  advantages  expected  on  the  other  hand,  are 
equally  without  foundation  ;  that  there  are  in  reality  no  differences  in  the 
solid  interests  of  either  party  ;  and  that  individuals,  communities,  or 
countries  can  only  be  prosperous  in  proportion  to  the  prosperity  of  the 
whole."  And  he  proposed  to  prove  "that  the  agricultural  interest  has 
derived  no  benefit,  but  great  injury,  from  the  existing  laws  ;  and  that  the 
fears  and  apprehensions  entertained  of  the  ruinous  consequences  which 
would  result  to  this  interest  by  the  adoption  of  a  free  and  liberal  policy 
with  respect  to  the  trade  in  corn,  are  without  any  foundation  ;  that  the 
value  of  this  property,  instead  of  being  depreciated,  in  the  aggregate, 
would  be  rather  enhanced,  and  the  general  interests  of  the  owners  most 
decidedly  enhanced  thereby  ;  "  and,  "  that  while  incalculable  benefit  would 
arise  to  the  manufacturing  interest  and  the  working  population  generally, 
in  common  with  all  classes  of  the  community,  from  the  adoption  of  such 
policy,  nothing  can  be  more  erroneous  than  the  belief  that  the  price  of 
provisions  or  labour  would  on  the  average  be  thereby  cheapened,  but 


JAMES   WILSON  315 

that,  on  the  contrary,  the  tendency  would  rather  be  to  produce,  by  a  state 
of  generally  increased  prosperity,  a  higher  average  rate  of  each  ". 

Whatever  might  be  thought  in  1839,  in  1860  we  can  on 
one  point  have  no  doubt  whatever.  The  repeal  of  the  Corn- 
laws  has  been  followed  by  the  exact  effect  which  Mr.  Wilson 
anticipated.  Whether  his  argument  was  right  or  wrong,  the 
result  has  corresponded  with  his  anticipation.  The  agricul- 
turists have  prospered  more — the  manufacturers,  the  merchants, 
the  operatives,  all  classes  in  a  word,  have  prospered  more 
since  the  Corn-laws  were  repealed,  than  they  ever  did  before. 
As  to  abstract  questions  of  politics  there  will  always  be  many 
controversies  ;  but  upon  a  patent  contemporaneous  fact  of  this 
magnitude  there  cannot  be  a  controversy. 

It  is  indisputable  also  that,  for  the  purposes  of  the  Anti- 
Corn-law  agitation,  Mr.  Wilson's  view  was  exceedingly  op- 
portune. Mr.  Cobden  said  not  long  ago  (we  quote  the 
substance  correctly  even  if  the  words  are  wrong),  "  I  never 
made  any  progress  with  the  Corn-law  question  while  it  was 
stated  as  a  question  of  class  against  class ".  And  a  careful 
inquirer  will  find  that  such  is  the  real  moral  of  the  whole 
struggle.  If  it  had  continued  to  be  considered  solely  or 
mainly  as  a  manufacturer's  question,  it  might  not  have  been 
settled  to  this  hour.  In  support  of  this  opinion,  Mr.  Wilson 
made  many  speeches  at  the  meetings  of  the  Anti-Corn-law 
League,  though  he  had  little  taste  for  the  task  of  agitation. 

We  cannot  give  even  an  analysis  of  Mr.  Wilson's  argu- 
ments— our  space  is  too  brief — but  we  will  enumerate  one  or 
two  of  the  principal  points. 

He  maintained  that,  under  our  protective  laws,  the  agri- 
culturists never  had  the  benefit  of  a  high  price,  and  always 
suffered  the  evil  of  a  low  price.  When  our  crop  was  scanty, 
it  was  necessary  to  sell  the  small  quantity  at  a  high  price,  or 
the  farmer  could  not  be  remunerated.  But  exactly  at  that 
moment  foreign  corn  was  permitted  by  law  to  be  imported. 
In  consequence,  during  bad  years  the  farmer  was  exposed  to 
difficulty  and  disaster,  which  were  greater  because,  in  ex- 
pectation of  an  English  demand,  large  stocks  were  often 
hoarded  on  the  Continent,  and  at  once  poured  in  to  prevent 


3i6        MEMOIR  OF  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 

the  home-grower  compensating  himself  for  a  bad  harvest  by 
an  equivalent  rise  of  price. 

Nor  was  the  farmer  better  off  in  very  plentiful  years. 
There  was  a  surplus  in  this  country,  and  that  surplus  could 
not  be  exported,  for  the  price  of  wheat  was  always  lower 
abroad  than  here.  The  effect  is  evident.  As  corn  is  an 
article  of  the  first  necessity,  a  certain  quantity  of  it  will  always 
be  consumed,  but  more  than  that  quantity  will  not  .be  readily 
consumed.  A  slight  surplus  is,  therefore,  invariably  found 
to  lower  the  price  of  such  articles  excessively.  In  very  good 
years  the  farmer  had  to  sell  his  crop  at  an  unremuneratingly 
low  price,  while  in  very  bad  years  he  was  prevented  from 
obtaining  the  high  price  which  alone  could  compensate  him 
for  his  outlay.  Between  the  effects  of  the  two  sorts  of  years 
his  condition  was  deplorable,  and  Parliamentary  committees 
were  constantly  appointed  to  investigate  it. 

Mr.  Wilson  also  explained  how  much  these  fluctuations 
in  price  contracted  the  home  demand  for  agricultural  produce. 
The  manufacturing  districts  were,  he  showed,  subjected  by 
the  Corn-laws  to  alternate  periods  of  great  excitement  and 
great  depression.  When  corn  was  very  cheap,  the  mass  of 
the  community  had  much  to  spend  on  other  things ;  when 
corn  was  very  dear,  they  had  very  little  to  spend  on  those 
things.  In  consequence,  the  producers  of  "  other  things " 
were  sometimes  stimulated  by  a  great  demand,  and  at  other 
times  deadened  by  utter  slackness.  The  labouring  classes 
in  the  manufacturing  districts  acquired  in  periods  of  plenty 
a  certain  taste  for  what  to  them  were  luxuries,  and  in  periods 
of  scarcity  were  naturally  soured  at  being  deprived  of  them. 
The  manufacturers  were  frequently  induced  to  invest  addi- 
tional capital  by  sudden  angmentations  of  demand,  and  were 
often  ruined  by  its  sudden  cessation.  It  was  therefore 
impossible  that  the  manufacturing  classes  could  be  steady 
customers  of  the  agriculturists,  for  their  own  condition  was 
fluctuating  and  unsteady. 

Mr.  Wilson  also  showed  that  if  the  landed  interest  was 
injured  by  the  effects  of  the  Corn-laws,  this  was  of  itself 
enough  to  injure  the  manufacturing  interests. 


JAMES  WILSON  317 

"The  connection,"  he  wrote,  "between  the  manufacturer  and  the 
landed  interest  in  this  country  is  much  closer  than  is  generally  admitted 
or  believed  ;  not  only  is  the  manufacturer  dependent  on  the  landed 
interest  for  the  large  portion  of  his  goods  which  they  immediately  con- 
sume, but  also  for  a  very  large  portion  of  what  he  exports  to  the  most  distant 
countries.  All  commerce  is,  either  directly  or  indirectly,  a  simple  ex- 
change of  the  surplus  products  of  one  country  for  those  of  another. 
It  is  therefore  a  first  essential  that  we  should  be  able  to  take  the  cotton 
of  America,  the  sugar  and  coffee  of  India,  the  silk  and  teas  of  China, 
before  they  can  take  our  manufactures ;  and  if  this  be  necessary,  then 
must  it  follow  that  in  proportion  to  the  extent  to  which  we  can  take  their 
produce,  will  they  be  enabled  to  take  our  manufactures.  Therefore, 
whatever  portion  of  these  products  is  consumed  in  this  country  by  the 
landed  interest,  must  to  that  extent  enable  the  manufacturer  to  export 
his  goods  in  return  ;  and  thus  any  causes  which  increase  this  ability  on 
the  part  of  the  landed  interest  to  consume,  must  give  a  corresponding 
additional  ability  to  the  manufacturers  to  export.  Every  pound  of  coffee 
or  sugar,  every  ounce  of  tea,  every  article  of  luxury,  the  produce  of 
foreign  climes,  whether  consumed  within  the  castles  and  halls  of  our 
wealthiest  landowners,  or  in  the  humble  cottages  of  our  lowliest  peasantry, 
alike  represent  some  portion  of  the  exports  of  this  country.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  dependence  of  the  landowner  is  no  less  twofold  on  the 
manufacturer  and  merchant.  He  is  not  only  dependent  upon  them  for 
their  own  immediate  consumption,  but  also  for  the  consumption  of  what- 
ever food  enters  into  the  cost  price  of  their  goods.  Although  the  English 
farmer  does  not  export  his  corn  or  his  other  produce  in  the  exact  shape 
and  form  in  which  he  produces  them,  they  constitute  not  the  less  on  that 
account  a  distinct  portion  of  the  exports  of  this  country,  and  that  in  the 
best  of  all  possible  forms.  Just  as  much  as  the  manufacturer  exports  the 
wool  or  the  silk  which  enters  into  the  fabrics  of  those  materials,  does  he 
export  the  corn  which  paid  for  the  labour  of  spinning  and  weaving  them. 
It  would  be  an  utter  impossibility  that  this  country  could  consume  its 
agricultural  produce  but  for  our  extensive  manufacturing  population  ;  or 
that  the  value  of  what  would  be  consumed  could  be  near  its  present  rate. 
If  without  this  aid  our  agricultural  produce  were  as  great  as  it  now  is, 
a  large  portion  would  have  to  seek  a  market  in  distant  countries  :  it 
would  then  have  to  be  exported  in  the  exact  form  in  which  it  is  produced  ; 
the  expenses  of  which  being  so  large  would  reduce  very  greatly  from  its 
value  and  net  price,  and  the  landed  interest  would  be  immediately  affected 
thereby.  But,  as  it  is,  the  produce  of  the  land  is  exported  in  the  con- 
densed form  of  manufactured  goods,  at  a  comparatively  trifling  expense, 
which  secures  a  high  value  to  it  here.  Thus,  for  example,  a  few  bales 
of  silk  or  woollen  goods  may  contain  as  much  wheat  in  their  value  as 
would  freight  a  whole  ship.  To  this  advantage  the  landed  interest  is 
indebted,  exclusively,  for  the  very  superior  value  of  property  and  produce 


318        MEMOIR  OF  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 

in  this  country  to  any  other ;  because,  by  our  great  manufacturing 
superiority,  a  market  is  found  for  our  produce  over  the  whole  world, 
conveyed  in  the  cheapest  and  most  condensed  form.  While  the  Chinese, 
or  Indians,  buy  our  cottons,  our  silks,  or  our  woollens,  they  buy  a  portion 
of  the  grain  and  other  produce  of  the  land  of  this  country  ;  and  therefore 
the  producer  here,  while  indulging  in  the  delicacies  or  luxuries  of  Oriental 
climes,  may  only  be  consuming  a  portion  of  the  golden  heads  of  wheat 
which  had  gracefully  waved  in  his  own  fields  at  a  former  day.  Is  it  not, 
therefore,  sufficiently  clear  that  no  circumstance  whatever  can  either 
improve  or  injure  one  of  these  interests  without  immediately  in  the  same 
way  affecting  the  other  ?  The  connection  is  so  close  that  it  is  impossible 
to  separate  or  distinguish  them.  Any  circumstance  which  limits  our 
commerce  must  limit  our  market  for  agricultural  produce  ;  and  any 
possible  circumstance  which  deteriorates  the  condition  of  our  agricul- 
turists must  deteriorate  our  commerce,  by  limiting  our  imports,  and  con- 
sequently our  exports.  These  are  general  principles,  and  are  capable  of 
extension  to  the  whole  world,  in  all  places,  and  at  all  times ;  and  the 
same  principle  as  is  thus  shown  to  connect  and  combine  the  different 
interests  of  any  one  country,  just  as  certainly  operates  in  producing  a 
similar  effect  between  different  countries  ;  and  we  ardently  hope,  ere  long, 
to  find  not  only  the  petty  jealousies  between  different  portions  of  the  same 
community  entirely  removed,  but  that  all  countries  will  learn  that  a  free 
and  unrestricted  co-operation  with  each  other  in  matters  of  commerce 
can  only  tend  to  the  general  benefit  and  welfare  of  all.  " 

We  do  not  say  that  these  propositions  were  exactly  dis- 
coveries of  Mr.  Wilson.  During  the  exciting  discussion  of 
a  great  public  question,  the  most  important  truths  which 
relate  to  it  are  "in  the  air"  of  the  age;  many  persons  see 
them,  or  half  see  them  ;  and  it  is  impossible  to  trace  the 
precise  parentage  of  any  of  them.  But  we  do  say  that  these 
opinions  were  exactly  suited  to  the  broad  and  practical 
understanding  of  Mr.  Wilson  ;  that  they  were  very  effectively 
illustrated  by  him — more  effectively  probably  than  by  any 
other  writer ;  that  he  thought  them  out  for  himself  with  but 
little  knowledge  of  previous  theories  ;  that  they,  principally, 
raised  Free-trade  from  a  class  question  to  a  national  question  ; 
that  to  them,  whether  advocated  by  Mr.  Wilson  or  by  others, 
the  success  of  the  Anti-Corn-law  agitation  was  in  a  great 
measure  owing ;  that  whatever  doubt  may  formerly  have  been 
felt,  an  ample  trial  has  now  proved  them  to  be  true. 

Mr.  Wilson's  pamphlet  entitled   The  Revenue;  or,    What 


JAMES   WILSON  319 

should  the  Chancellor  do  ?  which  attracted  considerable  atten- 
tion when  it  was  published  in  1841,  is  worth  reading  now, 
though  dated  so  many  years  ago  ;  for  it  contains  an  outline  of 
the  financial  policy  which  Sir  Robert  Peel  commenced,  and 
which  Mr.  Gladstone  has  now  almost  completed.  This  pam- 
phlet, which  is  not  very  short  (it  has  twenty-seven  moderate 
pages),  was  begun  as  an  article  for  the  Morning  Chronicle,  but 
proved  too  long  for  that  purpose.  It  was  written  with  almost 
inconceivable  rapidity — nearly  all,  we  believe,  in  a  single  night 
— though  its  principles  and  its  many  figures  will  bear  a  critical 
scrutiny  even  now. 

In  the  briefest  memoir  of  Mr.  Wilson  it  is  necessary  to  say 
something  of  the  currency ;  but  it  will  not  be  advisable  to  say 
very  much.  If,  however,  we  could  rely  on  the  patience  of  our 
readers,  we  should  say  a  good  deal.  On  no  subject,  perhaps, 
did  Mr.  Wilson  take  up  a  more  characteristic  position.  He 
saw  certain  broad  principles  distinctly  and  steadily,  and  to 
these  he  firmly  adhered,  no  matter  what  refined  theories  were 
suggested,  or  what  the  opinion  of  others  might  be. 

Mr.  Wilson  was  a  stern  bullionist.  He  held  that  a  five- 
pound  note  was  a  promise  to  pay  five  pounds.  He  answered 
Sir  R.  Feel's  question,  "What  is  a  pound?"  with  Sir  Robert's 
own  answer.  He  said  it  was  a  certain  specified  quantity  of 
gold  metal.  He  held  that  all  devices  for  aiding  industry 
by  issuing  inconvertible  notes  were  certainly  foolish,  and  might 
perhaps  be  mischievous.  He  held  that  industry  could  only  be 
really  aided  by  additional  capital — by  new  machines,  new  in- 
struments, new  raw  material ;  that  an  addition  to  a  paper 
currency  was  as  useless  to  aid  deficient  capital  as  it  was  to  feed 
a  hungry  population. 

Mr.  Wilson  held,  secondly,  that  the  sine  qud  non,  the  great 
prerequisite  to  a  good  paper  currency,  was  the  maintenance  of 
an  adequate  reserve  by  the  issuer.  He  believed  that  a  banker 
should  look  at  his  liabilities  as  a  whole — the  notes  which  he 
has  in  circulation  and  the  deposits  he  has  in  his  ledger  taken 
together ;  and  should  retain  a  sufficient  portion  of  them  (say 
one-third)  in  cash,  or  in  something  equivalent  to  cash,  in  daily 
readiness  to  pay  them  at  once.  Mr.  Wilson  considered  that 


320        MEMOIR  OF  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 

bankers  might  be  trusted  to  keep  such  a  reserve,  as  they  would 
be  ruined,  sooner  or  later,  if  they  did  not ;  and  if  the  notes 
issued  by  them  were  always  convertible  at  the  pleasure  of  the 
holder,  he  believed  that  the  currency  would  never  be  depreci- 
ated. 

He  thought,  however,  that,  as  bank-notes  must  pass  froi 
hand  to  hand  in  the  market,  and  as  in  practice  most  persons 
most  traders,  especially — must  take  them  in  payment  whethe 
they  wish  to  do  so  or  not,  some  special  security  might  properl] 
be  required  for  their  payment.     He  would  have  allowed  any 
one  who  liked  to  issue  bank-notes  on  depositing  Consols  to  a 
sufficient  amount — the  amount,  that  is,  of  the  notes  issued,  am 
an  adequate  percentage  in  addition. 

Lastly,  Mr.  Wilson  believed  that  the  bank-note  circulatioi 
exercised  quite  a  secondary  and  unimportant  influence  upoi 
prices  and  upon  transactions,  in  comparison  with  the  auxiliai 
currency  of  cheques  and  credits,  which  has  indefinitely  aug- 
mented during  the  last  thirty  years.     So  far  from  regarding 
the  public  as  constantly  ready  for  an  unlimited  supply  of  bank- 
notes, he  thought  that  it  was  only  in  times  of  extreme  panic, 
when  this  auxiliary  currency  is  diminished  and  disturbed,  that 
the  bank-notes  in  the  hands  of  the  public  either  could  or  woul( 
be  augmented.      He  believed  that  the  public  only  kept  in  theii 
hands  as  many  notes  as  they  wanted  for  their  own  convenienc 
and  that  all  others  were  in  the  present  day  paid  back  to  the 
banker  immediately  and  necessarily. 

Unfortunately,  however,  the  currency  is  not  discussed 
England  with  very  exact  reference  to  abstract  principles.  Th( 
popular  question  of  every  thinker  is,  "Are  you  in  favour 
Peel's  Bill,  or  are  you  against  it?"  And  this  mode  of  discuss- 
ing the  subject  always  placed  Mr.  Wilson  in  a  position  of  some 
difficulty.  He  concurred  in  the  aim  of  Sir  R.  Peel,  but  ol 
jected  to  his  procedure.  He  wished  to  secure  the  convertibility 
of  the  bank-note.  He  believed  that  the  Act  of  1844  indirectly 
induced  the  Bank  Directors  to  keep  more  bullion  than  the} 
would  keep  otherwise,  and  in  so  far  he  thought  it  beneficial 
but  he  also  thought  that  the  advantages  obtained  by  it  wei 
purchased  at  a  needless  price ;  that  they  might  have 


JAMES  WILSON  321 

obtained  much  more  cheaply ;  that  the  machinery  of  the  Act 
aggravated  every  panic ;  that  it  tended  to  fix  the  attention  of 
the  public  on  bank-notes,  and  so  fostered  the  mischievous  de- 
lusion that  the  augmented  issue  of  paper  currency  would 
strengthen  industry  ;  that  it  neglected  to  take  account  of  other 
forms  of  credit  which  are  equally  important  with  bank-notes  ; 
that,  "for  one  week  in  ten  years  " — the  week  of  panic — it  created 
needless  and  intense  apprehension,  and  so  tended  to  cause  the 
ruin  of  some  solvent  commercial  men.  In  brief,  though  he 
fully  believed  the  professed  object  of  Sir  R.  Peel — the  converti- 
bility of  the  bank-note — to  be  beneficial  and  inestimable,  he  as 
fully  believed  the  special  means  selected  by  him  to  be  incon- 
venient and  pernicious. 

Opinions  akin  to  Mr.  Wilson's,  if  not  identical  with  them, 
are  very  commonly  now  entertained,  both  by  practical  men  of 
business  and  by  professional  economists.  The  younger  school 
of  thinkers  who  have  had  before  them  the  working  of  the  Act 
of  1844  and  the  events  of  1847  and  1857,  and  are  not  com- 
mitted by  any  of  the  older  controversies,  are  especially  inclined 
to  them.  Yet  from  peculiar  causes  they  have  not  been  so 
popular  as  Mr.  Wilson's  other  opinions.  His  views  of  finance 
and  of  the  effect  of  Free-trade,  which  were  half  heresies  when 
he  announced  them,  have  now  become  almost  axioms.  But 
the  truth  of  his  currency  theory  is  still  warmly  controverted. 
The  reason  is  this :  Sir  R.  Peel's  Act  is  a  sort  of  compromise 
which  is  suited  to  the  English  people.  It  was  probably  in- 
tended by  its  author  as  a  preliminary  step;  it  undoubtedly 
suits  no  strict  theory ;  it  certainly  has  great  marks  of  incom- 
pleteness ;  but,  "it  works  tolerably  well"  ;  if  it  produces  evils 
at  a  crisis,  "  crises  come  but  seldom  "  ;  in  ordinary  times  com- 
merce "  goes  on  very  fairly  ".  The  pressure  of  practical  evil 
upon  the  English  people  has  never  yet  been  so  great  as  to 
induce  them  to  face  the  unpleasant  difficulties  of  the  abstract 
currency  question.  Mr.  Wilson's  opinions  have,  therefore, 
never  been  considered  by  practical  men  for  a  practical  object, 
and  it  is  only  when  so  considered  that  any  opinions  of  his  can 
be  duly  estimated.  Their  essentially  moderate  character,  too, 
is  unfavourable  to  them — not,  indeed,  among  careful  inquirers, 
VOL.  III.  21 


322        MEMOIR  OF  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 

but  in  the  hubbub  of  public  controversy.  The  only  great  party 
which  has  as  yet  attacked  Sir  Robert  Peel's  Bill  is  that  which 
desires  an  extensive  issue  of  inconvertible  currency ;  but  to 
them  Mr.  Wilson  was  as  much  opposed  as  Sir  Robert  Peel 
himself.  The  two  watchwords  of  the  controversy  are  "  caution  " 
and  "expansion":  the  advocates  of  the  Act  of  1844  have 
seized  on  the  former,  the  Birmingham  school  on  the  latter ; 
the  intermediate,  and,  as  we  think,  juster,  opinions  of  Mr. 
Wilson  have  had  no  party  cry  to  aid  them,  and  they  have  not  as 
yet  therefore  obtained  the  practical  influence  which  he  never 
ceased  to  anticipate  and  to  hope  for  them.  No  more  need  be 
said  upon  the  currency  question — perhaps  we  have  already  said 
too  much  ;  but  to  those  who  knew  Mr.  Wilson  well,  no  subject 
is  more  connected  with  his  memory  :  he  was  so  fond  of  expound- 
ing it,  that  its  very  technicalities  are,  in  the  minds  of  some, 
associated  with  his  voice  and  image. 

But  it  was  not  by  mere  correctness  of  economical  specula- 
tion that  Mr.  Wilson  was  to  rise  to  eminence.  A  very  accurate 
knowledge  of  even  the  more  practical  aspects  of  economical 
science  is  not  of  itself  a  productive  source  of  income.  By  th< 
foundation  of  the  Economist  Mr.  Wilson  secured  for  himself, 
during  the  rest  of  his  life,  competence  and  comfort,  but  it  wa< 
not  solely  or  simply  by  writing  good  political  economy  in  it. 
The  organisation  of  a  first-rate  commercial  paper  in  1843 
required  a  great  inventiveness  and  also  a  great  discretion. 
Nothing  of  the  kind  then  existed  ;  it  was  not  known  what  the 
public  most  wished  to  know  on  business  interests ;  the  best 
shape  of  communicating  information  had  to  be  invented  in  de- 
tail. The  labour  of  creating  such  a  paper,  and  of  administering 
it  during  its  early  stages  is  very  great ;  and  might  well  deter 
most  men  even  of  superior  ability  from  attempting  it  At  this 
period  of  his  life  Mr.  Wilson  used  to  superintend  the  whole  of 
the  Economist ;  to  write  all  the  important  leaders,  nearly  all  of 
the  unimportant  ones ;  to  make  himself  master  of  every  com- 
mercial question  as  it  arose ;  to  give  practical  details  as  to  the 
practical  aspects  of  it ;  to  be  on  the  watch  for  every  kind  of 
new  commercial  information ;  to  spend  hours  in  adapting  it 
to  the  daily  wants  of  commercial  men.  He  often  worked  till 


JAMES  WILSON  323 

far  into  the  morning,  and  impressed  all  about  him  with  wonder 
at  the  anxiety,  labour,  and  exhaustion  he  was  able  to  undergo. 
As  has  been  stated,  for  some  months  after  the  commencement 
of  the  Economist  he  was  still  engaged  in  his  former  business ; 
and  after  he  relinquished  that,  he  used  to  write  the  City  article 
and  also  leaders  for  the  Morning  Chronicle,  at  the  very  time 
that  he  was  doing  on  his  own  paper  far  more  than  most  men 
would  have  had  endurance  of  mind  or  strength  of  body  for. 
Long  afterwards  he  used  to  speak  of  this  period  as  far  more 
exhausting  than  the  most  exhausting  part  of  a  laborious  public 
life.  "  Our  public  men,"  he  once  said,  "  do  not  know  what 
anxiety  means  ;  they  have  never  known  what  it  is  to  have  their 
own  position  dependent  on  their  own  exertions."  In  1843, 
and  for  some  time  afterwards,  he  had  himself  to  bear  extreme 
labour  and  great  anxiety  together ;  and  even  his  iron  frame 
was  worn  and  tired  by  the  conjunction. 

Within  seven  years  from  the  foundation  of  the  Economist^ 
Mr.  Wilson  dealt  effectively  and  thoroughly  with  three  first- 
rate  subjects — the  railway  mania,  the  famine  in  Ireland,  and 
the  panic  of  1 847,  in  addition  to  the  entire  question  of  Free- 
trade,  which  was  naturally  the  main  topic  of  economical  teach- 
ing in  those  years.  On  all  these  three  topics  he  explained 
somewhat  original  opinions,  which  were  novelties,  if  not  para- 
doxes then,  though  they  are  very  generally  believed  now.  To 
his  writings  on  the  railway  mania  he  was  especially  fond  of  re- 
curring, since  he  believed  that  by  his  warnings,  very  effectively 
brought  out  and  very  constantly  reiterated,  he  had  "saved 
several  men  their  fortunes"  at  that  time. 

The  success  of  the  Economist,  and  the  advantage  which  the 
proprietor  of  it  would  derive  from  a  first-hand  acquaintance 
with  political  life,  naturally  led  him  to  think  of  gaining  a  seat 
in  Parliament,  and  an  accidental  conversation  at  Lord  Radnor's 
table  fixed  his  attention  on  the  borough  of  Westbury.  After 
receiving  a  requisition,  he  visited  the  place,  explained  his 
political  sentiments  at  much  length  "from  an  old  cart,"  and 
believed  that  he  saw  sufficient  chances  of  success  to  induce  him 
to  take  a  house  there.  He  showed  considerable  abilities  in 
electioneering,  and  a  close  observer  once  said  of  him,  "  Mr 

21* 


324        MEMOIR  OF  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 

Wilson  may,  or  may  not,  be  the  best  political  economist  in 
England,  but  depend  upon  it  he  is  the  only  political  economist 
who  would  ever  come  in  for  the  borough  of  Westbury". 
Though  nominally  a  borough,  the  constituency  is  half  a  rural 
one,  much  under  the  influence  of  certain  Conservative  squires. 
The  Liberal  party  were  in  1 847  only  endeavouring  to  emanci- 
pate themselves  from  a  yoke  to  which  they  have  now  again 
succumbed.  Except  for  Mr.  Wilson's  constant  watchfulness, 
his  animated  geniality,  his  residence  on  the  spot,  his  knowledge 
of  every  voter  by  sight,  the  Liberal  party  might  never  have 
been  successful  there.  A  certain  expansive  frankness  of  manner 
and  a  wonderful  lucidity  in  explaining  his  opinions  almost  to 
any  one,  gave  Mr.  Wilson  great  advantages  as  a  popular  candi- 
date ;  and  it  was  very  remarkable  to  find  these  qualities  con- 
nected with  a  strong  taste  for  treating  very  dry  subjects  upoi 
professedly  abstract  principles.  So  peculiar  a  combination  had 
the  success  which  it  merited.  In  the  summer  of  1847  he  was 
elected  to  serve  in  Parliament  for  Westbury. 

Mr.  Wilson  made  his  first  speech  in  the  House  of  Commons 
on  the  motion  for  a  Committee  to  inquire  into  the  commercial 
distress  at  that  time  prevalent.     And  it  was  considered  an  ac 
of  intellectual  boldness  for  a  new  member  to  explain  his  opinion' 
on  so  difficult  a  subject  as  the  currency,  especially  as  they  w< 
definitely  opposed  to  a  measure  supported  by  such  overwheli 
ing  Parliamentary  authority  as  the  Act  of   1844    then  w< 
Judging  from  the  report  in  "  Hansard,"  and  from  the  recolh 
tions  of  some  who  heard  it,  the  speech  was  a  successful  one 
It  is  very  clear  and  distinct,  and  its  tone  is  very  emphatic 
without  ever  ceasing  to  be  considerate  and  candid.     It  contaii 
a  sufficient  account  of  Mr.  Wilson's  tenets  on  the  currency — 
so  good  an  account,  indeed,  that  when  he  read  it  ten  ye 
later,  in  the  panic  of  1857,  he  acknowledged  that  he  did  n< 
think  he  could  add  a  word  to  it.     At  the  time,  however,  the 
test  of  its  Parliamentary  success  was  not  the  absolute  correct- 
ness of  its  abstract   principles,  but,   to  use  appropriate  ai 
technical  language,    "  its   getting  a  rise  out  of  Peel ".     Sir 
Robert    had  used  some  certainly  inconclusive  arguments  it 

1  On  30th  November,  1847. 


JAMES  WILSON  325 

favour  of  his  favourite  measure,  and  Mr.  Wilson  made  that  in- 
conclusiveness  so  very  clear  that  he  thought  it  necessary  to  rise 
"  and  explain,"  which,  on  such  a  subject,  was  deemed  at  the 
moment  a  great  triumph  for  a  first  speech. 

As  might  be  expected  from  so  favourable  a  commencement, 
Mr.  Wilson  soon  established  a  Parliamentary  reputation.  He 
was  not  a  formal  orator,  and  did  not  profess  to  be  so.  But  he 
had  great  powers  of  exposition,  singular  command  of  telling 
details  upon  his  own  subjects,  a  very  pleasing  voice,  a  grave  but 
by  no  means  inanimate  manner — qualities  which  are  amply 
sufficient  to  gain  the  respectful  attention  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons. And  Mr.  Wilson  did  gain  it.  But  speaking  is  but 
half,  and  in  the  great  majority  of  cases  by  far  the  smaller  half, 
of  the  duties  of  a  member  of  Parliament.  Mr.  Wilson  was  fond 
of  quoting  a  saying  of  Sir  R.  Peel's,  "That  the  way  to  get  on 
in  the  House  of  Commons  was  to  take  a  place  and  sit  there  ". 
He  adopted  this  rule  himself,  was  constant  in  his  attendance 
at  the  House,  a  good  listener  to  other  men,  and  always  ready 
to  take  trouble  with  troublesome  matters.  These  plain  and 
business-like  qualities,  added  to  his  acknowledged  ability  and 
admitted  acquaintance  with  a  large  class  of  subjects  upon 
which  knowledge  is  rare,  gave  Mr.  Wilson  a  substantial  influence 
in  the  House  of  Commons  in  an  unusually  short  time.  The 
Corn-laws  had  been  repealed,  the  pitched  battle  of  Free-trade 
had  been  fought  and  won,  but  much  yet  remained  to  be  done 
in  carrying  out  its  principles  with  effective  precision,  in  apply- 
ing them  to  articles  other  than  corn,  in  exposing  the  fallacies 
still  abundantly  current,  and  in  answering  the  exceptional  case 
which  every  trade  in  succession  set  up  for  an  exceptional  pro- 
tection. These  were  painful  and  complex  matters  of  detail, 
wearisome  to  very  many  persons,  and  rewarding  with  no  eclat 
those  who  took  the  trouble  to  master  and  explain  them.  But 
Mr.  Wilson  shrank  from  no  detail.  For  several  years  before 
he  had  a  seat  in  the  House,  he  had  been  used  to  explain  such 
topics  in  countless  conversations  with  the  most  prominent  Free- 
traders and  in  the  Economist.  He  now  did  so  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  and  his  influence  correspondingly  increased.  He 
was  able  to  do  an  important  work  better  than  any  one  else 


326        MEMOIR  OF  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 

could  do  it ;  and,  in  English  public  life,  real  work  rightly  done 
at  the  right  season  scarcely  ever  fails  to  meet  with  a  real  re- 
ward. 

That  Mr.  Wilson  early  acquired  considerable  Parliamentary 
reputation  is  evinced  by  the  best  of  all  proofs.  He  was  offered 
office  before  he  had  been  six  months  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, though  he  had,  as  the  preceding  sketch  will  have  made 
evident,  no  aristocratic  connections — though  he  was  believed  to 
be  a  poorer  man  than  he  really  was — though  writing  political 
articles  for  newspapers  has  never  been  in  England  the  sure 
introduction  to  political  power  which  it  formerly  was  in  France 
— though,  on  the  contrary,  it  has  in  general  been  found  a 
hindrance.  In  a  case  like  Mr.  Wilson's,  the  prize  of  office  was 
a  sure  proof  of  evident  prowess  in  the  Parliamentary  arena. 

The  office  which  was  offered  to  Mr.  Wilson  was  one  of  the 
Secretaryships  of  the  Board  of  Control.  Mr.  Wilson  related  at 
Hawick  his  reluctance  to  accept  it,  and  his  reason.  Never 
having  given  any  special  attention  to  Indian  topics,  he  thought 
it  would  be  absurd  and  ridiculous  in  him  to  accept  an  office 
which  seemed  to  require  much  special  knowledge.  But  Lord 
John  Russell,  with  "that  knowledge  of  public  affairs  which 
long  experience  ensures,"  at  once  explained  to  him  that  a 
statesman,  under  our  Parliamentary  system,  must  be  prepared 
to  serve  the  Queen  "  whenever  he  may  be  called  on  "  ;  and  ac- 
cordingly that  he  must  be  ready  to  take  any  office  which  he 
can  fill,  without  at  all  considering  whether  it  is  that  which  he 
can  best  fill.  After  some  deliberation,  Mr.  Wilson  acknow- 
ledged the  wisdom  of  this  advice,  and  accepted  the  office 
offered  him.  Long  afterwards,  in  the  speech  at  Hawick  to 
which  we  have  alluded,  he  said  that  without  the  preliminary 
knowledge  of  India  which  he  acquired  at  the  Board  of  Control, 
he  should  never  have  been  able  to  undertake  the  regulation  of 
her  finances. 

When  once  installed  in  his  office,  he  devoted  himself  to  it 
with  his  usual  unwearied  industry.  And  at  least  on  one  oc- 
casion he  had  to  deal  with  a  congenial  topic.  The  introduction 
of  railways  into  India  was  opposed  on  many  grounds,  most  of 
which  are  now  forgotten — such  as  "  the  effect  upon  the  native 


JAMES   WILSON  327 

mind,"  "  the  impossibility  of  inducing  the  Hindoos  to  travel 
in  that  manner,"  and  the  like ;  and  more  serious  difficulties 
occurred  in  considering  the  exact  position  which  the  Govern- 
ment should  assume  with  regard  to  such  great  undertakings 
in  such  singular  circumstances — the  necessity,  on  the  one  hand, 
in  an  Asiatic  country  where  the  State  is  the  sole  motive  power, 
of  the  Government's  doing  something — and  the  danger,  on 
the  other  hand,  of  interfering  with  private  enterprise,  by  its 
doing,  or  attempting  to  do,  too  much.  Mr.  Wilson  applied 
himself  vigorously  to  all  these  difficulties ;  he  exercised  the 
whole  of  his  personal  influence,  and  the  whole  of  that  which 
was  given  to  him  by  his  situation,  in  dissipating  the  fanciful 
obstacles  which  were  alleged  to  be  latent  in  the  unknown 
tendencies  of  the  Oriental  mind  ;  while  he  certainly  elaborated 
— and  he  believed  that  he  originally  suggested — the  peculiar 
form  of  State  guarantee  upon  the  faith  of  which  so  many 
millions  of  English  capital  have  been  sent  to  develop  the  in- 
dustry of  India. 

Besides  discharging  the  duties  of  his  office,  Mr.  Wilson  re- 
presented the  Government  of  the  day  on  several  Committees 
connected  with  his  peculiar  topics,  and  especially  on  one  which 
fully  investigated  the  Sugar  question.  Of  the  latter,  indeed, 
he  became  so  fully  master  that  some  people  fancied  he  must 
have  been  in  the  trade ;  so  complete  was  the  familiarity  which 
he  displayed  with  "  brown  muscovado,"  "  white  clayed,"  and 
all  other  technical  terms  which  are  generally  inscrutably 
puzzling  to  Parliamentary  statesmen.  On  a  Parliamentary 
Committee  Mr.  Wilson  appeared  to  great  advantage.  Though 
sufficiently  confident  of  the  truth  of  his  own  opinions,  he  had 
essentially  a  fair  mind ;  he  always  had  the  greatest  confidence 
that  if  the  facts  were  probed  the  correctness  of  what  he  believed 
would  be  established,  and,  therefore,  he  was  always  ready  to 
probe  the  facts  to  the  bottom.  He  was  likewise  a  great 
master  of  the  Socratic  art  of  inquiry ;  he  was  able  to  frame  a 
series  of  consecutive  questions  which  gradually  brought  an  un- 
willing or  a  hostile  witness  to  conclusions  at  which  he  by  no 
means  wished  to  arrive.  His  examination-in-chief,  too,  was 
as  good  as  his  cross-examination,  and  the  animated  interest 


328        MEMOIR  OF  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 

which  he  evinced  in  the  subject  relieved  the  dreariness  which 
a  rehearsed  extraction  of  premeditated  answers  commonly 
involves.  The  examination  of  Lord  Overstone  before  the 
Committee  of  1848  on  Commercial  Distress,  that  of  Mr. 
Weguelin  before  the  Committee  on  the  Bank  Acts  in  1857, 
and  several  of  the  examinations  before  the  Committee  on  Life 
Insurance,  of  which  he  was  the  Chairman,  may  be  consulted 
as  models  in  their  respective  kinds.  And  it  should  be  stated 
that  no  man  could  be  less  overbearing  in  examination  or  cross- 
examination  ;  much  was  often  extracted  from  a  witness  which 
he  did  not  wish  to  state,  but  it  was  always  extracted  fairly, 
quietly,  and  by  seeming  inevitable  sequence. 

Mr.  Wilson  continued  at  the  Board  of  Control  till  the  re- 
signation of  Lord  John  Russell's  Cabinet  in  the  spring  of  1852. 
He  took  part  in  the  opposition  of  the  Liberal  party  to  Lord 
Derby's  Government,  and  was  very  deeply  interested  in  the 
final  settlement  of  the  Free-trade  question  which  was  effected 
by  the  accession  of  the  Protectionist  party  to  office.  After  a 
very  severe  contest  he  was  re-elected  for  Westbury  in  July, 
1852,  and  on  the  formation  of  the  Aberdeen  Government  he 
accepted  the  office  of  Financial  Secretary  to  the  Treasury, 
which  he  continued  to  hold  for  five  years,  until  the  dissolution 
of  Lord  Palmerston's  administration  in  the  spring  of  1857,  and 
upon  his  efficiency  in  which  his  remarkable  reputation  as  an 
official  administrator  was  mainly  based. 

The  Financial  Secretaryship  of  the  Treasury  is  by  no  means 
one  of  the  most  conspicuous  offices  in  the  Government,  and 
but  few  persons  who  have  not  observed  political  life  closely 
are  at  all  aware  either  of  its  difficulty  or  of  its  importance. 
The  office  is,  indeed,  a  curious  example  of  the  half-grotesque 
way  in  which  the  abstract  theory  of  our  historical  Constitution 
contrasts  with  its  practical  working.  In  the  theory  of  the 
Constitution — a  theory  which  may  still  be  found  in  popular 
compendiums — there  is  an  officer  called  the  Lord  High 
Treasurer,  who  is  to  advise  the  Crown  and  be  responsible  to 
the  country  for  all  public  moneys.  In  practice,  there  is  no 
such  functionary :  by  law  his  office  is  "  in  commission 
Certain  Lords  Commissioners  are  supposed  to  form  a  Board 


JAMES  WILSON  329 

at  which  financial  subjects  are  discussed,  and  which  is  respons- 
ible for  their  due  administration.  In  practice,  there  is  no  such 
discussion  and  no  such  responsibility.  The  functions  of  the 
Junior  Lords  of  the  Treasury,  though  not  entirely  nominal,  are 
but  slight.  The  practical  administration  of  our  expenditure  is 
vested  in  the  First  Lord  of  the  Treasury,  the  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer,  and  the  Financial  Secretary  of  the  Treasury.  And 
of  these  three  the  constitutional  rule  is,  that  the  First  Lord  of 
the  Treasury  is  only  officially  responsible  for  decisions  in  detail 
when  he  chooses  to  interfere  in  those  decisions.  Accordingly, 
when  a  First  Lord,  as  was  the  case  with  Sir  R.  Peel,  takes  a 
great  interest  in  financial  questions,  the  Chancellor  of  the  Ex- 
chequer does  the  usual  work  of  the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury, 
and  the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury  has  in  comparison  noth- 
ing to  do.  But  when,  as  was  the  case  in  the  Governments 
of  Lord  Aberdeen  and  Lord  Palmerston,  the  P-rime  Minister 
takes  no  special  interest  in  finance,  the  Chancellor  of  the  Ex- 
chequer is  very  fully  employed  in  the  transaction  of  his  own 
proper  business,  and  an  enormous  mass  of  work,  some  of  it 
of  extreme  importance,  falls  to  the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury. 
Of  late  years,  the  growth  of  the  miscellaneous  civil  expenditure 
of  the  country  has  greatly  augmented  that  work,  great  as  it 
was  before.  In  general,  it  may  be  said  that  the  whole  of  the 
financial  detail  of  our  national  expenditure  is  more  or  less  con- 
trolled by  the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury ;  that  much  of  it  is 
very  closely  controlled  by  him  ;  and  that  he  has  vast  powers 
of  practical  discretion,  if  only  he  be  a  man  of  ability,  industry 
and  courage. 

For  such  an  office  as  this  Mr.  Wilson  had  very  peculiar 
qualifications.  He  was  perfectly  sure  to  be  right  in  a  plain 
case ;  and  by  far  the  larger  part  of  the  ordinary  business  of 
the  Government,  as  of  individuals,  consists  of  plain  cases.  A 
man  who  is  thoroughly  sure  to  decide  effectually  and  correctly 
the  entire  mass  of  easy,  obvious  cases,  is  a  safer  master  of 
practical  life  than  one  eminently  skilled  in  difficult  cases,  but 
deficient  in  the  more  rudimentary  qualification.  Nor  is  the 
power  of  certainly  deciding  plain  cases  rightly,  by  any  means 
very  common,  especially  among  very  intellectual  men.  A  cer- 


330        MEMOIR  OF  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 

tain  taint  of  subtlety,  a  certain  tendency  to  be  wise  above  the 
case  in  hand,  mars  the  practical  efficiency  of  many  men  whose 
conversation  and  whose  powers  would  induce  us  to  expect  that 
they  would  be  very  efficient  Mr.  Wilson  had  not  a  particle  ol 
these  defects.  He  struck  off  each  case  with  a  certain  sledge- 
hammer efficiency,  and  every  plain  case  at  least  with  infallible 
accuracy. 

It  might  seem  overstrained   eulogy — a  eulogy  which  h< 
would  not  have  wished — to  claim  for  Mr.  Wilson  an  equall; 
infallible  power  of  deciding  complicated  cases.      As  to  sucl 
cases  there  will  always  be  a  doubt.     Plain  matters  speak  for 
themselves :  they  do  not  require  a  dissertation  to  elucidate 
them  :  every  man  of  business,  as  soon  as  he  hears  the  right 
decision  of  them,  knows  that  it  is  the  right  decision.     But  with 
more  refined  matters  it  is  not  so ;  as  to  points  involving  an  ab- 
stract theory,  like  that  of  the  currency,  there  will  and  must  be 
differences  of  judgment  to  the  end  of  time.     We  would  not, 
therefore,  whatever  may  be  our  own  opinion,  claim  for  Mr. 
Wilson  as  infallible  a  power  of  deciding  difficult  questions 
as  he  certainly  possessed  of  deciding  plain  questions.     Bui 
we  do  claim  for  him  even  in  such  matters  the  greatest  s( 
ondary  excellence,  if  indeed,  a    secondary   excellence    it 
Mr.  Wilson  was  perfectly  certain  to  be  intelligible  on  the  most 
difficult  case.     Whether  he  did  right  or  did  wrong,  must, 
we  have  said,  be  from  the  nature  of  the  subject-matter  vei 
arguable.     But  what  he  did,  and  why  he  did  it,  was  nevei 
in  doubt  for  a  moment.     The  archives  of  the  Treasury  contaii 
countless  minutes  from  his  pen,  many  of  them  written  witl 
what  most  men  would  call  rapidity,  just  while  the  matter  We 
waiting  for  decision,  and  on  all  sorts  of  subjects,  many  of  thei 
very  complicated  ones — yet  it  may  be  doubted  whether  an] 
one  of  those  minutes  contains  a  single  sentence  not  thoroughly 
and  conspicuously  clear.     The  same  excellence  which  has  beer 
shown  in  countless  articles   in  the  Economist  appears  in  his 
business-like  documents.     Wherever  his  leading  articles  wei 
written  and  under  whatever  circumstances — and  some  of  tl 
most  elaborate  of  them  were  written  under  rather  strange  cir- 
cumstances (for  he  could  catch  up  a  pen  and  begin  to  write  or 


JAMES  WILSON  331 

the  most  involved  topic,  at  any  time,  in  any  place,  and  as  a 
casual  observer  would  think,  without  any  premeditation) — but 
wherever  and  however  these  articles  might  be  written,  it  may 
be  safely  asserted  that  they  do  not  contain  a  sentence  which  a 
man  of  business  need  read  twice  over,  or  which  he  would  not 
find  easily  and  certainly  intelligible.  At  the  Treasury  it  was 
the  same.  However  complicated  and  involved  the  matter  to 
be  decided  might  be — however  much  it  might  be  loaded  with 
detail  or  perplexed  by  previous  controversy — Mr.  Wilson  never 
failed  to  make  immediately  clear  the  exact  opinion  he  formed 
upon  it,  the  exact  grounds  upon  which  he  formed  it,  and  the 
exact  course  of  action  which  he  thought  should  be  adopted 
upon  it.  Many  persons  well  acquainted  with  practical  life  will 
be  disposed  to  doubt  whether  extreme  accuracy  of  decision  is 
not  almost  a  secondary  merit  as  compared  with  a  perfect  in- 
telligibility. In  many  cases  it  may  be  better  to  have  a  decision 
which  every  one  can  understand,  though  with  some  percentage 
of  error,  than  an  elaborately  accurate  decision  of  which  the 
grounds  and  reasons  are  not  easily  grasped,  and  a  plan  of 
action  which,  from  its  refined  complexity,  is  an  inevitable  my- 
stery to  the  greater  number  of  practical  persons.  But,  putting 
aside  this  abstract  discussion,  we  say  without  fear  of  contradic- 
tion or  of  doubt,  that  Mr.  Wilson  added  to  his  almost  infallible 
power  of  deciding  plain  cases,  an  infallible  certainty  of  being 
entirely  intelligible  in  complicated  cases.  Men  of  business  will 
be  able  to  imagine  the  administrative  capacity  certain  to  be  pro- 
duced by  the  union  of  extreme  excellence  in  both  qualities. 

One  subsidiary  faculty  that  Mr.  Wilson  possessed,  which 
was  very  useful  to  him  in  the  multifarious  business  of  the 
Treasury,  was  an  extraordinary  memory.  On  his  own  sub- 
jects and  upon  transactions  in  which  he  had  taken  a  decisive 
part,  he  seemed  to  recollect  anything  and  everything.  He  was 
able  to  answer  questions  as  to  business  transacted  at  the 
Treasury  after  the  lapse  of  months  and  even  of  years  without 
referring  to  the  papers,  and  with  a  perfect  certainty  of  sub- 
stantial accuracy.  He  would  say,  without  the  slightest  effort 
and  without  the  slightest  idea  that  he  was  doing  anything  ex- 
traordinary :  "  Such  and  such  a  person  came  to  me  at  the 


ise  1 1 

;r 


332        MEMOIR  OF  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 

Treasury,  and  said  so  and  so,  and  this  is  what  I  said  to  him  ". 
And  it  is  quite  possible  that  he  might  remember  the  precise 
sums  of  money  which  were  the  subject  of  conversation, 
more  useful  memory  for  the  purpose  of  life  was  perhaps  nev 
possessed  by  any  one.     In  the  case  of  great  literary  memori 
such  as  that  of  Lord  Macaulay  and  of  others,  the  fortunate 
possessor  has  a  continued  source  of  pleasurable  and  constantl 
recurring  recollections  ;  he  has  a  full  mind  constantly  occupi 
with  its  own  contents,  recurring   to  its  long-loved   passag 
from   its  favourite  authors  constantly  and  habitually.      Bu 
Mr.  Wilson  never  recurred  to  the  transactions  in  which  he  h 
been  engaged  except  when  he  was  asked  about  them  ;  he  liv 
as  little  in  the  past  perhaps  as  is  possible  for  an  intellectu 
person  ;  but  the  moment  the  spring  was  touched  by  a  questi 
or  by  some  external  necessity,  all  the  details  of  the  past  tran 
action  started  into  his  memory  completely,  vividly,  and  perfectl 
He  had  thus  the  advantage  of  always  remembering  his  busin 
and  also  the  advantage  of  never  being  burdened  by  it.     Ve 
few  persons  can  ever  have  had  in  equal  measure  the  two  meri 
of  a  fresh  judgment  and  a  full  mind. 

Mr.  Wilson's  memory  was  likewise  assisted  by  a  very  ev 
judgment.     It  was  easier  to  him  to  remember  what  he  ha 
done,  because,  if  he  had  to  do  the  same  thing  again,  he  woul 
be  sure  to  do  it  in  precisely  the  same  way.     He  was  not 
intolerant  person,  but  the  qualities  he  tolerated  least  easily  we 
flightiness  and  inconsistency  of  purpose.     He  had  furnished  hi 
mind,  so  to  say,  with  fixed  principles,  and  he  hated  the  noti 
of  a  mind  which  was  unfurnished. 

All  these  mental  qualities  taken  together  go  far  to  make  u 
the  complete  idea  of  a  perfect  administrator  of  miscellaneo 
financial  business,  such  as  that  of  the  English  Treasury  now  i 
And  Mr.  Wilson  had  the  physical  qualities  also.    An  iron  co 
stitution  which  feared  no  labour,  and  was  very  rarely  incapaci 
tated  even  for  an  hour  by  any  illness,  enabled  him  to  accomplis 
with  ease  and  unconsciously  an  amount  of  work  which  few  m 
would  not  have  shrunk  from.     In  the  country,  where  his  habi 
were  necessarily  more  obvious,  he  habitually  spent  the  who 
day  from  eleven  till  eight,  with  some  slight  interval  for  a  sh 


JAMES  WILSON  333 

ride  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  over  his  Treasury  bag ;  and  as 
such  was  his  notion  of  a  holiday,  it  may  be  easily  conceived  that 
in  London,  when  he  had  still  more  to  do  in  a  morning,  and  had 
to  spend  almost  every  evening  in  the  House  of  Commons,  his 
work  was  greater  than  an  ordinary  constitution  could  have 
borne.  And  it  was  work  of  a  rather  peculiar  kind.  Some  men 
of  routine  habits  spend  many  hours  over  their  work,  but  do  not 
labour  very  intensely  at  one  time  ;  other  men  of  more  excitable 
natures  work  impulsively,  and  clear  off  everything  they  do  by 
eager  efforts  in  a  short  time.  But  Mr.  Wilson  in  some  sense 
did  both.  Although  his  hours  of  labour  were  so  very  protracted, 
yet  if  a  casual  observer  happened  to  enter  his  library  at  any 
moment,  he  would  find  him  with  his  blind  down  to  exclude  all 
objects  of  external  interest,  his  brow  working  eagerly,  his  eye 
fixed  intently  on  the  figures  before  him,  and,  very  likely,  his 
rapid  pen  passing  fluently  over  the  paper.  He  had  all  the 
labour  of  the  chronic  worker,  and  all  the  labour  of  the  impul- 
sive worker  too.  And  those  admitted  to  his  intimacy  used  to 
wonder  that  he  was  never  tired.  He  came  out  of  his  library  in 
an  evening  more  ready  for  vigorous  conversation — more  alive 
to  all  subjects  of  daily  interest — more  quick  to  gain  new  in- 
formation— more  ready  to  expound  complicated  topics,  than 
others  who  had  only  passed  an  easy  day  of  idleness  or  ordinary 
exertion. 

By  the  aid  of  this  varied  combination  of  powers,  Mr.  Wilson 
was  able  to  grapple  with  the  miscellaneous  financial  business 
of  the  country  with  very  unusual  efficiency.  Most  men  would 
have  found  the  office  work  of  the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury 
quite  enough,  but  he  was  always  ready  rather  to  take  away 
labour  and  responsibilities  from  other  departments  than  to 
throw  off  any  upon  them.  Nor  was  his  efficiency  confined  to 
the  labours  of  his  office.  The  Financial  Secretary  of  the  Trea- 
sury has  a  large  part  of  the  financial  business  of  the  House  of 
Commons  under  his  control,  and  is  responsible  for  its  accurate 
arrangement.  The  passing  a  measure  through  the  House  of 
Commons  is  a  matter  of  detail ;  and  in  the  case  of  the  financial 
measures  of  the  Government,  a  large  part  of  this — the  dullest 
part,  and  the  most  unenvied — falls  to  the  Secretary  of  the 


334        MEMOIR  OF  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 

Treasury.     He  is  expected  to  be  the  right  hand  of  the  Chan- 
cellor of  the  Exchequer  in  all  the  most  wearisome  part  of  the 
financial  business  of  the  House  of  Commons  ;  and  we  have 
best  authority  for  stating  that,  under  two  Chancellors  of  th< 
Exchequer,  very  different  from  one  another  in  many  respect 
Mr.  Wilson  performed  this  part  of  his  duties  with  singular 
ciency,  zeal,  and  judgment. 

The  Financial  Secretary  of  the  Treasury  is  likewise  e: 
pected  to  answer  all  questions  asked  in  the  House  as  to  tl 
civil  estimates — a  most  miscellaneous  collection  of  figures, 
any  one  may  satisfy  himself  by  glancing  at  them.     Mr.  Wilson's 
astonishing  memory  and  great  power  of  lucid  exposition  en- 
abled  him  to  fulfil  this  part  of  his  duty  with  very  remarkable 
efficiency.     He  gave  the  dates  and  the  figures  without  any  note, 
and  his  exposition  was  uniformly  simple,  emphatic,  and  intelli- 
gible, even  on  the  most  complicated  subjects.     The  great  rule, 
he  used  to  say,  was  to  answer  exactly  the  exact  question ; 
you  attempted  an  elaborate  exposition,  collateral  issues  wei 
necessarily  raised,  a  debate  ensued,  and  the  time  of  the  House 
was  lost. 

Mr.  Wilson's  mercantile   knowledge  and  mercantile  sym- 
pathies were  found  to  be  of  much  use  in  the  consolidation 
the  Customs  in  1853,  and  he  took  great  interest  in  settling 
scheme  for  the  payment  of  the  duties  in  cheques  instead  of 
bank-notes,  by  which  the  circulation  has  been  largely  econc 
mised  and  traders  greatly  benefited.     During  the  autumn  oi 
1857,  his  long  study  of  the  currency  question,  and  his  first-ham 
conversancy  with  the  business  of  the  City,  were  valuable  aid* 
to  the  Administration  of  the  day  in  the  anxious  responsibility 
and  rapidly  shifting  scenes  of  an  extreme  commercial  crisi; 
It  would  be  impossible  to  notice  the  number  of  measures  ii 
which  he  took  part  as  Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  and  equally 
impossible  to  trace  his  precise  share  in  them.     That  office  en- 
sures to  its  holder  substantial  power,  but  can  rarely  give  him 
legislative  fame. 

On  two  occasions  during  his  tenure  of  office  at  the  Treasury, 
Mr.  Wilson  was  offered  a  different  post.  In  the  autumn  of  1856 
he  was  offered  the  Chairmanship  of  Inland  Revenue,  a  per- 


JAMES  WILSON  335 

manent  office  of  considerable  value  then  vacant,  which  he  de- 
clined because  he  did  not  consider  the  income  necessary,  and 
because  (what  some  people  would  think  odd)  it  did  not  afford 
sufficient  occupation.  It  was  a  " good  pillow,"  he  said,  "but 
he  did  not  wish  to  lie  down  ".  The  other  office  offered  him 
was  the  Vice-Presidency  of  the  Board  of  Trade  in  1855,  which 
would  have  been  a  step  to  him  in  official  rank,  but  which  would 
have  entailed  a  new  election,  and  he  did  not  feel  quite  secure 
that  the  electors  of  Westbury  would  again  return  him.  He  did 
not,  however,  by  any  means  wish  for  the  change,  as  the  Vice- 
Presidency  of  the  Board  of  Trade,  though  nominally  superior, 
is  in  real  power  far  inferior  to  the  Secretaryship  of  the  Treasury. 

In  the  general  election  of  1857,  Mr.  Wilson  was  returned 
for  Devonport,  for  which  place  he  continued  to  sit  till  his  de- 
parture for  India.  He  went  out  of  office  on  the  dissolution  of 
Lord  Palmerston's  Administration  in  the  spring  of  1858,  and 
took  an  active  part  in  the  Liberal  opposition  to  Lord  Derby's 
Government,  though  it  may  be  remarked  that  he  carefully  ab- 
stained from  using  the  opportunities  afforded  him  by  his  long 
experience  at  the  Treasury,  of  harassing  his  less  experienced 
successors  in  financial  office  by  needless  and  petty  difficulties. 

On  the  return  of  the  Liberal  party  to  power,  Mr.  Wilson 
was  asked  to  resume  his  post  at  the  Treasury,  but  he  declined, 
as,  after  five  years  of  laborious  service,  he  wished  to  have  an 
office  of  which  the  details  were  less  absorbing.  He  accepted, 
however,  the  Vice-Presidency  of  the  Board  of  Trade1 — an 
office  which  is  not  in  itself  attractive,  but  which  gives  its  pos- 
sessor a  sort  of  claim  to  be  President  of  the  Board  at  the  next 
vacancy.  The  office  of  President  is  frequently  accompanied 
by  a  seat  in  the  Cabinet,  and  Mr.  Wilson's  reputation  on  all 
subjects  connected  with  trade  was  so  firmly  established  that  in 
;  his  case  it  would  have  been  practically  impossible  to  pass  him 
!  over,  even  if  it  had  been  wished.  He  had,  however,  secured  so 
j  firm  a  position  in  official  circles  by  his  real  efficiency,  that  the 
i  dispensers  of  patronage  were,  as  he  believed,  likely  to  give  him 
whatever  he  desired  as  soon  as  the  exigencies  of  party  enabled 
j  them  to  do  so. 

1  He  was  at  the  same  time  made  a  Privy-Councillor. 


336        MEMOIR  OF  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 

He  had  not  been  long  in  office  before  he  had  good  reason 
for  thinking  that  he  would  be  offered  by  the  Government  the 
office  of  Financial  Member  of  the  Council  of  India  under  very 
peculiar  circumstances.     There  had  never  before  been  such  ai 
officer.     One  member  of  Council  had  since  1833  been  alwai 
sent  out  from  England,  but  he  had  always  been  a  lawyer,  an< 
his  functions  were  those  of  a  jurist  and  a  regulative  admin- 
istrator, not  those  of  a  financier.     The  mutiny  of  the  Sepoj 
in  1857  had,  however,  left  behind  it  a  deficit  with  which  the 
financiers  of  India  did  not  seem  to  be  able  to  cope,  and  whi< 
a  cumbrous  financial  system  did  not  give  them  the  best  me 
of  vanquishing.     There  was  a  general  impression  that  soi 
one  with  an  English  training  and  English  habits  of  busim 
would  have  a  better  chance  of  overcoming  the  most  pressii 
difficulty  of  India  than  any  one  on  the  spot.     And  there 
an  equally  general  impression  that  if  any  one  were  to  be 
from  England  to  India  with  such  an  object,  Mr.  Wilson  w< 
the  right  person.     He  united  high  financial  reputation,  coi 
siderable  knowledge  of  India  acquired  at  the  Board  of  Cor 
trol,  tried  habits  of  business,  long  experience  at  the  Engli< 
Treasury,  to  the  sagacious  readiness  in  dealing  with  new  sit 
uations  which  self-made  men  commonly  have,  but  which 
commonly  wanting  in  others. 

On  personal  grounds  Mr.  Wilson  was  disinclined  to  accej 
the  office.  He  was  on  the  threshold  of  the  Cabinet  here  ; 
was  entitled  by  his  long  tenure  of  office  at  the  Treasury  to 
pension  which  would  merge  in  the  salary  of  Indian  Councillor 
the  emoluments  of  the  latter  office  were  not  necessary  to  hii 
his  life  was  very  heavily  insured  for  the  benefit  of  his  famib 
though  he  had  never  during  his  tenure  of  office  at  the  Treasui 
been  connected  directly  or  indirectly  with  any  kind  of 
mercial  undertaking  (the  Economist  alone  excepted),  some  ii 
vestments  which  he  made  in  land  and  securities,  entirely 
yond  the  range  of  politics,  had  been  very  fortunate ;  since 
year  1844  everything  of  a  pecuniary  kind  in  which  he 
been  concerned  had  not  only  prospered,  but  remarkably  pi 
pered ;  he  felt  himself  sufficiently  rich  to  pursue  the  career 
prosperous  usefulness  and  satisfied  ambition  that  seemed  to 


JAMES  WILSON  337 

before  him  here.  There  was  no  consideration  of  private  in- 
terest which  could  induce  him  to  undertake  anxious  and 
dangerous  duties  in  India ;  he  even  ran  some  pecuniary  risk  in 
leaving  this  country,  as  it  was  possible  that  in  the  vicissitudes 
of  newspaper  property  the  Economist  might  again  need  the 
attention  of  its  proprietor  and  founder.  On  public  grounds, 
however,  he  believed  that  it  was  his  duty  to  accept  the  office; 
he  took  a  keen  interest  in  Indian  finance;  believed  that  the 
i  difficulties  of  it  might  be  conquered,  and  thought  that  in  even 
\attempting  to  conquer  them  he  would  be  doing  the  greatest  and 
most  lasting  public  service  that  it  was  in  his  power  to  accom- 
plish. 

He  accordingly  accepted  the  office  of  Financial  Member  of 
the  Council  of  India,  and  proceeded  to  make  somewhat  melan- 
choly arrangements  for  leaving  this  country.  He  broke  up  his 
(establishment  here,  bade  farewell  to  his  constituents  at  Devon- 
jport  and  to  the  inhabitants  of  his  native  place,  attended  some 
(influential  public  meetings  in  towns  deeply  interested  in  the 
(commerce  of  India,  and  on  2Oth  October,  1859,  left  England, 
|  as  it  proved,  for  ever. 

Of  Mr.  Wilson's  policy  in  India  it  would  not  be  proper  to 
j  give  more  than  a  very  brief  sketch  here.  That  policy  is  still 
i  fresh  in  the  memory  of  the  public ;  it  has  been  very  frequently 

explained  and  discussed  in  the  Economist ;  it  is  still  being 
t  tried ;  and,  though  he  was  fully  persuaded  of  the  expediency 

of  his  measures,  he  would  not  have  wished  for  too  warm  a 
I  eulogy  of  them  while  they  are  as  yet  untested  by  the  event. 
I  In  almost  the  last  letter  which  the  present  writer  received  from 
!(him,  there  was  a  sort  of  reprimand  for  permitting  this  journal 
Ijto  draw  too  great  an  attention  to  his  plans,  and  to  ascribe  the 
ji  merit  of  them  too  exclusively  to  him,  and  too  little  to  the 
i  j  Government  of  which  he  was  a  member. 

On  his  arrival  in  India  he  found  that  the  Governor-General 
i  I  was  on  a  tour  in  the  Upper  Provinces  of  India,  and  before 
{doing  any  business  of  importance  at  Calcutta  he  travelled 

thither.  This  journey  he  thought  very  advantageous,  because 
|  it  gave  him  a  great  insight  into  the  nature  of  the  country,  and 

enabled  him  to  consult  the  most  experienced  revenue  officers 
VOL.  in.  22 


338        MEMOIR  OF  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 

of  many  large  districts  on  their  respective  resources,  and  on  the 
safest  mode  of  making  those  resources  available  to  the  public. 
He  was  much  struck  with  the  capabilities  of  the  country,  ai 
wrote  to  England  in  almost  so  many  words  "  that  it  was  a  fii 
country  to  tax".     On  the  other  hand,  however,  he  was  we 
aware  of  the  difficulty  of  his  task.     The  only  two  possibl 
modes  of  taxation  are  direct  and  indirect,  and  in  the  case 
India  there  is  a  difficulty  in  adopting  either.     If  we  select  ii 
direct  taxation  and  impose  duties  on  consumable  commoditie 
the  natives  of  India  meet  us  by  declining  to  consume.     The 
wants  are  few,  and  they  will  forego  most  of  them  if  a  tax 
be  evaded  thereby.     On  the  other  hand,  if  we  adopt  in  In< 
a  direct  tax  on  property  or  income,  there  is  great  difficulty 
finding  out  what  each  man's  property  or  income  is.     In  Ei 
land  we  trust  each  person  to  tell  us  the  amount  of  his  incoi 
but  even  here  the  results  are  not  wholly  satisfactory ;  and 
would  be  absurd  to  fancy  that  we  can  place  as  much  relian< 
upon  the  veracity  of  Orientals  as  upon  that  of  Englishmen. 
These  difficulties,  however,  Mr.  Wilson  was  prepared 
meet.     On   i8th  February,  1860,  he  proposed  his  Budget 
the  Legislative  Council  at  Calcutta,  and  the  reception  given  t4 
it  by  all  classes  was  remarkably  favourable.     He  announced, 
indeed,  a  scheme  of  heavy  taxation,  but  the  Indian  public  had 
been  living  for  a  considerable  time  under  a  sentence  of  indefinite 
taxation,  and  they  were  glad  to  know  the  worst.     Anything 
distinct  was  better  than  vague  suspense,  and,  as  usual,   Mr. 
Wilson  contrived  to   make  his   meaning  very  distinct.     His 
bearing  also  exercised  a  great  influence  over  the  Anglo-Indian 
public.     In  England  he  had  been  remarkable  among  official) 
men  for  his  constant  animation  and  thorough  naturalness 
manner ;  in  his  office  he  was  as  much  himself  as  at  a  dinru 
table  or  in  the  House  of  Commons  ;  he  had  no  tinge  of  su] 
cilious  politeness  or  artificial  blandness.     In  any  new  scene 
action — especially   in   such  a    scene  as    British    India — the 
qualities  were  sure  to  tell  beneficially.     Plain  directness 
emphatic  simplicity  were  the  external  qualities  most  likely 
be  useful  at  Calcutta,  and  these  were  Mr.  Wilson's  most 
markable  qualities. 


JAMES  WILSON  339 

The  principal   feature  of  Mr.   Wilson's   Budget  was  the 
Income  Tax,  which   he    avowedly  framed  after  the   English 
fashion.     It  is  true  that  but  little  reliance  can,  perhaps,  be 
placed  on  the  statements  of  Orientals  as  to  their  wealth.     It  is 
very  possible  that  the  complicated  machinery  of  forms  and 
notices  which  is  in  use  here  may  not  be  applicable  in  India. 
All  this  Mr.   Wilson  well  knew.     But  he  thought   that   our 
Indian  subjects  should  have  an  opportunity  of  stating  their 
|  income  before  they  were  taxed  upon  it.     If  they  should  state 
I  it  untruly,  or  should  decline  to  state  it,  it  might  be  necessary 
I  to  tax  them  arbitrarily.     But  he  did  not  think  it  would  be 
I  decent — that  it  would  be  civilised — to  begin  with  an  arbitrary 
I  assessment.     By  the  Income  Tax  Act  which  he  framed,  it  is 
!  enacted  that  other  modes  may  be  substituted  if  in  any  instance 
he  English  mode  of  assessment  should  prove  inapplicable.     In 
>ther  words,  if  our  Oriental  fellow-subjects  will  not  tell  us  the 
ruth  when  they  are  asked,  we  must  tax  them  as  best  we 
:an,  and  they  cannot  justly  complain  of  unfairness  and  in- 
equality.     We  would  have  been  mathematically  just,  if  they 
lad  given  us  the  means. 

The  reception  of  Mr.  Wilson's  Budget  was  universally 
"avourable  until  the  publication  of  the  minute  of  Sir  C.  Tre- 
relyan,  which,  as  was  inevitable,  produced  a  serious  reaction, 
rleavy  taxation  can  never  be  very  pleasant,  and  in  the  Pre- 
idency  of  Madras  Sir  Charles  gave  the  sanction  of  the  Govern- 
nent — of  the  highest  authority  the  people  saw — to  the  hope 
hat  they  would  not  be  taxed.  The  prompt  recall  of  Sir 
Charles,  however,  did  much  to  convince  the  natives  of  the  firm 
letermination  of  the  English  Government,  and  Mr.  Wilson 
loped  that  the  ordeal  of  criticism  through  which  his  mea- 
ures  had  to  pass  would  ultimately  be  favourable  to  them, 
t  certainly  secured  them  from  the  accusation  of  being  pre- 
pared in  haste,  but  it  purchased  this  benefit  at  the  loss  to  the 
Dublic  of  much  precious  time,  and  to  Mr.  Wilson  of  precious 
icalth.  Of  the  substance  of  this  minute  it  is  sufficient  to  say 
hat  its  fundamental  theory  that  additional  taxation  of  any 
tort  was  unnecessary  in  India,  has  scarcely  been  believed  by 

22* 


340        MEMOIR  OF  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 

any  one  except  its  author.     Almost  every  one  has  deemed  it 
too  satisfactory  to  be  true. 

On  another  point  Mr.  Wilson's  Budget  had  been  criticised 
in  England,  though  not  in  India.      It  has  been  considered  to 
be  a  protective  Budget.     The   mistake  has  arisen    from  not 
attending  to  what  that  Budget  is.     The  changes  made  by  Mr. 
Wilson  in  the  import  duties  were  two.      "The  first  was  a  re 
duction  from  twenty  to  ten  per  cent,  upon  a  long  list  of  articl< 
including  haberdashery,  millinery,  and  hosiery,  all  part  of  tl 
cotton  trade ;  the  second  was  an  increase  in   the  duty  upoi 
cotton  yarn  from  five  to  ten  per  cent,  thus  creating  a  unifon 
tariff  of  ten   per  cent." l      Of  these  two,  it  is  plain  the 
duction  from  twenty  per  cent,  to  ten  was  not  a  change  th; 
would  operate  as  a  protection  to  Indian  industry ;  and  the  ii 
crease  of  the  duty  on  yarn  has  a  contrary  tendency.     Yarn 
an  earlier,   cloth   a  later,  stage  of  manufacture,  and   in   Mi 
Wilson's  own  words,  "it  is  a  low  duty  on  yarn  and  a 
duty  on   cloth  that  encourages  native  weaving".      For  tl 
effect  of  the  general  system  of  high  Customs  duties  in  Indi 
Mr.  Wilson  is  not  responsible,  but  his  predecessors.     What 
did  has  no  protective  tendency. 

If  the  Income  Tax  should,  as  may  be  fairly  hoped,  becoi 
a  permanent  part  of  the  financial  system  of  India,  it  will  sei 
for  a  considerable  period  to  keep  Mr.  Wilson's  name  alive  the 
So  efficient  an  expedient  must  always  attract  the  notice  of  tl 
public,  and  must  in  some  degree  preserve  the  remembrance 
the  Minister  by  whom  it  was  proposed.     Mr.  Wilson,  howeve 
undertook  two  other  measures  of  very  great  importance. 
of  these  has  been  frequently  described  as  the  introduction  inl 
India  of  the  English  system  of  public  accounts.     But  it  woi 
be   more   truly  described   as    the  introduction   of  a  rations 
system  of  public  accounts.     There  are  three  natural  steps 
national   finance,  which  are  certainly  clearly  marked    in 
English  system,  but  which  have  a   necessary  existence   in< 
pendent   of  that    recognition.       These   three  are  —  first,   the 
estimate   of  future  expenditure;   secondly,  what  we  call 
Budget,  that  is,  the  official  calculation  of  the  income  by  whi< 
1  Economist  of  8th  Sept.,  1860,  p.  977. 


JAMES  WILSON  341 

the  coming  expenditure  is  to  be  defrayed ;  thirdly,  the  audit, 
which  shows  what  the  expenditure  has  been  and  how  it  has 
been  met.  The  system  of  finance  which  Mr.  Wilson  found  in 
India  neglected  these  fundamental  distinctions.  There  were 
no  satisfactory  estimates  of  future  expenditure,  and  no  satis- 
factory calculation  of  future  income.  In  consequence,  the 
calculations  of  the  official  departments  have  been  wrong  by 
millions  sterling,  and  English  statesmen  have  felt  great  diffi- 
culty not  only  in  saying  how  the  deficit  was  to  be  removed, 
but  likewise  in  ascertaining  what  the  amount  of  the  deficit  was. 
At  the  time  of  his  death  Mr.  Wilson  was  eagerly  occupied  in 
endeavouring  to  introduce  a  better  system.1 

Mr.  Wilson  will  likewise  be  remembered  as  the  first 
Minister  who  endeavoured  to  introduce  into  India  a  Govern- 
ment paper  currency.  On  3rd  March,  1860,  he  introduced 
into  the  Legislative  Council  an  elaborate  plan  for  this  purpose, 
which,  with  a  slight  modification  by  Sir  C.  Wood — curious  in 
the  theory  of  the  currency,  but  practically  not  very  important 
—will  speedily,  it  is  probable,  be  the  fundamental  currency 
law— the  "  Peel's  Act "  of  British  India. 

The  exact  mode  in  which  Mr.  Wilson  regarded  these  great 
objects,  will  perhaps  be  better  explained  by  two  extracts  from 
his  latest  letters  than  by  any  other  means.  On  4th  July,  he 
wrote  to  a  friend  : — 

"  Firmness  and  justice  are  the  only  policy  for  India  :  no  vacillation, 
or  you  are  gone.  They  like  to  be  governed  ;  and  respect  an  iron  hand,  if 
it  be  but  equal  and  just.  I  have,  I  think,  more  confidence  than  ever  that 
the  taxes  will  be  established  and  collected,  and  without  disturbance.  But 
the  task  is  still  an  enormous  one.  I  must  retrench  yet  at  least  three  and  a 
half  millions,  and  get  the  same  sum  from  my  new  taxes  to  make  both  ends 
meet.  I  am  putting  the  screw  on  very  strongly,  but  rather  by  an  improved 
policy  in  army  and  police  than  in  reductions  of  salaries  and  establishments, 
which  cannot  be  made.  I  have  set  myself  five  great  points  of  policy  to  in- 
troduce and  carry  out : — 

"i.  To  extend  a  system  of  sound  taxation  to  the  great  trading  classes, 
who  hitherto  have  been  exempted,  though  chiefly  benefited  by  our  enor- 
mously increased  civil  expenditure. 

"  2.  To  establish  a  paper  currency. 

1  His  measures  were  adopted  and  are  still  in  use  to  the  great  advant- 
age of  the  finance  system  of  India.  (ED.) 


342        MEMOIR  OF  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 

"  3.  To  reform  and  remodel  our  financial  system  by  a  plan  of  annual 
budgets  and  estimates,  with  a  Pay  Department  to  check  issues,  and  keep 
them  within  the  authorised  limits, — and  an  effective  audit. 

"  4.  A  great  police  system  of  semi-military  organisation,  but  usual!} 
of  purely  civil  application,  which,  dear  though  it  be,  will  be  cheaper 
half  a  million  than  our  present  wretched  and  expensive  system, — and 
which  we  shall  be  able  to  reduce  our  native  army  to  at  least  one-third  ;- 
and  by  which  alone  we  can  utilise  the  natives  as  an  arm  of  defence  with- 
out the  danger  of  congregating  idle  organised  masses. 

"  5.  Public  works  and  roads,  with  a  view  to  increased  production 
cotton,  flax,  wool,  and  European  raw  materials. 

"  The  four  first  I  have  made  great  progress  in  :  the  latter  must  follo\ 
But  you  will  call  it  '  a  large  order  '.  However,  you  have  no  idea  of  tl 
increased  capacity  of  the  mind  for  undertaking  a  special  service  of  this 
kind  when  removed  to  a  new  scene  of  action,  and  when  one  throws  off 
the  cares  of  engagements  less  or  more  trivial  by  which  one  is  surround( 
in  ordinary  life,  and  throws  one's  whole  soul  into  such  a  special  servk 
and  particularly  when  one  feels  assured  of  having  the  power  to  carry 
out,  I  cannot  tell  you  with  what  ease  one  determines  the  largest  ai 
gravest  question  here  compared  with  in  England  ;  and  I  am  certain  tl 
the  more  one  can  exercise  real  power,  there  is  by  far  the  greater  tendenc 
to  moderation,  care,  and  prudence." 

In  a  second  letter,  dated  igth  July,  he  wrote  to  the  same 
friend  from  Barrackpore  : — 

"  The  Indian  Exchequer  is  a  huge  machine.     The  English  Treasi 
is  nothing  to  it  for  complexity,  diversity,  and  remoteness  of  the  points 
action.     Our  great  enemies  are   time   and  distance  ;   and  with   all  01 
frontier  territories   there  is  scarcely  a  day  passes  that  we  have  not 
account  of  some  row  or  inroad.     It  is  a  most  unwieldy  Empire   to 
governed  on  the  principle  of  forcing  civilisation  at  every  point  of  it.     Oi 
day  it  is  the  Frontier  of  Scinde  and  a  quarrel  with  our  native  chiefs,  whi( 
our  Resident  must  check  ;  another  it  is  an  intrigue  between  Herat  ai 
Cabul,  with  a  report  of  Russian  forces  in  the  background  ;  the  next  thei 
is  a  raid  upon  our   Punjab  frontiers  to  be  chastised  ;   then  come  soi 
accounts  of  coolness,  or  misunderstanding,  or  unreasonable  demands  fr 
our  ally  in   Nepaul ;  then  follow  some  inroads  from   the   savage   trit 
which  inhabit  the  mountains  to  the  rear  of  Assam  and  up  the  Burram- 
pootra  ;  then  we  have  reported  brawls  in  Burmah  and  Pegu,  and  disputes 
among  the   hill  tribes  whose  relations  to   the  British  and   the    Burmah 
Governments  are  ill  defined  ;  then  we  have  Central  India,  with  our  loyal 
chiefs  Scindiah   and   Holkar,  independent   princes  with  most  turbulei 
populations,  which  could  not  be  kept  in  order  a  day  without  the  prest 
of  British  troops  and  of  the  Governor-General's  Agent.     Besides  all  thes 
we  have  among  ourselves  a  thousand  questions  of  internal  administi 


JAMES  WILSON  343 

I  rendered  more  difficult  by  the  ill-defined  relations  between  the  Supreme 
I  and  the  Subordinate  Governments — the  latter  always  striving  to  encroach, 
I  the  former  to  hold  its  own.  Hence,  questions  do  not  come  before  us 
I  simply  on  their  merits,  but  often  as  involving  these  doubtful  rights.  Then 
I  we  have  Courts  of  Justice  to  reform,  as  well  as  all  other  institutions  of  a 
I  domestic  kind  not  to  reform  alone,  but  to  extend  to  new  territories.  Then 
1  we  have  a  deficit  of  ,£7,000,000,  and  had  a  Government  teaching  the 
I  people  that  all  could  be  done  without  new  taxes.  But  unfortunately  all, 
1  except  the  taxes,  are  a  present  certainty — they  are  a  future  contingency. 
I  What  will  they  yield  ?  I  have  no  precise  knowledge.  I  think  from  three 

I  to  four  millions  a  year  when  in  full  bloom  :  this  financial  year  not  more 

II  than  a  million. 

"  I  have  now  got  a  Military  Finance  Commission  in  full  swing  ;  a 
I  Civil  Finance  Commission  also  going  :  I  am  reorganising  the  Finance,  Pay, 
I  and  Accountant-General's  Department,  in  order  to  get  all  the  advantage 
I  of  the  English  system  of  estimates,  Pay  Office,  and  Audit :  and  this  with 
I  as  little  disturbance  of  existing  plans  as  possible.  The  latter  is  a  point  I 
i  have  especially  aimed  at.  On  the  whole,  and  almost  without  an  exception, 
I  I  have  willing  allies  in  all  the  existing  Offices.  No  attempt  that  I  see  is 
I  anywhere  made  to  thwart  or  impede. 

"  You  can  well  understand,  then,  how  full  my  hands  are,  if  to  all  these 
j  you  add  the  new  currency  arrangements  ;  you  will  not  then  wonder  that 
|j  my  health  has  rendered  it  necessary  to  come  down  here  for  a  day  or  two 
|  to  get  some  fresh  air." 

It  will  be  observed  that  in  the  last  extract  Mr.  Wilson 
alludes  to  his  impaired  health.  For  some  time  after  his  arrival 
in  India  he  seemed  scarcely  to  feel  the  climate.  He  certainly 
did  not  feel  it  as  much  as  might  have  been  anticipated.  He 
worked  extremely  hard ;  scarcely  wrote  a  private  letter,  but 
devoted  the  whole  of  his  great  energies  to  the  business  around 
him.  His  letters  for  a  considerable  time  abound  with  such 
expressions  as  "  Notwithstanding  all  my  hard  work,  my  health 
is  excellent ".  From  the  commencement  of  the  rainy  season 
at  Calcutta,  however,  he  ceased  to  be  equally  well,  his  state  be- 
gan to  arouse  the  apprehensions  of  experienced  observers,  and 
he  was  warned  that  he  should  retire  for  a  short  time  to  a 
better  climate.  He  would  not,  however,  do  so  until  his  financial 
measures  had  advanced  sufficiently  far  for  him  to  leave  them. 
His  position  was  a  very  peculiar  one.  In  general,  if  one  ad- 
ministrator leaves  his  post,  another  is  found  to  fill  it  up.  But 
Mr.  Wilson  was  a  unique  man  at  Calcutta.  He  was  sent 
there  because  he  had  certain  special  qualifications  which  no  one 


344        MEMOIR  OF  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 

there  possessed ;  and,  accordingly,  he  had  no  one  to  rely  on  in, 
his  peculiar  functions  save  himself.     His  presence  on  the  spot 
was  likewise  very  important     The  administration  of  a  depart-; 
ment  can  be  frequently  transacted  by  letter,  but  the  organisa- 
tion   of    new    departments    and    new    schemes    requires    the 
unremitting  attention  of  the  organiser — the  impulse  of  hi< 
energy.     The  interest,  too,  which  Mr.  Wilson  took  in  public 
business  was  exceptionally  great,  and  no  one  who  knew  hii 
well  would  suppose  that  he  would  leave  Calcutta  while  necessai 
work,  or  what  he  deemed  so,  was  to  be  done  there. 

Nor  was  labour  the  sole  trial  to  which  his  constitution  was 
exposed.     The  success  of  measures  so  extensive  as  his,  must 
ever  be  a  matter  of  anxious  doubt  until  the  event  decides 
and  in  his  case  there  were  some  momentary  considerations  tc 
aggravate  that  anxiety.     There   was   no  experience  of  sue! 
taxation  as  he  had  proposed,  and  the  effect  of  it  must  thei 
fore  be  difficult   to  foresee.     Moreover,  for  a  brief  period, 
famine  seemed  to  be  imminent  in  Upper  India,  which  must  have 
disturbed  the  whole  operation  of  his  financial  schemes.     In  his 
debilitated  state  of  health  this  last  source  of  anxiety  seemed 
much  to  weigh  upon  him. 

About  the  middle  of  July  he  went  for  a  week  to  Barrack- 
pore,  near  Calcutta.  The  change  was,  however,  too  slight, 
and,  as  might  be  expected,  he  returned  to  Calcutta  without 
any  material  benefit.  From  that  time  the  disease  gradually 
augmented,  and  on  the  evening  of  2nd  August,  he  went  to  bed 
never  to  rise  from  it  again.  For  many  days  he  continued  to 
be  very  ill,  and  his  family  experienced  the  usual  alternations 
of  hope  and  fear.  He  was  quite  aware  of  his  critical  state, 
and  made  all  necessary  arrangements  with  his  habitual  deliber- 
ation and  calmness. 

Lord  Canning  saw  him  on  the  9th  for  the  last  time,  and 
was  much  struck  with  the  change  which  illness  had  made  in 
him.  He  believed  that  he  saw  death  in  his  face,  and  was 
deeply  impressed  with  the  vivid  interest  which,  even  in  the  last 
stage  of  weakness,  he  took  in  public  affairs,  with  his  keen  desire 
for  the  success  of  his  plans,  and  with  the  little  merit  which  he 
was  disposed  to  claim  for  his  own  share  in  them. 


JAMES  WILSON  345 

It  was  hoped  that  he  would  be  strong  enough  to  bear 
removal,  and  it  was  intended  to  delay  the  mail  steamer  for  a 
few  hours  to  take  him  to  sea — the  usual  remedy  at  Calcutta 
for  diseases  of  the  climate.  But  when  the  time  came  there 
was  no  chance  that  his  strength  would  be  adequate  to  the 
effort.  During  the  whole  of  the  nth  he  sank  rapidly,  and  at 
half-past  six  in  the  evening  he  breathed  his  last. 

The  mourning  at  Calcutta  was  more  universal  than  had 
ever  been  remembered.  He  had  not  been  long  in  India,  but 
while  he  had  been  there  he  filled  a  conspicuous  and  great  part ; 
he  had  done  so  much,  that  there  were  necessarily  doubts  in 
the  minds  of  some  as  to  the  expediency  of  part  of  it.  No 
such  doubts,  however,  were  thought  of  now.  "  That  he  should 
have  come  out  to  die  here!" — "That  he  should  have  left  a 
great  English  career  for  this  ! " — were  the  phrases  in  every 
one's  mouth.  The  funeral  was  the  largest  ever  known  at 
Calcutta.  It  was  attended  by  almost  the  entire  population, 
from  the  Governor-General  downwards,  and  not  a  single  voice, 
on  any  ground  whatever,  dissented  from  the  general  grief. 

Very  little  now  remains  to  be  said.  A  few  scattered  de- 
tails, some  of  them  perhaps  trivial,  must  complete  this  sketch. 

Mr.  Wilson's  face  was  striking,  though  not  handsome. 
His  features  were  irregular,  but  had  a  peculiar  look  of  mind 
and  energy,  while  a  strongly  marked  brow  and  very  large 
eyebrows  gave  to  all  who  saw  him  an  unfailing  impression  of 
massive  power  and  firm  determination. 

Mr.  Wilson's  moral  character  in  its  general  features  re- 
sembled his  intellectual.  He  was  not  a  man  of  elaborate 
scruples  and  difficult  doubts,  and  he  did  not  much  like  those 
who  were.  His  conscientiousness  was  of  a  plain,  but  very 
practical  kind ;  he  had  a  single-minded  rectitude  which  went 
straight  to  the  pith  of  a  moral  difficulty — which  showed  him 
what  he  ought  to  do.  On  such  subjects  he  was  somewhat 
intolerant  of  speculative  reasoning.  "The  common-sense  is 
so  and  so,"  he  used  to  say,  and  he  did  not  wish  to  be  plagued 
with  anything  else.  In  one  respect  his  manner  did  not  uni- 
formly give  a  true  impression  of  him.  He  always  succeeded 
in  conveying  his  meaning,  in  stating  what  he  wished  to  have 


346       MEMOIR  OF  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 

done  and  why  he  wished  it ;  he  never  failed  to  convince  any 
one  of  his  inexhaustible  vigour  and  his  substantial  ability  ;  but 
he  sometimes  did  fail  in  giving  a  true  expression  to  his  latent 
generosity  and  real  kindliness.  He  shrank  almost  nervously 
from  the  display  of  feeling,  and  sometimes  was  thought  by 
casual  observers  to  feel  nothing,  when  in  reality  he  was  much 
more  sensitive  than  they  were.  Another  peculiarity  which 
few  persons  would  have  attributed  to  him  aided  this  mistake. 
It  may  seem  strange  in  a  practised  Secretary  of  the  Treasury, 
but  he  used  to  say  that  through  life  he  had  suffered  far  more 
from  shyness  than  from  anything  else.  Only  very  close 
observers  could  have  discovered  this,  for  his  manner  was 
habitually  impressive  and  unfaltering.  But  common  acquaint- 
ances, sometimes  even  persons  who  saw  him  on  business, 
erroneously  imputed  to  unthinking  curtness,  that  which  was 
due  in  truth  to  nervous  hesitation. 

With  his  subordinates  in  office  he  was,  however,  very 
cordial.  He  discussed  matters  of  business  with  them,  listened 
carefully  to  their  suggestions  or  objections,  and  very  frequently 
was  guided  by  their  recommendations.  He  had  no  paltry 
desire  to  monopolise  the  whole  credit  of  what  might  be  done. 
He  probably  worked  harder  than  any  Secretary  of  the  Treasury 
before  or  since ;  but  so  far  from  depressing  those  below  him, 
he  encouraged  their  exertions,  co-operated  with  them,  and  was 
ever  ready  to  bear  hearty  testimony  to  the  tried  merit  of 
efficient  public  servants.  He  was  also  quite  willing  to  forget 
the  temporary  misunderstandings  which  are  so  apt  to  occur 
among  earnest  men  who  take  different  views  of  public  affairs. 
He  was  eminently  tolerant.  Though  he  had  almost  always  a 
strong  conviction  of  his  own,  he  never  felt  the  least  wish  to 
silence  discussion.  Believing  that  his  own  opinions  were  true, 
he  was  only  the  more  confident  that  the  more  the  subject  was 
discussed,  the  more  true  they  would  be  found  to  be.  Few 
men  ever  transacted  so  much  important  business  with  so  little 
of  the  pettiness  of  personal  feeling. 

In  the  foregoing  sketch  Mr.  Wilson  has  of  necessity  been 
regarded  almost  exclusively  as  a  public  man,  but  his  private 
life  has  many  remarkable  features,  if  it  were  proper  to  enlarge 


JAMES  WILSON  347 

on  them.  His  enjoyment  of  simple  pleasures,  of  society,  of 
scenery,  of  his  home,  was  very  vivid.  No  one  who  saw  him 
in  his  unemployed  moments  would  have  believed  that  he  was 
one  of  the  busiest  public  men  of  his  time.  He  never  looked 
worn  or  jaded,  and  always  contributed  more  than  his  share  of 
geniality  and  vivacity  to  the  scene  around  him.  Like  Sir 
Walter  Scott,  he  loved  a  bright  light ;  and  the  pleasantest 
society  to  him  was  that  of  the  cheerful  and  the  young. 

The  universal  regret  which  has  been  expressed  at  Mr. 
Wilson's  death  is  the  best  tribute  to  his  memory.  It  has  been 
universally  felt  that  on  his  special  subjects  and  for  his  peculiar 
usefulness  he  was  "a  finished  man,"  and  in  these  respects  he 
has  left  few  such  behind  him.  The  qualities  which  he  had  the 
opportunity  of  displaying  were  those  of  an  administrator  and 
a  financier.  But  some  of  those  who  knew  him  best,  believed 
that  he  only  wanted  an  adequate  opportunity  to  show  that  he 
had  also  many  of  the  higher  qualities  of  a  statesman ;  and  it 
was  the  feeling  that  he  would  perhaps  have  such  an  opportunity 
which  reconciled  them  to  his  departure  for  India.  As  will 
have  been  evident  from  this  narrative,  he  was  placed  in  many 
changing  circumstances,  and  in  the  gradual  ascent  of  life  was 
tried  by  many  increasing  difficulties.  But  at  every  step  his 
mind  grew  with  the  occasion.  We  at  least  believe  that  he 
had  a  great  sagacity  and  a  great  equanimity,  which  might  have 
been  fitly  exercised  on  the  very  greatest  affairs.  But  it  was 
not  so  to  be. 

The  intelligence  of  Mr.  Wilson's  death  was  formally  com- 
municated by  the  Indian  to  the  Home  Government  in  the 
following  despatch : — 

"  To  the  Right  Honourable  Sir  Charles  Wood,  Bart.,  G.C.B.,  Secretary 
of  State  for  India. 

"  SIR, — The  painful  task  is  imposed  upon  us  of  announcing  to  Her 
Majesty's  Government  the  death  of  our  colleague,  the  Right  Honourable 
James  Wilson. 

"  2.  This  lamentable  event  took  place  on  the  evening  of  Saturday, 
the  i  ith,  after  an  illness  of  a  few  days. 

"  3.  We  enclose  a  copy  of  the  notification  by  which  we  yesterday 
communicated  the  mournful  intelligence  to  the  public.  The  funeral  took 
place  at  the  time  mentioned  in  the  notification  ;  and  the  great  respect 


348     THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE  JAMES  WILSON 

in  which  our  lamented  colleague  was  held  was  evinced  by  a  very  large 
attendance  of  the  general  community,  in  addition  to  the  public  officers, 
civil  and  military. 

"  4.  We  are  unable  adequately  to  express  our  sense  of  the  great  loss 
which  the  public  interests  have  sustained  in  Mr.  Wilson's  death.  We 
do  not  doubt,  however,  that  this  will  be  as  fully  appreciated  by  Her 
Majesty's  Government,  as  it  is  by  ourselves,  and  as  we  have  every  reason 
to  believe  it  will  be  by  the  community  generally  throughout  India. 

"  5.  But  we  should  not  satisfy  our  feelings  in  communicating  this  si 
occurrence  to  Her  Majesty's  Government,  if  we  did  not  state  our  belief 
that  the  fatal  disease  which  has  removed  Mr.  Wilson  from  amongst  us 
was  in  a  great  degree  the  consequence  of  his  laborious  application  to  the 
duties  of  his  high  position,  and  of  his  conscientious  determination  not  to 
cease  from  the  prosecution  of  the  important  measures  of  which  he  had 
charge,  until  their  success  was  ensured.  Actuated  by  a  self-denying 
devotion  to  the  objects  for  which  he  came  out  to  this  country,  Mr. 
Wilson  continued  to  labour  indefatigably  long  after  the  general  state  of 
his  health  had  become  such  as  to  cause  anxiety  to  the  physician  who 
attended  him,  and  it  was  within  a  few  days  only  after  the  Income  Tax 
had  become  law,  and  when,  at  the  earnest  request  of  his  medical  adviser, 
he  was  preparing  to  remove  from  Calcutta  for  the  remainder  of  the  rainy 
season,  that  he  was  seized  with  the  illness  that  has  carried  him  off. 

"6.  It  is  our  sincere  conviction  that  this  eminent  public  servant 
sacrificed  his  life  in  the  discharge  of  his  duty.  We  have,  etc., 

"  CANNING. 

"  H.  B.  E.  FRERE. 

"  C.  BEADON. 

"FORT  WILLIAM,  \^th  August." 


THE  AMERICAN  CONSTITUTION  AT  THE 
PRESENT  CRISIS. 

CAUSES  OF  THE  CIVIL  WAR  IN  AMERICA. 

ry?^J?  r3«J<i£-*~> 

\j&     ,\£  -"  BY  J.  LOTHROP  MOTLEY  MANWARING. 
&&      ~*  ^ 

(National  Review,  October,  1861.) 

IT  is  not  at  first  easy  for  an  ordinary  Englishman  to  ap- 
preciate adequately  the  favourite  arguments  which  the  most 
cultivated  and  best  American  writers  use  at  the  present  junc- 
ture. It  seems  to  him  that  they  are  arguments  befitting 
lawyers,  not  arguments  befitting  statesmen.  They  appear 
only  to  prove  that  a  certain  written  document,  called  the 
Constitution  of  the  United  States,  expressly  forbids  the  con- 
duct which  the  Southern  States  are  consistently  pursuing,  and 
that  therefore  such  conduct  is  culpable  as  well  as  illegal. 
Very  few  Englishmen  will  deny  either  the  premiss  or  the  con- 
clusion considered  in  themselves.  It  is  certain  that  the  Con- 
stitution does  forbid  what  the  slave  States  are  doing ;  it  is 
equally  certain,  that  their  policy  is  as  mean,  as  unjustifiable, 
and  every  way  as  discreditable,  as  was  ever  pursued  by  any 
public  bodies  equally  powerful  and  equally  cultivated.  But 
nevertheless  an  argument  from  the  mere  letter  of  a  written 
Constitution  will  hardly  convince  any  Englishman.  He  knows 
that  all  written  documents  must  be  very  meagre ;  that  the 
best  of  them  must  often  be  unsatisfactory ;  that  most  of  them 
contain  many  errors ;  that  the  best  of  them  are  remarkable 
for  strange  omissions ;  that  all  of  them  will  fail  utterly  when 
applied  to  a  state  of  things  different  from  any  which  its  authors 
ever  imagined.  The  complexity  of  politics  is  thoroughly  com- 
prehended by  every  Englishman — the  complexity  of  our 
history  has  engraved  it  on  our  mind  ;  the  complexity  of  our 

349 


350  THE  AMERICAN  CONSTITUTION  AT 

polity  is  a  daily  memento  of  it — and  no  one  in  England  will 
be  much  impressed  by  any  arguments  which  tacitly  assume 
that  the  limited  clauses  of  an  old  State-paper  can  provide  for 
all  coming  cases,  and  for  ever  regulate  the  future. 

It  is  worth  while,  however,  to  examine  the  American  Con- 
stitution at  the  present  juncture.  No  remarkable  aspect  of 
the  great  events  which  are  occurring  among  our  nearest 
national  kindred  and  our  most  important  trading  connexions 
in  our  own  times,  can  be  wisely  neglected  ;  and  it  will  be  easy 
to  show  that  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States  is  now 
failing  from  the  necessary  consequence  of  an  inherent  ineradic- 
able defect ;  that  more  than  one  of  its  thoughtful  framers 
perceived  that  it  must  fail  under  similar  circumstances  ;  and 
that  the  irremediable  results  of  this  latent  defect  have  been 
aggravated  partly  by  the  corruptions  which  the  Constitution 
has  contracted  in  the  progress  of  time,  and  yet  more  by 
certain  elaborate  provisions  which  were  believed  to  be  the 
best  attainable  safeguards  against  analogous  dangers  and 
difficulties. 

Like  most  of  the  great  products  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race, 
the  American  Constitution  was  the  result  of  a  pressing  neces- 
sity, and  was  a  compromise  between  two  extreme  plans  for 
meeting  that  necessity.  It  was  framed  in  a  time  of  gloom 
and  confusion.  The  "  revolted  colonies,"  as  Englishmen  then 
called  them,  had  been  successful  in  their  revolt ;  but  they  had 
been  successful  in  nothing  else.  They  had  thrown  off  the 
yoke  of  the  English  Government ;  but  they  had  founded  no 
efficient  or  solid  government  of  their  own.  They  had  been 
united  by  a  temporary  common  sentiment — by  a  common 
antipathy  to  the  interference  of  the  mother  country ;  but  the 
binding  efficacy  of  that  feeling  ceased  when  their  independence 
of  the  mother  country  had  been  definitely  recognised.  Nor 
was  there  any  other  strong  bond  of  union  which  could  supply 
its  place.  The  American  colonies  had  been  founded  by  very 
different  kinds  of  persons,  at  very  different  periods  of  English 
history.  They  had  respectively  taken  the  impress  of  the  class 
of  Englishmen  who  had  framed  them  :  Virginia  had  the  mark 
of  the  aristocratic  class ;  Massachusetts  of  the  Puritan ; 


THE  PRESENT  CRISIS  351 

Pennsylvania  of  the  Quakers.  The  modern  colonies  of  England 
are  of  a  single  type ;  they  are  founded  by  a  single  class,  from 
a  single  motive.  Those  who  now  leave  England  are,  with 
some  exceptions,  but  still  for  the  most  part  and  as  a  rule,  a 
rough  and  energetic  race,  who  feel  that  they  cannot  earn  as 
much  money  as  they  wish  in  England,  and  who  hope  and 
believe  that  they  will  be  able  to  earn  that  money  elsewhere. 
They  are  driven  from  home  by  the  want  of  a  satisfactory  sub- 
sistence, and  that  subsistence  is  all  they  care  or  seek  to  find 
elsewhere.  To  every  other  class  but  this,  England  is  too 
pleasant  a  residence  for  them  to  dream  of  leaving  it  for  the 
antipodes.  With  our  early  colonies  it  was  otherwise.  When 
they  were  founded,  England  was  a  very  unpleasant  place  for 
very  many  people.  As  long  as  the  now-balanced  structure  of 
our  composite  society  was  in  the  process  of  formation,  one 
class  obtained  a  temporary  ascendency  at  one  time,  and 
another  class  at  another  time.  At  each  period  they  made 
England  an  uncomfortable  place  of  residence  for  all  who  did 
not  coincide  in  their  notions  of  politics,  and  who  would  not 
subscribe  to  their  tenets  of  religion.  At  such  periods  the 
dissident  class  threw  off  a  swarm  to  settle  in  America ;  and 
thus  our  old  colonies  were  first  formed. 

No  one  can  be  surprised  that  communities  with  such  a 
beginning  should  have  acquired  strong  antipathies  to  one 
another.  Even  at  the  present  day,  the  antipathy  of  the  inhabi- 
tants of  South  Carolina  to  the  people  of  Boston,  the  dislike  of 
Kentuckians  to  New  Yorkers,  has  surprised  attentive  observers. 
But  when  their  independence  was  first  recognised,  such  feel- 
ings were  infinitely  more  intense.  The  original  founders  of 
the  colonies  had  hated  one  another  at  home.  Those  colonies 
were  near  neighbours  in  a  rude  country,  and  the  occasional 
collision  of  petty  interests  had  kept  alive  the  original  antipathy 
of  each  class  to  its  antagonistic  class,  of  each  sect  to  its 
antagonistic  sect.  M.  de  Tocqueville  remarked,  that  even  in 
his  time  there  was  no  national  patriotism  in  America,  but 
only  a  State  patriotism;  and  though,  in  1833,  this  remark 
was  perhaps  exaggerated,  it  would  have  been,  fifty  years 
before,  only  the  literal  expression  of  an  indisputable  fact. 


352  THE  AMERICAN  CONSTITUTION  AT 

The  name  "  American  "  had  scarcely  as  yet  any  political  signi- 
fication— it  was  a  "  geographical  expression  ". 

Grave  practical  difficulties  of  detail,  too,  oppressed  the  new 
community.  The  war  with  England  had  been  commenced  by 
a  body  calling  itself  a  Congress,  but  very  different  from  the 
elaborate  and  composite  body  which  we  now  know  by  that 
name.  It  was  a  simple  committee  of  delegates  from  the 
different  States,  which  could  recommend  to  those  States  what- 
ever military  measures  it  thought  advisable,  but  had  no  greater 
power  or  function  whatever.  It  was  in  no  sense  a  government. 
It  had  no  coercive  jurisdiction,  could  compel  nothing,  and  en- 
force nothing.  It  was  an  advising  council,  which  had  no 
resources  of  its  own,  and  could  only  rely  on  its  dignified  posi- 
tion, and  the  obvious  necessity  of  united  opposition  to  the 
common  enemy.  But,  as  might  be  anticipated,  so  frail  an 
organisation  was  entirely  inadequate  to  the  rough  purposes  of 
revolutionary  warfare.  It  could  not  meet  a  pressing  difficulty  ; 
and  it  did  not  meet  it.  It  worked  well  when  it  was  not 
wanted — when  all  the  States  were  unanimous ;  but  it  was  in- 
sufficient when  the  States  began  to  disagree — at  the  very 
moment  for  which  it  was  required. 

The  responsible  leaders  of  the  revolutionary  struggle  felt 
the  necessity  of  a  closer  bond  ;  and  in  March,  1781,  nearly  five 
years  after  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  the  first  real 
American  Government  was  formed.  It  was  called  the  Con- 
federation,  and  was  very  simple  in  its  structure.  There  w< 
no  complicated  apparatus  of  President  and  Vice-president, 
such  as  we  are  now  familiar  with  ;  no  Supreme  Court,  no  house 
of  Representatives.  The  Confederation  rather  resembl* 
what  existed  previously  than  what  exists  at  present.  Then 
was,  as  before,  a  committee  of  delegates  from  the  differenl 
States,  and  there  was  nothing  else  :  this  was  the  whole  govern- 
ment ;  but  this  was  not  as  before,  simply  a  committee  witl 
powers  of  recommendation.  It  could  by  its  own  authoril 
make  peace  and  war,  establish  armies,  contract  debts,  coil 
money,  issue  a  paper  currency,  and  send  ambassadors  to  foreigi 
nations.  It  could  in  theory,  and  according  to  its  letter,  per- 
form all  the  ordinary  acts  and  functions  of  sovereignty.  II 


THE  PRESENT  CRISIS  353 

did,  in  fact,  perform  the  greatest  act  of  sovereignty,  as  a  lawyer 
would  reckon  it,  that  could  be  conceived.  By  signing  a  peace 
with  England,  it  secured  its  own  existence.  Being  a  loose 
aggregate  of  revolted  colonies,  it  obtained  a  recognition  by 
the  mother  country  against  which  these  colonies  had  revolted. 
In  the  face  of  Europe,  and  in  the  face  of  England  more 
especially,  it  maintained  the  appearance  of  an  organised, 
regular,  and  adequate  government. 

It  really  was,  however,  very  inadequate.  Some  one  has 
said  that  the  true  way  to  test  the  practical  operation  of  any 
constitution  is  to  ask,  "How  do  you  get  money  under  it?" 
This  is  certainly  an  American  mode  of  testing  a  polity,  and  ac- 
cording to  this  criterion  the  "  perpetual  Confederation  "  was  an 
egregious  failure.  "  You  could  not  get  dollars  by  means  of  it 
at  all."  The  national  Congress  could  incur  liabilities,  but  it 
could  not  impose  taxation.  It  could,  as  we  have  explained, 
raise  an  army,  contract  a  debt,  issue  a  credit  currency ;  but  it 
could  not  of  itself,  and  by  its  own  authority,  levy  a  penny. 
The  States  had  retained  in  their  own  hands  the  exclusive  power 
of  imposing  taxes.  Congress  could  only  require  the  several 
States  to  find  certain  quotas  of  money,  and  in  the  event  of  their 
not  finding  them  could  go  to  war  with  them.  As  a  theorist 
would  anticipate,  the  simplest  alternative  happened.  The 
States  did  not  find  the  money,  and  the  Congress  did  not  go  to 
war  with  them.  The  debts  of  the  Union  were  undischarged  ; 
the  soldiers,  even  the  French  soldiers,  who  had  achieved  its  in- 
dependence, were  unpaid ;  and  the  financial  conditions  of  the 
Treaty  of  Independence  with  England  were  unfulfilled.  Con- 
gress could  do  nothing,  and  the  States  would  do  nothing. 
Other  smaller  difficulties,  too,  were  accumulating.  The  large 
unoccupied  territory  of  the  American  continent  required  care ; 
England  was  irritated  at  the  non-completion  or  the  infraction 
of  several  of  the  articles  of  peace ;  petty  quarrels  between 
the  States  on  vexing  minutiae  were  constantly  beginning, 
and  were  rarely  ending.  The  impotence  of  Congress  was 
becoming  proverbial,  and  the  entire  country  was  discour- 
aged. In  the  correspondence  of  Washington  and  those 
around  him  it  is  evident  that  they  asked  themselves  with 
VOL.  III.  23 


ring  t 

= 


354  THE  AMERICAN  CONSTITUTION  AT 

doubt    and    despondency,    "  After    all,   will    America    be    a 
nation?" 

Two  schemes  floated  in   the  public  mind  for  remedyin 
these  evils.     It  was  the  opinion  of  some  of  the  wisest  Ameri 
statesmen,  and  especially  of  Hamilton,  the  greatest  politi 
philosopher  among  them,  that  it  would  be  better  to  establish 
an  omnipotent  Federal  Government,  which  should  be  to  Ameri 
what  the  English  Government  was  to  England,  which  shoul 
have  the  full    legislative,  the  full    executive,  the  full  judici 
power  which   a  sovereign  government  possesses  in  ordina 
States.1 

1  As  Hamilton's  plan  is  not  easily  accessible  in  this  country,  and  maj 
have  some  interest  at  the  present  moment,  when  some  persons,  at  leas 
are  desirous  of  attempting  a  similar  experiment,  we  give  it  at  length. 

"  The  following  paper  was  read  by  Col.  Hamilton,  as  containing  hii 
ideas  of  a  suitable  plan  of  Government  for  the  United  States. 

"  i.  The  supreme  legislative  power  of  the  United  States  of  Ameri< 
to  be  vested  in  two  distinct  bodies  of  men,  the  one  to  be  called  the 
sembly,  the  other  the  senate,  who,  together,  shall  form  the  legislature 
the  United  States,  with  power  to  pass  all  laws  whatsoever,  subject  to  the 
negative  hereafter  mentioned. 

"  2.  The  assembly  to  consist  of  persons  elected  by  the  people,  to  sen 
for  three  years. 

"3.  The  s« 

behaviour  ;  their  election  to  be  made  by  electors  chosen  for  that  purj 
by  the  people.  In  order  to  do  this,  the  States  to  be  divided  into  electk 
districts.  On  the  death,  removal,  or  resignation  of  any  senator,  his  plac 
to  be  filled  out  of  the  district  from  which  he  came. 

"  4.  The  supreme  executive  authority  of  the  United  States  to 
vested  in  a  governor,  to  be  elected  to  serve  during  good  behaviour.  His 
election  to  be  made  by  electors  chosen  by  electors,  chosen  by  the  people 
in  the  election  districts  aforesaid.  His  authorities  and  functions  to  be 
follows  : — 

"  To  have  a  negative  upon  all  laws  about  to  be  passed,  and  the  exe- 
cution of  all   laws  passed ;  to   have   the   entire   direction   of  war,  whe 
authorised,  or  begun  ;  to  have,  with  the  advice  and  approbation  of  tl 
senate,  the  power  of  making  all  treaties  ;  to  have  the  sole  appointment  of 
the  heads  or  chief  officers  of  the  departments  of  finance,  war,  and  foreij 
affairs  ;   to   have  the   nomination  of  all   other  officers  (ambassadors  tc 
foreign  nations  included)  subject  to  the  approbation  or  rejection  of  the 
senate  ;  to  have  the  power  of  pardoning  all  offences,  except  treason,  whic 
he  shall  not  pardon  without  the  approbation  of  the  senate. 


THE  PRESENT  CRISIS  355 

Hamilton  proposed  that  the  "  supreme  legislative  power 
of  the  United  States  should  be  vested  in  two  distinct  bodies 
of  men,"  who  should  have  power  to  pass  all  laws  whatever, 
subject  to  a  veto  in  a  governor  or  first  magistrate.  For  the 
choice  of  the  members  of  these  bodies,  he  would  have  divided 
the  country  into  electoral  districts,  and  no  State  as  such  would 
have  elected  a  single  representative  to  the  united  legislature, 
or  have  been  capable  of  any  function  or  voice  in  the  Constitu- 
tion of  the  Union.  "All  laws  of  the  particular  States  con- 
trary to  the  Constitution  of  the  Union  or  laws  of  the  United 
States  were  to  be  utterly  void."  And  "  the  better  to  prevent 

"  5.  On  the  death,  resignation,  or  removal  of  the  governor,  his  author- 
ities to  be  exercised  by  the  president  of  the  senate,  until  a  successor  be 
appointed. 

"  6.  The  senate  to  have  the  sole  power  of  declaring  war  ;  the  power 
of  advising  and  approving  all  treaties  ;  the  power  of  approving  or  rejecting 
all  appointments  of  officers,  except  the  heads  or  chiefs  of  the  departments 
of  finance,  war,  and  foreign  affairs. 

"  7.  The  supreme  judicial  authority  of  the  United  States  to  be  vested 
in  judges,  to  hold  their  offices  during  good  behaviour,  with  adequate  and 
permanent  salaries.  This  court  to  have  original  jurisdiction  in  all  causes 
of  capture,  and  an  appellative  jurisdiction  in  all  causes  in  which  the 
revenues  of  the  general  government,  or  the  citizens  of  foreign  nations,  are 
concerned. 

"  8.  The  legislature  of  the  United  States  to  have  power  to  institute 
courts  in  each  State,  for  the  determination  of  all  matters  of  general 
concern. 

"  9.  The  governors,  senators,  and  all  officers  of  the  United  States  to 
be  liable  to  impeachment  for  mal  and  corrupt  conduct ;  and,  upon  con- 
viction, to  be  removed  from  office,  and  disqualified  from  holding  any  place 
of  trust  or  profit.  All  impeachments  to  be  tried  by  a  court  to  consist  of 
the  chief,  or  senior  judge  of  the  superior  court  of  law  in  each  State  ;  pro- 
vided that  such  judge  hold  his  place  during  good  behaviour,  and  have  a 
permanent  salary. 

"  10.  All  laws  of  the  particular  States  contrary  to  the  constitution  or 
laws  of  the  United  States  to  be  utterly  void.  And  the  better  to  prevent 
such  laws  being  passed,  the  governor  or  president  of  each  State  shall  be 
appointed  by  the  general  government,  and  shall  have  a  negative  upon  the 
laws  about  to  be  passed  in  the  State  of  which  he  is  governor,  or  president. 

"ii.  No  State  to  have  any  forces,  land  or  naval  ;  and  the  militia  of 
all  the  States  to  be  under  the  sole  and  exclusive  direction  of  the  United 
States  ;  the  officers  of  which  to  be  appointed  and  commissioned  by  them." 

23* 


356 


THE  AMERICAN  CONSTITUTION  AT 


such  laws  being  passed,  the  governor  or  president  of  each 
State  "  was  to  be  appointed  by  the  general  Government,  was 
to  have  a  negative  upon  all  laws  "  about  to  be  passed  therein  ". 
No  State  was  to  have  any  forces,  land  or  naval  ;  and  the 
militia  of  all  the  States  were  to  be  under  the  exclusive  direc- 
tion of  the  general  Government  of  the  United  States,  which 
alone  was  to  appoint  and  commission  their  officers.  In  prac- 
tice this  scheme  would  have  reduced  the  existing  States  to  the 
condition  of  mere  municipalities  ;  they  would  have  retained 
extensive  powers  of  interior  regulation,  but  they  would  have 
lost  all  the  higher  functions  of  government,  all  control  over  any 
matters  not  exclusively  their  own  ;  they  would  have  continued 
to  be,  so  to  say,  County  Boards  for  county  matters,  but  they 
would  have  had  no  share  in  the  sovereign  direction  of  general 
affairs.  They  would  have  been  as  restricted,  as  isolated  as  the 
Corporations  of  Liverpool  and  Bristol  are  under  the  Constitu- 
tion of  England. 

A  theorist  would  perhaps  be  inclined  to  regret  that  some 
such  plan  as  that  of  Hamilton  was  not  eventually  chosen.  At 
the  present  moment  political  speculators  in  England  are 
singularly  inclined  to  schemes  of  political  unity.  The  striking 
example  of  Italy  has  given  a  natural  stimulus  to  them.  We 
have  seen  a  great  nation  which  had  long  been  divided  combine 
into  what,  we  hope,  will  be  a  permanent  State  at  the  bidding 
of  a  few  able  and  active  men,  and,  as  it  seems  to  the  many, 
by  a  kind  of  political  enchantment.  The  change,  when  re- 
garded from  a  distance,  has  appeared  so  easy,  that  we  under- 
rate its  real  difficulties,  and  are  inclined  to  erect  one  of  the 
most  exceptional  events  in  history  into  an  ordinary  precedent 
arid  example.  But  the  state  of  America  eighty  years  since 
may  easily  show  us  why  such  events  have  been  rare  in  history ; 
why  locality  has  been  called  an  instinct  in  the  human  mind ; 
why  large  States  have  almost  always  been  produced  by  the 
constraining  vigour  of  some  single  conquering  power.  Each 
of  the  States  of  North  America  was  a  little  commonwealth, 
with  a  vigorous  political  life.  Each  one  of  them  had  its 
ministry,  its  opposition,  its  elections,  its  local  questions ;  each 
had  its  own  political  atmosphere,  each  its  peculiar  ambitions. 


THE  PRESENT  CRISIS  357 

Even  if  the  different  States  had  been  well  disposed  to  one 
another,  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  induce  all  of  them — 
especially  to  induce  the  smaller  among  them — to  give  up  this 
local  political  animation.  The  Italian  States  seem  to  have 
relinquished  it ;  but,  in  truth,  they  had  little  to  relinquish. 
They  were  despotically  governed.  None  of  them  had  within 
their  own  boundaries  that  vast  accumulation  of  ideas  and 
sentiments  and  hopes,  of  love  and  hatred,  which  we  call  a 
"  political  life  ".  The  best  men  in  Tuscany  were  not  sacrificing 
a  cherished  career  or  an  accustomed  existence  in  favouring 
the  expulsion  of  the  Grand  Duke  ;  for  so  long  as  he  remained 
they  had  no  influence.  After  his  expulsion  the  question  of 
national  unity  or  of  local  division  could  be  considered  fairly 
and  impartially.  It  was  not  so  in  America  :  there  were  in 
every  one  of  the  States  men  who  must  have  relinquished 
evident  power,  attainable  proximate  ambition — the  dearest 
of  ambitions,  the  power  of  governing  the  persons  whom  they 
had  known  all  their  lives,  and  with  whom  they  had  all  their 
lives  been  in  actual  political  competition — for  the  sake 
of  an  unknown  "  general  government " ;  which  was  an 
abstraction  which  could  have  excited  no  living  attach- 
ment, in  which  but  a  very  few  could  take  a  prominent 
or  gratifying  share.  Nor,  as  we  have  explained,  were  the 
different  States  mutually  well  disposed.  The  differences 
of  their  origin  still  embittered,  and  long  seemed  likely 
to  embitter,  the  local  squabbles  of  years.  The  saying 
of  the  Swiss  Antifederalist,  "  My  shirt  is  dearer  to  me  than  my 
coat ! "  was  the  animating  spirit  of  nine-tenths  of  North 
America.  The  little  State  of  Delaware  refused  even  to  con- 
sider the  abolition  of  the  fifth  article  of  the  Confederation, 
which  preserved  the  separate  existence  and  the  primitive  equality 
of  the  separate  States  by  enacting  that  each  should  have  one 
vote  only.  The  plan  of  Hamilton  could  not  be  carried,  and 
he  was  too  wise  a  statesman  to  regard  it  as  much  better  than 
a  tempting  dream. 

The  second  extreme  suggestion  for  amending  the  "  per- 
petual Confederation  "  would  have  been  equivalent  in  practice 
to  a  continuance  of  that  Confederation  very  much  as  it  was. 


358  THE  AMERICAN  CONSTITUTION  AT 

Its  theoretical  letter  proposed  indeed  to  give  additional  powers 
to  the  Central  Congress,  but  the  States  were  to  be  still  the 
component  elements  in  the  Constitution.  The  Congress  was 
still  to  have  no  other  power  than  that  of  requiring  from  these 
States  what  money  it  needed.  It  would  still  be  compelled  to 
declare  war  against  them  if  that  money  was  in  arrear.  It 
would  still  have  been  in  the  condition  graphically  delineated 
by  a  contemporary  statesman  :  "  By  this  political  compact  the 
United  States  in  Congress  have  exclusive  power  for  the 
following  purposes  without  being  able  to  execute  one  of  them. 
.They  may  make  and  conclude  treaties  ;  but  can  only  recommend 
the  observance  of  them.  They  may  appoint  ambassadors; 
but  cannot  defray  even  the  expenses  of  their  tables.  They 
may  borrow  money  in  their  own  name  on  the  faith  of  the 
Union ;  but  cannot  pay  a  dollar.  They  may  coin  money ; 
but  they  cannot  purchase  an  ounce  of  bullion.  They  may 
make  war,  and  determine  what  number  of  troops  are  necessary, 
but  cannot  raise  a  single  soldier.  In  short,  they  may  declare 
everything,  but  do  nothing."  Thus  the  second  suggestion  for 
remedying  the  pressing  evils  of  America  was  as  inefficient  as 
the  first  had  been  impracticable. 

The  selected  Constitution  was  a  mean  between  the  two. 
As  the  State  Governments  could  not  be  abolished,  and  could 
not  be  entirely  divested  of  their  sovereign  rights,  a  new 
Government  was  created,  superior  to  them  in  certain  specified 
matters,  and  having  independent  means  of  action  with  refer- 
ence to  those  matters,  but  in  all  other  things  leaving  their 
previous  functions  unrestricted,  and  their  actual  authority  un- 
impaired. By  the  active  Constitution  the  central  Congress 
has  the  right  of  imposing  certain  specified  revenues,  and  the 
power  of  collecting  them  throughout  each  State  by  officers  of 
its  exclusive  appointment.  It  has,  as  under  the  Confederation, 
the  power  of  making  peace  and  proclaiming  war — of  engaging 
soldiers  and  contracting  debts  ;  but  it  now  has  likewise  a 
power  of  collecting  a  revenue  to  remunerate  those  soldiers, 
and  to  pay  those  debts  by  its  own  authority,  and  without  the 
consent  of  any  subordinate  body.  It  has  not  now  to  require 
obedience  from  the  States  in  their  corporate  capacity,  but  to 


THE  PRESENT  CRISIS  359 

compel  the  obedience  of  individuals  throughout  those  States 
in  their  natural  isolation,  and  according  to  the  ordinary 
custom  of  Governments. 

We  can  now  understand  the  answer  of  an  American 
architect  who  was  asked  the  difference  between  a  Federation 
and  Union.  "Why,"  he  said,  "a  Federation  is  a  Union 
with  a  top  to  it."  There  is,  in  the  United  States,  not  simply 
an  assemblage  of  individual  sovereign  States,  but  also  a 
super-sovereign  State,  which  has  its  officers  side  by  side  with 
theirs,  its  revenue  side  by  side  with  theirs,  its  law-courts  side 
by  side  with  theirs,  its  authority  on  a  limited  number  of 
enumerated  points  superior  even  to  theirs.  No  political  in- 
vention has  been  more  praised  than  this  one.  It  has  been 
truly  described  as  the  most  valuable  addition  to  the  resources 
of  political  philosophy  ever  made  by  professed  constitution- 
makers.  Greater  things  have  grown  up  among  great ,  nations  ; 
studious  thinkers  have  speculated  on  better  devices ;  but 
nothing  so  remarkable  was  perhaps  ever  struck  out  on  the 
impulse  of  the  moment  by  persons  actually  charged  with  the 
practical  duty  of  making  a  Constitution.  American  writers 
are  naturally  proud  of  it ;  and  it  would  be  easy  to  collect 
from  European  writers  of  eminence  an  imposing  series  of 
encomiums  upon  its  excellence. 

Yet  now  that  we  have  before  us  the  pointed  illustration  of 
recent  events,  it  is  not  difficult  to  see  that  such  an  institution 
is  only  adapted  to  circumstances  exceptionally  favourable,  and 
that  under  a  very  probable  train  of  circumstances  it  must  fail 
from  inherent  defect.  It  is  essentially  a  collection  of  imperia 
in  imperio.  It  rather  displays  than  conceals  the  grave  disad- 
vantages which  have  made  that  name  so  very  unpopular. 
Each  State  is  a  subordinate  Republic,  and  yet  the  entire  Union 
is  but  a  single  Republic.  Each  State  is  in  some  sense  a  centre 
of  disunion.  Each  State  attracts  to  itself  a  share  of  political 
attachment,  has  separate  interests,  real  or  supposed,  has  a 
separate  set  of  public  men  anxious  to  increase  its  importance 
— upon  which  their  own  depends, — anxious  to  weaken  the 
power  of  the  United  Government,  by  which  theirs  is  over- 
shadowed. At  every  critical  period  the  sinister  influence  of 


360  THE  AMERICAN  CONSTITUTION  AT 

the  imperium  in  imperio  will  be  felt ;  at  every  such  period  tht 
cry  of  each  subordinate  aggregate  will  be,  "Our  interests  are 
threatened,  our  authority  diminished,  our  rights  attacked". 

A  presidential  election  is  the  very  event  of  all  others  to 
excite  these  dangerous  sentiments.  It  places  the  entire  policy 
of  the  Union  upon  a  single  hazard.  A  particular  moment  is 
selected  when  the  ruler  for  a  term  of  years  is  to  be  chosen. 
That  ruler  has  very  substantial  power  of  various  kinds  ;  he  has 
immense  patronage,  a  legislative  veto,  great  executive  author- 
ity, and,  what  is  yet  more  to  the  present  purpose,  he  has 
supreme  position  in  society,  which  indefinitely  attracts  hi< 
popular  choice,  and  indefinitely  aggravates  the  intensity  of  tl 
canvass.  A  homogeneous  and  simple  State,  with  no  subor- 
dinate rivals  within  its  frontiers,  might  well  fear  to  encountt 
such  a  struggle.  What,  then,  must  be  the  certain  result  in 
Federal  Union  whenever  a  large  minority  of  the  States  should 
consider  their  rights  and  their  interests  to  be  identified  with 
the  election  or  with  the  rejection  of  any  one  presidential  candi- 
date? What  can  we  anticipate  when  the  greatest  dividing 
force,  the  overt  choice  of  a  supreme  ruler,  after  canvass  an< 
struggle  and  controversy,  is  applied  to  the  most  separable  of 
political  communities, — to  a  disjointed  aggregate  of  States, 
whose  local  importance  has  been  legally  fostered,  whose  separ- 
ate existence  has  been  needfully  cherished,  whose  political 
vitality  is  older  and  more  powerful  than  the  bond  of  constitu- 
tional union  ?  Surely,  according  to  every  canon  of  probability, 
we  must  confidently  anticipate  a  separation  whenever  the 
sinister  interest  of  a  large  and  unconquerable  sectionfof  th< 
States  shall  be  attacked,  or  be  conceived  to  be  attacked, 
the  selection  of  a  supreme  head  for  the  whole  nation.  In- 
dependently of  matters  of  detail,  independently  of  the  actual 
power  which  every  supreme  magistrate  possesses,  it  is  too 
much  to  expect  that  a  considerable  number  of  vigorous  and 
active  communities  will,  if  they  can  help  it,  be  governed  by  a 
person  who  is  the  symbol  of  the  doctrine  that  they  must  hate 
and  fear,  and  who  is  just  elected  by  their  special  foes  precisely 
because  he  is  that  symbol. 

More  than  one  of  the  most  discerning  of  the  framers  of  the 


THE  PRESENT  CRISIS  361 

American  Constitution  seems  not  only  to  have  perceived  the 
inherent  defects  of  the  work  in  which  he  had  participated,  but 
to  have  had  a  prevision  of  the  real  source  from  which  ultimate 
danger  was  to  be  foreboded.  Most  of  the  controversies  in  the 
Convention  which  framed  the  Constitution  had  turned,  in 
several  forms,  on  the  various  consequences  of  the  very  different 
magnitude  of  the  States  which  were  about  to  join.  The  large 
States  were  anxious  to  be  strong ;  the  small  States  were  fear- 
ful of  being  'weak.  But  Mr.  Madison,  one  of  the  most 
judicious  men  of  that  time,  clearly  perceived  that,  though  this 
was  naturally  the  principal  difficulty  in  securing  the  voluntary 
adoption  by  the  several  States  of  any  proposed  Constitution, 
it  would  not  be  an  equally  menacing  danger  to  the  continuance 
of  the  Union  when  that  Constitution  was  once  established. 
The  small  States  shrank  from  binding  themselves  to  a  Union, 
exactly  because  they  felt  that  they  must  remain  in  it  if  they 
entered.  If  they  once  contracted  to  combine  with  stronger 
countries,  the  superior  power  of  those  countries  would  enforce 
an  adherence  to  the  bargain.  The  really  formidable  danger 
which  threatened  the  American  Union  was  the  possibility  of 
a  difference  of  opinion  between  classes  of  States  of  which  no 
one  was  immeasurably  stronger  than  the  other.  This  Madison 
saw.  He  observed  : — 

"  I  would  always  exclude  inconsistent  principles  in  framing 
a  system  of  government  The  difficulty  of  getting  its  defects 
amended  are  great,  and  sometimes  insurmountable.  The 
Virginia  State  government  was  the  first  which  was  made,  and 
though  its  defects  are  evident  to  every  person,  we  cannot  get 
it  amended.  The  Dutch  have  made  four  several  attempts  to 
amend  their  system  without  success.  The  few  alterations 
made  in  it  were  by  tumult  and  faction,  and  for  the  worse. 
If  there  was  real  danger,  I  would  give  the  smaller  States  the 
defensive  weapons  ;  but  there  is  none  from  that  quarter.  The 
great  danger  to  our  general  government  is  the  great  Southern 
and  Northern  interests  of  the  continent  being  opposed  to 
each  other.  Look  to  the  votes  in  Congress,  and  most  of  them 
stand  divided  by  the  geography  of  the  country,  not  according 
to  the  size  of  the  States." 


362  THE  AMERICAN  CONSTITUTION  AT 

It  was  not,  indeed,  very  difficult  for  the  eye  of  a  practised 
politician  to  discern  the  great  diversity  between  the  Northern 
and  Southern  societies.  It  was  even  then  conspicuous  to  the 
eye  of  the  least  gifted  observer.  An  accomplished  French 
writer,  whose  essay  was  written  before  the  perceptions  of  all 
of  us  were  sharpened  by  recent  events,  has  thus  described  it : 
"  Au  Sud,  le  sol  appartenait  a  de  grands  proprietaires  entour£s 
d'esclaves  et  de  petits  cultivateurs.  Les  substitutions  et  le 
droit  d'ainesse  perpetuaient  les  richesses  et  le  pouvoir  dans 
une  aristocratic  qui  occupait  presque  toutes  les  fonctions 
publiques.  Le  culte  anglican  etait  celui  de  1'Etat.  La  societe 
et  1'Eglise  6taient  constitutes  d'une  fa^on  hierarchique.  Au 
Nord,  au  contraire,  1'esprit  d'egalite  dans  la  societe  comme 
dans  1'Eglise :  '  Je  crains  beaucoup  les  effets  de  cette  diversit6 
de  moeurs  et  destitutions,'  ecrivait  John  Adams  a  Joseph 
Hawley,  le  25  novembre  1775;  'elle  deviendra  fatale  si  de 
part  et  d'autre  on  ne  met  beaucoup  de  prudence,  de  tolerance, 
de  condescendance.  Des  changements  dans  les  constitution* 
du  Sud  seront  necessaires  si  la  guerre  continue ;  ils  pourront 
seuls  rapprocher  toutes  les  parties  du  continent.'"  Probably, 
however,  no  one  in  those  times  anticipated  the  rapidity  witl 
which  those  differences  would  develop,  for  no  one  apprehendee 
the  practical  working  of  slavery.  Many  persons  unquestion- 
ably understood  the  immediate  benefit  with  which  it  buys  an 
insidious  admission  into  uncultivated  countries ;  but  perha] 
no  one  understood  at  how  great  price  of  ultimate  evil  th; 
benefit  would  probably  be  purchased.  No  one  could 
expected  to  perceive  that  both  the  temporary  benefit  and  the 
ultimate  disadvantages  resembled  one  another  in  being  oppose 
to  the  continuance  of  the  newly-formed  Union ;  for  even  al 
the  present  day,  and  after  a  very  painful  experience,  it  is  n< 
steadily  perceived  by  all  of  us. 

Slavery  is  the  one  institution  which  effectually  counteracts 
the  assimilative  force  to  which  all  new  countries  are  subject,- 
that  force  which  makes  all  men  alike  there,  and  which  stam] 
upon  the  communities  themselves  so  many  common  features. 
In  such  countries  men  are   struggling  with  the  wilderness 
they  are  in  daily  conflict  with  the  rough  powers  of  nature,  anc 


THE  PRESENT  CRISIS  363 

from  them  they  acquire  a  hardness  and  a  roughness  somewhat 
like  their  own.  They  cannot  cultivate  the  luxuries  of  leisure, 
for  they  have  no  leisure.  They  must  be  mending  their  fences, 
or  cooking  their  victuals,  or  mending  their  clothes.  They 
cannot  be  expected  to  excel  in  the  graces  of  refinement,  for 
these  require  fastidious  meditation  and  access  to  great  examples, 
and  neither  of  these  are  possible  to  hard-worked  men  at  the 
end  of  the  earth.  A  certain  democracy  in  such  circumstances 
rises  like  a  natural  growth  of  the  soil.  An  even  equality  in 
mind  and  manners,  if  not  in  political  institutions,  is  inevitably 
forced  upon  those  whose  character  is  pressed  upon  by  the 
same  rude  forces,  who  have  substantially  the  same  difficulties, 
who  lead  in  all  material  points  the  same  life.  All  are  strug- 
gling with  the  primitive  difficulties  of  uncivilised  existence, 
and  all  are  retarded  by  that  struggle  at  the  same  low  level  of 
instruction  and  refinement. 

Slavery  breaks  this  dead  level,  and  it  is  the  only  available 
device  that  does  so.  The  owner  of  a  few  slaves,  partly  em- 
ployed in  the  service  of  his  house  and  partly  in  the  cultivation 
of  his  land,  has  a  good  deal  of  leisure,  and  is  not  exposed  to 
any  very  brutalising  temptation.  It  is  his  interest  to  treat 
his  slaves  well,  and  in  ordinary  circumstances  he  does  treat 
them  well.  They  give  him  the  means  of  refinement,  and  the 
opportunities  of  culture  :  they  receive  from  him  good  clothing, 
a  protective  surveillance,  and  some  little  moral  improvement. 
Washington  was  such  a  slave-owner,  and  it  is  probable  that 
at  Mount  Vernon  what  may  be  called  the  temptation  of  slavery 
presented  itself  in  its  strongest  and  most  attractive  form.  At 
all  events,  it  is  certain  that,  by  the  irresistible  influence  of 
superior  leisure  and  superior  culture,  the  Virginian  slave-owner 
acquired  a  singular  pre-eminence  in  the  revolutionary  struggle, 
moved  the  bitter  jealousy  of  all  his  contemporaries,  and  be- 
stowed an  indefinite  benefit  upon  posterity.  But  even  this 
beneficial  effect  of  slavery,  momentary  as  it  was,  was  not 
beneficial  to  the  Union  as  such  :  it  did  not  strengthen,  but 
weakened  the  uniting  bond  ;  it  introduced  an  element  of  differ- 
ence between  State  and  State,  which  stimulated  bitter  envy, 
and  suggested  constant  division.  In  the  correspondence  of 


364  THE  AMERICAN  CONSTITUTION  AT 

the  first  race  of  Northern  statesmen,  a  dangerous  jealousy  of 
the  superior  political  abilities  of  the  South  is  frequently  to  be 
traced. 

The  immense  price,  however,  which  has  been  paid  for  the 
short-lived  benefit  of  slavery  has  been  immeasurably  more 
dangerous  to  the  Union  than  the  benefit  itself.  As  we  all 
perceive,  it  is  tearing  it  in  two.  In  the  progress  of  time 
slave-owning  becomes  an  investment  of  mercantile  capital, 
and  slaves  are  regarded,  not  as  personal  dependents,  but  as 
impersonal  things.  The  necessities  of  modern  manufacture 
require  an  immense  production  of  raw  material,  and  in  certaii 
circumstances  slaves  can  be  beneficially  employed  on  a  large 
scale  to  raise  that  material.  The  evils  of  slavery  are  develope 
at  once.  The  owner  of  a  few  slaves  whom  he  sees  every 
will  commonly  treat  them  kindly  enough ;  but  the  owner  ol 
several  gangs,  on  several  different  plantations,  has  no  similai 
motive.  His  good  feelings  are  not  much  appealed  to  in  theii 
favour ;  he  does  not  know  them  by  name,  he  does  not  kno\ 
them  by  sight ;  they  are  to  him  instruments  of  production, 
which  he  bought  at  such  and  such  a  price,  which  cost  so  man] 
dollars,  which  must  be  made  to  yield  so  many  dollars.  He  is 
often  brutalised  by  working  them  cruelly ;  he  is  still  oftene 
brutalised  in  other  ways  by  the  infinite  temptations  which 
large  mass  of  subject  men  and  subject  women  inevitably  offei 
to  tyranny  and  to  lust.  Nor  in  such  a  state  of  society  d( 
slavery  monopolise  the  charm  which  at  first  attracted  men  to  it. 
When  large  capitals  have  been  accumulated,  there  will  be 
without  it  sufficient  opportunities  for  moderate  leisure  and  for 
reasonable  refinement.  Slavery  buys  its  admission  with  the 
attractions  of  Mount  Vernon  ;  it  develops  its  awful  consequences 
in  lonely  plantations  on  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi,  whose 
owner  wants  cotton,  and  wants  only  cotton  ;  where  he  himself, 
or  some  manager  whom  he  pays,  employs  himself  in  brutaliti< 
to  black  men,  and  enjoys  himself  in  brutalities  to  blac 
women.  The  events  of  this  year  exhibit  the  result.  Th< 
probable  disunion  of  the  South  and  the  North  is  but  the  ii 
evitable  consequence  of  the  existing  moral  contrast.  It  is  not 
possible  to  retain  in  voluntary  combination  such  a  community 


THE  PRESENT  CRISIS  365 

as  Massachusetts  and  communities  whose  ruling  element  is 
such  a  slavery  as  that  we  have  described. 

We  see,  therefore,  from  this  brief  survey,  that  we  have  no 
cause  to  wonder  even  at  the  almost  magical  consequences  of 
Mr.  Lincoln's  election.  It  was  the  sort  of  event  which  was 
most  likely  to  produce  such  consequences.  A  Republic  of 
United  States  which  put  up  the  first  magistracy  to  periodical 
popular  election,  was  most  likely  to  part  asunder  when  funda- 
mental contrasts  in  character,  ideas,  and  habits  had  long  been 
growing  rapidly  between  two  very  large  classes  of  States,  and 
when  one  of  these  classes  persisted  in  electing  to  the  first  place 
in  the  Republic  the  very  person  who  embodied  the  aim  and 
tendencies  most  odious  to  the  other  class.  It  is  evident,  too, 
that  the  Northern  and  Southern  States  cannot  hope  to  con- 
tinue united  under  the  present  Constitution,  or  to  form  parts 
of  the  same  Federal  Republic  under  any  Constitution  what- 
ever. No  free  State  can  rule  an  unwilling  dependency  of 
large  size,  except  by  excluding  that  dependency  from  all  share 
in  its  own  freedom.  If  Ireland  unanimously  wished  to  with- 
draw from  the  government  of  England,  we  could  not  rule  it 
without  excluding  its  representatives  from  Parliament.  We 
know  what  the  Irish  members  are  now  :  we  know  that  they 
are  not  very  convenient ;  we  know  that  they  seem  invented 
to  give  trouble,  but  who  can  imagine  a  House  of  Commons 
in  which  one  hundred  eager  Irish  members  were  united  by  a 
consistent  intention  to  make  an  English  Government  impos- 
sible? who  can  imagine  the  Parliamentary  consequences  of  so 
great  a  voting  power,  used  not  for  the  purposes  of  con- 
struction, but  exclusively  for  those  of  destruction?  who  can 
suppose  that  during  a  series  of  years  we  could  keep  any  firm 
administration  at  all  with  so  powerful  a  force  ever  ready  to 
combine  with  every  one  who  desired  to  pull  down,  and  never 
ready  to  combine  with  any  one  who  wished  to  set  up  ?  Yet 
this  is  a  faint  example  of  what  the  American  Congress  would 
be  with  a  regularly  organised  Southern  opposition  retained 
within  the  Union  by  force,  but  desirous  to  leave  it,  anxious  to 
destroy  it ;  never  voting  for  any  thing  except  with  this  ob- 
ject;  never  voting  against  anything  save  on  that  account. 


366  THE  AMERICAN  CONSTITUTION  AT 

And  such  would  be  the  inevitable  result  of  the  victory  of  the 
North.  The  Southern  States  are  sure  to  preserve  an  intense 
local  feeling  for  many  years.  History  shows  that  they  have 
always  had  it ;  the  occupations  and  the  habits  of  such  bodies 
insure  their  having  it.  Even  if  the  North  were  to  conquer 
them  now,  their  whole  political  force  for  many  years  would 
unquestionably  be  devoted  to  the  attainment  of  disunion. 
Who  can  doubt  that  they  would  eventually  obtain  it  by  ren- 
dering all  government  impossible  upon  any  lesser  conditions  ? 
A  free  union  is  essentially  voluntary.  Sir  Creswell  Creswell 
may  decree  the  restitution  of  matrimonial  rights  ;  but  even  he 
would  not  venture  to  decree  the  enforcement  on  an  unwilling 
State  of  a  promise  to  combine  with  another  into  a  Parliamen- 
tary union. 

Some  of  the  framers  of  the  American  Constitution,  as  we 
have  seen,  foresaw  its  principal  danger,  and  they  did  all  which 
they  could  to  provide  against  it.  They  erected  a  Supreme 
Court,  a  pre-eminent  judicial  tribunal,  which  is  empowered  to 
decide  causes  between  State  and  State,  and  between  any  State 
and  the  Federal  Government.  And  on  many  small,  and  on 
some  important,  matters,  this  Court  has  worked  very  well ;  il 
has  given  able  if  not  always  satisfactory,  judgments  on  varioi 
points  of  State  controversy ;  it  has  provided  a  tolerably  fail 
umpire,  and  has  thus  prevented  many  small  qucestiunt 
from  growing  into  grave  questions.  It  was  excellent  upor 
minor  points ;  it  has  been  useless  upon  the  greatest.  When, 
as  recently,  great  passions  have  been  aroused,  great  interest? 
at  stake,  great  issues  clearly  drawn  out,  a  reference  to  the 
Supreme  Court  has  not  even  been  contemplated.  No  judicial 
establishment  could,  indeed,  be  useful  in  an  extra-judicial 
matter;  no  law  decide  what  is  beyond  the  competence  of 
law ;  no  supplementary  provision,  however  ingenious,  cure 
the  essential  and  inseparable  defects  of  a  Federal  Union. 

The  steadily  augmenting  power  of  the  lower  orders  in 
America  has  naturally  augmented  the  dangers  of  their  Federal 
Union.  In  almost  all  the  States  there  was,  at  the  time  the 
Constitution  of  the  Union  was  originally  framed,  a  property 
qualification,  in  some  States  a  high  one,  requisite  for  the  pos- 


THE  PRESENT  CRISIS  367 

session  of  the  most  popular  form  of  suffrage.  Almost  all  these 
qualifications  have  now  been  swept  away,  and  a  dead  level 
of  universal  suffrage  runs,  more  or  less,  over  the  whole  length 
of  the  United  States.  The  external  consequences,  as  we  all 
know,  have  not  been  beneficial :  the  foreign  policy  of  the  Union 
has  been  a  perplexing  difficulty  to  European  nations,  and 
especially  to  England,  for  many  years.  Nor  have  the  internal 
consequences  been  better.  The  most  enthusiastic  advocates 
of  a  democratic  government  will  admit  that  it  is  both  an  im- 
pulsive and  a  contentious  government.  Its  special  character- 
istic is,  that  it  places  the  entire  control  over  the  political  action 
of  the  whole  State  in  the  hands  of  the  common  labourers,  who 
are  of  all  classes  the  least  instructed — of  all  the  most  aggres- 
sive— of  all  the  most  likely  to  be  influenced  by  local  animosity 
— of  all  the  most  likely  to  exaggerate  every  momentary 
sentiment — of  all  the  least  likely  to  be  capable  of  a  consider- 
able toleration  for  the  constant  oppositions  of  opinion,  the 
not  unfrequent  differences  of  interests,  and  the  occasional  un- 
reasonableness of  other  States.  In  democracies,  local  feuds  are 
commonly  more  lasting  and  more  bitter  than  in  States  of 
other  kinds;  and  those  enmities  commonly  become  more 
bitter  in  proportion  to  the  greater  nearness  of  relation,  the 
greater  closeness  of  political  connexion,  and  the  greater  con- 
trast of  disposition,  temper,  and  internal  circumstances. 
What  intensity  of  bitterness  was  then  to  be  anticipated  in 
a  so-called  Union,  in  which  two  distinct  sets  of  democracies 
— the  Southern  and  the  Northern,  the  slaveholding  and  the 
non-slaveholding — have  been  for  many  years  augmenting  in 
contrast  to,  and  increasing  in  antipathy  to,  one  another! 
The  existing  crisis  is  only  the  natural  consequence,  the  inevit- 
able development,  of  a  long  antagonism  between  these  two 
species  of  Republics,  in  both  of  which  the  most  intolerant 
members  are  absolute  rulers,  and  each  of  which  presented 
characteristics  which  the  hidden  instincts  of  the  other,  even 
more  than  its  conscious  opinion,  regarded  first  as  irritating 
and  then  as  dangerous.  The  progress  of  democracy  has  af- 
fected not  only  the  State  Government,  but  the  Federal 
Government.  The  House  of  Representatives  in  the  latter  is 


368 


THE  AMERICAN  CONSTITUTION  AT 


elected  by  the  same  persons    who  choose  the  most  popular 
branch  of  the  legislature  in  the  former.     As  the  State  Govern- 
ments  have  become  more  democratic,  the  Federal  Governmei 
has  inevitably   become   more    so  likewise.     To   this  gradu; 
corruption  of  the  American  democracy  it  is  principally  owii 
that    Europe    at   large,    and    England    especially,    have    m 
grieved  much  at  the  close  proximity  of  its  probable  fall, 
perhaps  rejoiced  at  the  prospect  of  some  marked  change  froi 
a  policy  which  was  so  inconvenient  to  its  neighbours,  whi( 
must  be  attended  to  because  its  range  was  so  wide,  and  tl 
physical  force  under  its  direction  was  so  large,  but  of  whi< 
the  events  were  mean,  the  actors  base,  and  the  working  ine3 
plicable.     A  low   vulgarity,  indefinable  but  undeniable, 
deeply  displeased    the  cultivated    mind  of  Europe;  and  tl 
American  Union  will  fall,  if  it  does  fall,  little  regretted  eve 
by   those  whose    race    is  akin,    whose  language   is  identi< 
whose  weightiest  opinions  are  on  most  subjects  the  same 
theirs.     The    unpleasantness  of  mob  government  has  neve 
before  been  exemplified  so  conspicuously,  for  it  never  befoi 
has  worked  upon  so  large  a  scene. 

These  latter  truths   are  very  familiar.     The  evils  of  d( 
mocracy  and  the  dangers  of  democracy  are  great  commonplace 
in    our   speculation,    though    also    formidable   perils    in    01 
practice.     But  it  is  not  commonplace  to  observe,  that  the 
isting  crisis  in  America  has  been  intensified  almost  as  much 
the  precautions  which  the  original  founders  of  the  Constitutic 
took  to  ward  off  what  they  well  knew  to  be  the  characte 
istic  evils  of  democracy,  as  by  those  evils  themselves, 
have  been  so  much  accustomed  to  hear  the  "  United  States 
extolled  as  the  special  land  of  democratic  liberty,  to  hear  thei 
Constitution  praised  as  the  unmixed  embodiment  of  uncon- 
trolled  popular   power,  that  we  have  forgotten    how  many 
restrictive    provisions    that    Constitution    contains,  and   how 
anxiously  its  framers  endeavoured  to  provide  against  the  spe 
defects  of  a  purely  popular  polity. 

It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  a  valuable  addition  to 
accumulations  of  Conservative  oratory  might  be  extracted  froi 
the  debates  of  the  Convention  which  framed  the  American 


THE  PRESENT  CRISIS  369 

volution.  The  two  objects  which  its  most  intelligent  framers 
were  mainly  bent  on  attaining*  were,  security  against  the 
momentary  caprice  of  a  purely  numerical  majority,  and  some 
effective  provision  for  the  maintenance  of  a  strong  executive. 
What  would  Mr.  Bright  say  to  the  following  speech  of  Mr. 
Morris,  not  by  any  means  the  most  conservative  member  of 
the  Convention  ? — 

"  The  two  branches,  so  equally  poised,  cannot  have  their 
due  weight.  It  is  confessed,  on  all  hands,  that  the  second 
branch  ought  to  be  a  check  on  the  first ;  for  without  its  having 
this  effect  it  is  perfectly  useless.  The  first  branch,  originating 
from  the  people,  will  ever  be  subject  to  precipitancy,  change- 
ability, and  excess.  Experience  evinces  the  truth  of  this  re- 
mark, without  having  recourse  to  reading.  This  can  only  be 
checked  by  ability  and  virtue  in  the  second  branch.  On  your 
present  system,  can  you  suppose  that  one  branch  will  possess 
it  more  than  the  other?  The  second  branch  ought  to  be  com- 
posed of  men  of  great  and  established  property — an  aristo- 
cracy ;  men  who  from  pride  will  support  consistency  and  per- 
manency; and  to  make  them  completely  independent,  they 
must  be  chosen  for  life,  or  they  will  be  a  useless  body.  Such 
an  aristocratic  body  will  keep  down  the  turbulency  of  demo- 
cracy. But  if  you  elect  them  for  a  shorter  period,  they  will  be 
only  a  name,  and  we  had  better  be  without  them.  Thus  con- 
stituted, I  hope  they  will  show  us  the  weight  of  aristocracy. 

"  History  proves,  I  admit,  that  the  men  of  large  property 
will  uniformly  endeavour  to  establish  tyranny.  How,  then, 
shall  we  ward  off  this  evil  ?  Give  them  the  second  branch,  and 
you  secure  their  weight  for  the  public  good.  They  become 
responsible  for  their  conduct,  and  this  lust  of  power  will  ever 
be  checked  by  the  democratic  branch,  and  thus  form  a  stability 
in  your  Government.  But  if  we  continue  changing  our 
measures  by  the  breath  of  democracy,  who  will  confide  in  our 
engagements  ?  who  will  trust  us  ?  Ask  any  person  whether 
he  reposes  any  confidence  in  the  Government  of  Congress,  or 
that  of  the  State  of  Pennsylvania  ;  he  will  readily  answer  you, 
no.  Ask  him  the  reason  ;  and  he  will  tell  you  it  is  because  he 
has  no  confidence  in  their  stability. 
VOL.  III.  24 


370  THE  AMERICAN  CONSTITUTION  AT 

"  You  intend  also  that  the  second  branch  shall  be  incapable 
of  holding  any  office  in  the  general  Government.  It  is  a  dan- 
gerous expedient.  They  ought  to  have  every  inducement  to 
be  interested  in  your  Government.  Deprive  them  of  this  right, 
and  they  will  become  inattentive  to  your  welfare.  The  wealthy 
will  ever  exist ;  and  you  never  can  be  safe  unless  you  gratify 
them  as  a  body,  in  the  pursuit  of  honour  and  profit.  Prevent 
them  by  positive  institutions,  and  they  will  proceed  in  some 
left-handed  way.  A  son  may  want  a  place — you  mean  to  pre- 
vent him  from  promotion.  They  are  not  to  be  paid  for  their 
services — they  will  in  some  way  pay  themselves ;  nor  is  it 
your  power  to  prevent  it.  It  is  good  policy  that  men  of  pro- 
perty be  collected  in  one  body,  to  give  them  one  common  in- 
fluence in  your  Government.  Let  vacancies  be  filled  up,  as 
they  happen,  by  the  executive.  Besides  it  is  of  little  conse- 
quence, on  this  plan,  whether  the  States  are  equally  represented 
or  not.  If  the  State  Governments  have  the  division  of  many 
of  the  loaves  and  fishes,  and  the  General  Government  few,  it 
cannot  exist.  This  Senate  would  be  one  of  the  baubles  of  the 
general  Government.  If  you  choose  them  for  seven  years, 
whether  chosen  by  the  people  or  the  States, — whether  by  equal 
suffrage  or  in  any  other  proportion, — how  will  they  be 
check  ?  They  will  still  have  local  and  State  prejudices.  A 
government  by  compact  is  no  government  at  all.  You  may 
as  well  go  back  to  your  Congressional  Federal  Government, 
where,  in  the  character  of  ambassadors,  they  may  form  trea- 
ties for  each  State.  I  avow  myself  the  advocate  of  a  strong 
Government." 

This  speech,  striking  as  it  is,  is  only  a  single  specimen 
and  not,  in  several  respects,  the  most  striking  of  many  whic 
might  be  cited.     The  predominant  feeling  of  the  predominan 
party  in  the  Convention  is  clearly  expressed  in  the  singular! 
complicated  provisions  of  the  Constitution  which  they  framed. 
Almost  every  clause  of  it  bears  witness  to  the  anxiety  of  i 
composers    for   an    efficient  executive,  and  for  an   adequat 
guard  against  momentary  popular  feeling. 

Unfortunately  they  either  had  not  at  their  disposal,  or  di 
not   avail   themselves  of,  the  only  effectual    instruments   f< 


THE  PRESENT  CRISIS  371 

either  purpose.  There  is  but  one  sufficient  expedient  against 
the  tyranny  of  the  lower  orders,  and  that  is  to  place  the  pre- 
dominant (though  not  necessarily  the  exclusive)  power  in  the 
hands  of  the  higher  orders.  There  must  be  some  effectual 
sovereign  authority  in  every  government.  In  England,  for 
example,  the  sovereign  authority  is  the  diffused  respectable 
higher  middle-class,  which,  on  the  whole,  is  predominant  in 
the  House  of  Commons,  and  in  the  Constituencies  which 
return  it.  Whatever  this  class  emphatically  wills,  is  immedi- 
ately enacted.  It  hears  representations  from  the  great  mass 
of  the  orders  which  are  below,  it  hears  other  and  better  ex- 
pressed representations  from  the  higher  classes,  which  are 
above  it.  But  it  uses  these  only  as  materials  by  which  to 
form  a  better  judgment  If  the  House  of  Commons  distinctly 
expresses  an  emphatic  opinion,  no  other  body  or  person  or 
functionary  hopes  to  oppose  it,  or  dreams  of  doing  so.  Our 
security  against  tyranny  is  the  reasonableness,  the  respectable 
cultivation,  the  business-like  moderation  of  this  governing  class 
itself;  if  that  class  did  not  possess  those  qualities,  the  rest  of 
the  community  would  be  always  in  danger,  and  very  frequently 
be  oppressed. 

The  framers  of  the  American  Constitution  chose  a  very 
different  expedient.  They  placed  the  predominant  power  in  A 
the  hands  of  the  numerical  majority  of  the  population,  and 
hoped  to  restrain  and  balance  it  by  paper  checks  and  constitu- 
tional stratagems.  At  the  present  time,  almost  every  one  of 
their  ingenious  devices  has  aggravated  the  calamities  of  their 
descendants. 

The  mode  in  which  the  President  of  the  United  States  is 
chosen  is  the  most  complicated  which  could  well  be  imagined. 
A  reader  of  the  Constitution,  uninformed  as  to  the  circum- 
stances of  its  origin  and  the  intentions  of  its  framers,  would 
imagine  that  complexity  had  sometimes  been  chosen  as  such, 
and  for  its  own  sake.  Each,  however,  of  these  singular  details 
was  introduced  with  a  very  definite  object. 

"  Each  State,"  it  is  provided,  "  shall  appoint,  in  such 
manner  as  the  legislature  thereof  may  direct,  a  number  of 
electors  equal  to  the  whole  number  of  senators  and  repre- 

24* 


372  THE  AMERICAN  CONSTITUTION  AT 

sentatives  to  which  the  State  may  be  entitled  in  the  Congress  ; 
but  no  senator  or  representative,  or  person  holding  an  office 
of  trust  or  profit  under  the  United  States,  shall  be  appointed 
an  elector. 

"  The  electors  shall  meet  in  their  respective  States,  and 
vote  by  ballot  for  two  persons,  of  whom  one  at  least  shall  not 
be  an  inhabitant  of  the  same  State  with  themselves.  And 
they  shall  make  a  list  of  all  the  persons  voted  for,  and  of  the 
number  of  votes  for  each :  which  list  they  shall  sign  and 
certify,  and  transmit,  sealed,  to  the  seat  of  the  Government  of 
the  United  States,  directed  to  the  President  of  the  Senate. 
The  President  of  the  Senate  shall,  in  the  presence  of  the  Senate 
and  House  of  Representatives,  open  all  the  certificates ;  and 
the  votes  shall  then  be  counted.  The  person  having  the 
greatest  number  of  votes  shall  be  the  President,  if  such  number 
be  a  majority  of  the  whole  number  of  electors  appointed  ;  and 
if  there  be  more  than  one  who  have  such  majority,  and  have 
an  equal  number  of  votes,  then  the  House  of  Representatives 
shall  immediately  choose  by  ballot  one  of  them  for  President ; 
and  if  no  person  have  a  majority,  then,  from  the  five  highest 
on  the  list,  the  said  House  shall  in  like  manner  choose  the 
President.  But  in  choosing  the  President  the  votes  shall  be 
taken  by  States,  the  representation  from  each  State  having  one 
vote ;  a  quorum  for  this  purpose  shall  consist  of  a  member  or 
members  from  two-thirds  of  the  States,  and  a  majority  of  all 
the  States  shall  be  necessary  to  a  choice.  In  every  case,  after 
the  choice  of  the  President,  the  person  having  the  greatest 
number  of  votes  of  the  electors  shall  be  the  Vice-president. 
But  if  there  should  remain  two  or  more  who  have  equal 
votes,  the  Senate  shall  choose  from  them  by  ballot  the  Vice- 
president. 

"The  Congress  may  determine  the  time  of  choosing  the 
electors,  and  the  day  on  which  they  shall  give  their  votes : 
which  day  shall  be  the  same  throughout  the  United  States." 

"  In  pursuance  of  the  authority  given  by  the  latter  clause," 
says  Mr.  Justice  Story,  "  Congress  in  1792  passed  an  act, 
declaring  that  the  electors  shall  be  appointed  in  each  State 
within  thirty- four  days  preceding  the  first  Wednesday  in 


THE  PRESENT  CRISIS  373 

December,  in  every  fourth  year  succeeding  the  last  election  of 
President,  according  to  the  apportionment  of  representatives 
and  senators  then  existing.  The  electors  chosen  are  required 
to  meet  and  give  their  votes  on  the  first  said  Wednesday  of 
December,  in  every  fourth  year  succeeding  the  last  election  of 
President,  according  to  the  apportionment  of  representatives 
and  senators  then  existing.  The  electors  chosen  are  required 
to  meet  and  give  their  votes  on  the  said  first  Wednesday  of 
December,  at  such  place  in  each  State  as  shall  be  directed  by 
the  legislature  thereof.  They  are  then  to  make  and  sign  three 
certificates  of  all  the  votes  by  them  given,  and  to  seal  up  the 
same,  certifying  on  each  that  a  list  of  the  votes  of  such  State 
for  President  and  Vice-president  is  contained  therein ;  and 
shall  appoint  a  person  to  take  charge  of  and  deliver  one  of 
the  same  certificates  to  the  President  of  the  Senate  at  the  seat  of 
Government,  before  the  first  Wednesday  of  January  then  next 
ensuing ;  another  of  the  certificates  is  to  be  forwarded  forth- 
with by  the  post-orBce  to  the  President  of  the  Senate  at  the 
seat  of  Government ;  and  the  third  is  to  be  delivered  to  the 
judge  of  the  district  in  which  the  electors  assembled.  Other 
auxiliary  provisions  are  made  by  the  same  act  for  the  due 
transmission  and  preservation  of  the  electoral  votes,  and 
authenticating  the  appointment  of  the  electors.  The  Presi- 
dent's term  of  office  is  also  declared  to  commence  on  the  fourth 
day  of  March  next  succeeding  the  day  on  which  the  votes  of 
the  electors  shall  be  given." 

The  details  of  these  arrangements  are  involved,  but  their 
purpose  was  simple.  The  framers  wished  the  President  to  be 
chosen,  not  by  the  primary  electors,  but  by  a  body  of  secondary 
electors,  whom  the  primary  were  to  choose,  because  they 
thought  that  these  chosen  choosers  would  presumably  be 
persons  especially  likely  to  make  a  good  choice.  They  like- 
wise intended  that  an  absolute  majority  (a  majority,  that  is, 
of  more  than  one-half  of  the  total  number)  should  be  requisite 
for  a  valid  election ;  and  if  such  majority  could  not  be  pro- 
cured, that  the  House  of  Representatives,  voting  by  States, 
should  make  the  choice  (in  which  case  an  absolute  majority  of 
all  the  States  was  likewise  to  be  necessary) ;  and  lastly,  they 


374 


THE  AMERICAN  CONSTITUTION  AT 


wished  that  an  interval  of  many  months — from  November  in 
one  year  to  March  in  the  next — should  be  secured  for  the  safe 
transaction  of  the  entire  election. 

Eyery  part  of  this  well-studied  arrangement  has  produced 
most  unanticipated  results,  and  none  more  so  than  the  last 
part.  Nothing  could  be  more  reasonable  than  the  regulation 
that  a  long  interval  should  be  provided  for  the  whole  com- 
plicated election ;  since,  if  the  choice  unexpectedly  lapsed  to 
the  House  of  Representatives,  much  delay  and  consideration 
would  obviously  be  necessary.  But  the  consequences  have 
been  disastrous. 

"At  the  outset  of  the  quarrel,"  observes  a  recent  writer, 
"  the  Constitution  occasioned  a  needless  danger.  The  South 
threatened  to  secede  because  Mr.  Lincoln  had  been  elected 
President.  Under  almost  any  other  free  Constitution  which 
has  ever  existed,  and  certainly  under  every  good  one,  the 
executive  authority,  whose  function  it  was  to  oppose  secession, 
would  have  been  placed  exclusively  in  the  hands  of  those  who 
were  desirous  so  to  oppose  it.  At  an  instant  of  violent  irrita- 
tion, the  dissentient  minority  were  anxious  to  break  loose 
from  the  control  of  the  majority.  The  majority  were  at  that 
time,  whatever  may  be  the  case  now,  by  no  means  fanatical, 
or  irritated,  or  overbearing.  They  wished  to  preserve  the 
Union,  and  under  a  well-framed  constitution  they  would  have 
had  the  power  of  using  the  force  of  the  State  to  preserve  the 
State.  But  not  so  under  the  American.  An  artificial 
arrangement  prolongs  the  reign  of  each  President  many 
months  after  the  election  of  his  successor.  In  consequence, 
the  executive  authority  was,  during  a  considerable  and 
critical  interval,  in  the  hands  of  those  who  by  birth,  habit,  and 
sympathy  were  leagued  with  the  dissentient  minority.  Mr. 
Buchanan  and  his  ministers  had  always  been  attached  to  the 
party  of  the  South,  and  were  the  last  persons  to  act  decisively 
against  it.  It  is  the  opinion  of  many  well-informed  persons 
that  there  was  a  sufficient  Unionist  party  in  several  of  the 
seceding  States  to  have  prevented  the  present  movement  there, 
if  the  Federal  Government  had  acted  with  vigour  and  celerity. 
And,  whether  this  be  so  or  not,  it  remains  a  singular  defect  in 


THE  PRESENT  CRISIS  375 

the  working  of  the  American  Constitution,  that  it  gave  power 
at  the  decisive  moment  to  those  least  likely  to  use  that  power 
well — that  just  when  a  revolt  was  impending,  it  placed  the 
whole  executive  influence  and  the  whole  military  force  in  the 
unfettered  hands  of  the  political  associates  of  the  revolters." 

It  is  now  known  that  the  Southern  officials,  purposely  dis- 
tributed the  fleet  of  the  Union  in  distant  countries,  placed 
stores  of  artillery  where  Southern  rebels  could  easily  take  them, 
purposely  disorganised  the  Federal  army.  Nothing  else  could 
be  anticipated  from  an  arrangement  which  placed  the  prepara- 
tions for  maintaining  the  Union  in  the  exclusive  control  of  the 
persons  desirous  to  break  the  Union. 

The  scheme,  too,  of  a  double  election  has  failed  of  its  in- 
tended effect ;  but  has  produced  grave  effects  which  were  not 
intended.  The  same  writer  observes  : 

"  Nor  does  the  accession  of  Mr.  Lincoln  place  the  executive 
power  precisely  where  we  should  wish  to  see  it.  At  a  crisis 
such  as  America  has  never  before  seen,  and  as  it  is  not,  per- 
haps, probable  she  will  see  again,  the  executive  authority 
should  be  in  the  hands  of  one  of  the  most  tried,  trusted,  and 
experienced  statesmen  of  the  nation.  Mr.  Lincoln  is  a  nearly 
unknown  man,  who  has  been  but  little  heard  of,  who  has  had 
little  experience,  who  may  have  nerve  and  judgment,  or  may 
not  have  them,  whose  character,  both  moral  and  intellectual, 
is  an  unknown  quantity,  who  must,  from  his  previous  life  and 
defective  education,  be  wanting  in  the  liberal  acquirements 
and  mental  training  which  are  principal  elements  of  an  en- 
larged statesmanship.  Nor  is  it  true  to  say  that  the  American 
people  are  to  blame  for  this — that  they  chose  Mr.  Lincoln, 
and  must  endure  the  pernicious  results.  The  Constitution  is 
as  much  to  blame  as  the  people,  probably  even  more  so. 
The  framers  were  wisely  and  warmly  attached  to  the  prin- 
ciples of  liberty,  and,  like  all  such  persons,  were  extremely 
anxious  to  guard  against  momentary  gusts  of  popular  opinion. 
They  were  especially  desirous  that  the  President  to  whom 
they  were  intrusting  vast  power  should  be  the  representative, 
not  of  a  small  section  of  the  community,  but  of  a  really  pre- 
dominant part  of  it  They  not  only  established  a  system  of 


376  THE  AMERICAN  CONSTITUTION  AT 

double  election,  in  the  hope  that  the  '  electoral  college '  (of 
which  the  electors  were  chosen  by  the  primary  electors  in 
each  State)  would  exercise  a  real  discretion  in  the  choice  of 
President,  and  be  some  check  on  popular  ignorance  and  low 
violence,  but  they  likewise  provided  that  an  absolute  majority 
of  that  'electoral  college'  (a  majority,  that  is,  greater  than 
one-half  of  the  whole)  should  give  their  votes  for  the  elected 
candidate.  The  effect  has  been  painfully  different  from  the 
design.  In  reality,  the  '  electoral  college '  exercises  no  choice ; 
every  member  of  it  is  selected  by  the  primitive  constituency 
because  he  will  vote  for  a  certain  presidential  candidate  (for 
Mr.  Lincoln  or  Mr.  Douglas,  and  so  on),  and  he  does  nothing 
but  vote  accordingly.  The  provision  requiring  the  consent  of 
an  absolute  majority  has  had  a  still  worse  effect;  it  has  not 
been  futile,  for  it  has  been  pernicious.  It  has  made  it  very 
difficult  to  secure  any  election."  l 

If  every  candidate  stood  who  wished,  and  every  elector 
voted  for  whom  he  pleased,  there  would  be  no  election  at  all. 
Each  little  faction  would  vote  for  its  own  particular  favourite, 
and  no  one  would  obtain  the  votes  of  half  the  whole  nation. 
A  very  complicated  apparatus  of  preliminary  meetings,  called 
caucuses,  is  therefore  resorted  to,  and  the  working  of  these  is 
singularly  disastrous. 

Every  man  of  any  mark  in  the  whole  nation  has  many 
enemies,  some  private,  some  public ;  he  is  probably  the  head 
of  some  section  or  minor  party,  and  that  minor  party  has  its 
own  antagonists,  its  special  opponents,  who  would  dislike  more 
than  anything  else  that  its  head  should  on  a  sudden  become 
the  head  of  the  State.  Every  statesman  who  has  been  long 
tried  in  public  life  must  have  had  to  alienate  many  friends,  to 
irritate  many  applicants  by  necessary  refusals,  to  say  many 
things  which  are  rankling  in  many  bosoms.  Every  great  man 
creates  his  own  opposition ;  and  no  great  man,  therefore,  will 
ever  be  President  of  the  United  States,  except  in  the  rarest 
and  most  exceptional  cases.  The  object  of  "  President  makers  " 
is  to  find  a  candidate  who  will  conciliate  the  greatest  number, 

1  Economist,  ist  June,  1861. 


THE  PRESENT  CRISIS  377 

not  the  person  for  whom  there  is  most  to  be  said,  but  the 
person  against  whom  there  is  least  to  be  said.  In  the  English 
State,  there  is  no  great  office  filled  in  at  all  the  same  way  ;  but 
in  the  English  Church  there  is.  "  Depend  on  it,"  said  a  shrewd 
banker,  not  remarkable  for  theological  zeal  or  scholastic 
learning,  "  I  would  have  been  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  if  I 
had  been  in  the  Church.  Some  quiet,  tame  sort  of  man  is  al- 
ways chosen  ;  and  I  never  give  offence  to  any  one."  If  he  did 
not,  he  might  have  been  President  of  the  United  States.  The 
mode  in  which  all  conspicuous  merit  is  gradually  eliminated 
from  the  list  of  candidates  was  well  illustrated  at  the  election 
of  Mr.  Pierce. 

"  The  candidates  on  the  democratic  side  were  no  less  than 
eight :  General  Cass,  Mr.  Buchanan,  Mr.  Douglas,  Mr.  Marcy, 
Mr.  Butler,  Mr.  Houston,  Mr.  Lane,  and  Mr.  Dickenson  ;  all 
men  '  prominently  known  to  their  party,'  and  the  three  first 
supported  with  great  enthusiasm  by  large  sections  of  that  party 
throughout  the  Union. 

"  The  Convention  appointed  by  the  democratic  party  in 
each  State  to  decide  which  among  these  various  candidates 
should  be  recommended  for  their  votes  at  the  election,  as- 
sembled at  Baltimore  for  their  first  meeting  on  the  1st  of  June, 
1852.  On  that  day  General  Cass  obtained  the  greatest  number  of 
votes  at  the  first  ballot,  namely  116,  out  of  the  total  of  288  ; 
but  a  number  far  below  the  requisite  majority.  A  few  speci- 
mens of  the  manner  in  which  the  votes  fluctuated  will  not  be 
without  interest.  On  the  ninth  ballot  the  votes  were — Cass, 
112;  Buchanan,  87;  Douglas,  39;  Marcy,  28;  Butler,  i; 
Houston,  8  ;  Lane,  13  ;  Dickenson,  I.  On  the  twenty-second 
ballot— Cass,  33  ;  Douglas,  80  ;  Butler,  24  ;  Lane,  1 1  ;  Buchan- 
an, 101  ;  Marcy,  25;  Housten,  10;  Dickenson,  I.  On  the 
twenty-ninth  ballot — Cass,  27.  On  the  thirty-fifth  ballot 
— Cass,  131  ;  Douglas,  52;  Buchanan,  32. 

"  On  this,  the  sixth  day  of  the  meeting  (the  proceedings  of 
and  the  scenes  in  which  were  fully  and  somewhat  graphically 
described  by  the  public  press  of  both  parties),  a  new  name  ap- 
peared for  the  first  time  upon  the  lists — that  of  Mr.  Pierce,  of 
New  Hampshire,  a  gentleman  well  known  to  his  friends  as  a 


378  THE  AMERICAN  CONSTITUTION  AT 

lawyer  of  ability ;  also  as  having  creditably  fulfilled  the  dutii 
of  a  member  of  the  House  of  Representatives,  and  of  the  Sen-| 
ate  of  the  United  States  ;  better  known,  however,  as  havi 
joined  the  army  as  a  volunteer  on  the  breaking  out  of  t 
Mexican  War,  and  as  having  commanded  with  distinction  a 
brigade  in  that  war,  with  the  rank  of  General.  It  will,  never- 
theless, imply  no  disrespect  towards  Mr.  Pierce,  if  I  repeal 
what  was  the  universal  expression,  according  to  the  public 
prints,  throughout  the  Union,  that  no  individual  in  the  United 
States  could  have  been  more  surprised  at  Mr.  Pierce's  nomin; 
tion  for  the  exalted  and  responsible  office  of  chief  magistrate 
of  the  Republic  than  Mr.  Pierce  himself.  On  the  thirty-fifth 
ballot,  the  first  in  which  Mr  Pierce's  name  appeared,  he  received 
15  votes.  On  the  forty-eight,  he  received  only  55  votes; 
but  on  the  forty-ninth,  the  numbers  voting  for  him  were  283, 
out  of  the  total  of  288 — a  vote  which  five  more  would 
have  made  unanimous. 

"  Mr.  Pierce  was  accordingly  recommended  to  the  demo- 
cratic Constituencies  throughout  the  Union,  and  was  elected  by 
a  considerable  majority  over  his  Whig  opponent;  the  numbers 
being,  for  Mr.  Pierce  1,504,47 1,  and  for  General  Scott  1,283,174." 

What  worse  mode  of  electing  a  ruler  could  by  possibility 
have  been  selected  ?  If  the  wit  of  man  had  been  set  to  devise 
a  system  specially  calculated  to  bring  to  the  head  of  affairs 
incompetent  man  at  a  pressing  crisis,  it  could  not  have  devi: 
one  more  fit ;  probably  it  would  not  have  devised  one  as  fit. 
almost  secures  the  rejection  of  tried  and  trained  genius,  and 
most  insures  the  selection  of  untrained  and  unknown  mediocri 

Nor  is  this  the  only  mode,  or  even  the  chief  mode,  in  whi 
the  carefully  considered  provisions  of  the  American  Constitutr 
have,  in  fact,  deprived  the  American  people  of  the  guidance  ai 
government  of  great  statesmen,  just  when  these  were  most 
quired.     It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that,  under  the  Ameri 
Constitution,  there  was  no  opportunity  for  a  great  statesmai 
As  we  have  seen,  he  had  no  chance  of  being  chosen  President, 
the    artificial    clauses   of   the  Constitution,    and    the   natural 
principles  of  human  nature,  have  combined  to  prevent  that. 
Nor  is  it  worth  a  great  man's  while  to  be  a  President's  minister. 


THE  PRESENT  CRISIS  379 

This  is  not  because  such  a  minister  would  be  in  apparent  sub- 
ordination to  the  President,  who  would  probably  be  an  inferior 
man  to  him — for  able  men  are  continually  ready  to  fill  sub- 
ordinate posts  under  constitutional  monarchs,  who  are  usually 
very  inferior  men,  and  even  under  colonial  governors,  who  are 
rather  inferior  men — but  because  a  President's  minister  has  no 
parliamentary  career.  As  we  know,  the  first  member  of  the 
Crown  is  with  us  the  first  man  in  Parliament,  and  is  the  ruler 
of  the  English  nation.  In  those  English  colonies  which  pos- 
sess popular  constitutions,  the  first  minister  is  the  most  power- 
ful man  in  the  State — far  more  powerful  than  the  so-called 
governor.  He  is  so  because  he  is  the  accepted  leader  of  the 
colonial  Parliament  In  consequence,  whenever  the  English 
nation,  or  a  free  English  colony,  is  in  peril,  the  first  man  in 
England,  or  in  the  colony,  at  least  the  most  trusted  man  is 
raised  at  once  to  the  most  powerful  place  in  the  nation.  On 
the  Continent  of  Europe,  the  advantage  of  this  insensible 
machinery  is  just  beginning  to  be  understood.  Count  Cavour 
well  knew  and  thoroughly  showed  how  far  the  power  of  a  parlia- 
mentary Premier,  supported  by  a  willing  and  confiding  parlia- 
ment, is  superior  to  all  other  political  powers,  whether  in 
despotic  governments  or  in  free.  The  American  Constitution, 
however,  expressly  prohibits  the  possibility  of  such  a  position. 
It  enacts,  "  That  no  person  holding  any  office  under  the  United 
States  shall  be  a  member  of  either  House  during  his  continuance 
in  office  ".  In  consequence,  the  position  of  a  great  parliament- 
ary member  who  is  responsible  more  or  less  for  the  due  per- 
formance of  his  own  administrative  functions,  and  also  of  all 
lesser  ones,  is  in  America  an  illegal  one.  If  a  politician  has 
executive  authority,  he  cannot  enter  Parliament ;  if  he  is  in 
Parliament,  he  cannot  possess  executive  authority.  No  man  of 
great  talents  and  high  ambition  has  therefore  under  the  Con- 
stitution of  the  United  States  a  proper  sphere  for  those  talents,  or 
a  suitable  vista  for  that  ambition.  He  cannot  hope  to  be  Presi- 
dent, for  the  President  is  ex  officio  a  poor  creature ;  he  cannot 
hope  to  be,  mutatis  mutandis,  an  English  Premier,  to  be  a  Sir 
R.  Peel,  or  a  Count  Cavour,  for  the  American  law  has  declared 
that  in  the  United  States  there  shall  be  no  similar  person. 


380  THE  AMERICAN  CONSTITUTION  AT 

It  appears  that  the  Constitution-makers  of  North  America 
were  not  unnaturally  misled   by  the  political  philosophy  of 
their  day.      It  was  laid  down  first  that  the  legislative  authority 
and  the  executive  authority  ought   to  be  perfectly  distinct; 
and  secondly  that  in  the  English  Constitution  those  authorities 
were  so  distinct.     Both  dogmas  had  slid  into  accepted  axioms, 
and  no  one  was  bold  enough  to  contest  them.     At  that  time 
no   speculative   politician    perfectly   comprehended    that    the 
essence  of  the   English  Constitution  resided  in   the  Englisl 
Cabinet ;  that  so  far  from  the  executive  power  being  entirely 
distinct  from  the  legislative  power,  the  primary  motive  force 
the  supreme  regulator  of  every  thing,  was  precisely  the  sam< 
in  both.     A  select  committee  of  the  legislature  chosen  by  th( 
legislature  is  the  highest  administrative  body,  and  exercises  all 
the  powers  of  the  sovereign  executive  that  are  tolerated  by  the 
law.     The  advantage  of  this  arrangement,  though  contrary  to 
a  very  old   philosophical   theory,  is   very  great     The  whole 
State  will   never  work  in  harmony  and  in  vigour  while   b} 
possibility  its  two  great  powers — the  power  of  legislating  an< 
the  power  of  acting — can  be  declared  in  opposition  to  one 
another ;  and  if  they  are  independent,  they  will  very  often 
in  open  antagonism,  and  be  always  in  dread  of  it  when  the} 
are  not  so.     No  government,  it  may  be  safely  said,  can  be 
strong  as  it  should  be  when  the  enacting  legislature  and  th< 
acting  executive  are  not  subjected  to  a  single  effectual  control. 

The  framers  of  the  American  Constitution  did  not  perceive 
this  cardinal  maxim.  The  admitted  theory  of  that  day 
that  the  English  Constitution  was  one  of  "  checks  and 
balances " ;  and  the  Americans,  who  were  very  willing  to 
take  it  as  their  model  (the  monarchial  part  excepted),  hope 
to  balance  their  strong  independent  legislature  by  a  strong 
independent  executive.  They  hoped,  too,  to  prevent  the  in- 
troduction into  America  of  that  parliamentary  corruption— 
that  bribery  of  popular  representatives  by  money  and  patron- 
age, which  filled  so  large  a  space  in  the  thoughts  of  politicians 
of  the  last  century,  and  so  large  a  space  in  the  lives  of  some 
of  them.  But  though  their  intentions  were  excellent  and 
their  reasons  plausible,  the  effect  of  their  regulations  has  been 


THE  PRESENT  CRISIS  381 

pernicious.  By  keeping  the  two  careers  of  legislation  and  of 
administration  distinct,  they  have  rendered  the  life  of  a  high 
politician,  of  a  great  statesman,  aspiring  to  improve  the  laws 
and  to  regulate  the  policy  of  a  great  country,  with  them  an 
impossibility.  They  have  divided  the  greatest  department  of 
practical  life  into  two  halves,  and  neither  of  them  is  worth  a 
man's  having. 

We  see  the  effect.  There  is  no  body  of  respected  states-  .  ; 
men  in  America  at  this  moment  of  their  extreme  need.  It  is  \  ' 
not  a  fault  that  they  have  no  great  genius  at  their  head.  The 
few  marvellous  statesmen  of  the  world  are  of  necessity  rare, 
and  are  not  manufactured  to  order  even  by  the  bidding  of  an 
awful  crisis.  But  it  is  a  fault  that  they  have  not  one  or  more 
possible  parliamentary  cabinets — several  sets  of  trained  men, 
with  considerable  abilities  and  known  character,  whose  policy 
is  decided,  whose  worth  is  tried,  who  have  cast  in  their  lot  for 
years  with  certain  ideas,  whose  names  are  respected  in  every 
household  through  Europe.  In  consequence  of  the  unfortunate 
caution  of  their  Constitution-makers,  America  has  no  such  men  ; 
and  Italy  has  them  or  will  soon  have  them  ;  but  after  a  political 
experience  of  seventy  years  the  United  States  have  none.  They 
have  existed  during  two  generations  as  a  democracy  without 
ideals ;  and  are  likely  to  die  now  a  democracy  without  champions. 

It  is,  however,  only  fair  to  observe,  that  the  American 
Constitution  has  one  great  excellence  at  this  moment,  not 
indeed,  as  compared  with  the  English  Constitution,  but  as 
compared  with  that  degraded  imitation  of  it  which  exists, 
for  example,  in  our  Australian  Colonies.  In  those  govern- 
ments the  parliament  is  wholly  unfit  to  choose  an  execu- 
tive ;  it  has  not  patriotism  enough  to  give  a  decent  stability 
to  the  government ;  there  are  "  ministerial  crises "  once  a 
week,  and  actual  changes  of  administration  once  a  month. 
The  suffrage  has  been  lowered  to  such  a  point  among  the 
refuse  population  of  the  gold  colonies,  that  representative 
government  is  there  a  very  dubious  blessing,  if  not  a  certain 
and  absolute  curse.  If  such  a  parliament  had  met  in  such  a 
crisis  as  the  American  Congress  lately  had  to  face,  it  is  both 
possible  and  probable  that  no  stable  administration  would 


382  THE  AMERICAN  CONSTITUTION  AT 

have  been  formed  at  all.     Every  possible  ministry  would  have 
been  tried  in  succession  ;  and  every  one  would  have  been  re- 
jected in  succession.     We  might  have  witnessed  debates  as  j 
aimless,  as  absurd,  as  unpractical,  in  their  tenor,  as  those  of  | 
certain  French  Parliaments,  without  the  culture  and  refine- 
ment which  made  the  latter  more  tolerable,  though  it  could 
not  make  them  more  wise. 

The  American  Constitution  has  at  least  the  merit  of  pre- 
venting this  last  extreme  of  political  degradation.      Having 
placed  Mr.  Lincoln,  an  unknown  man,  in  power,  it  has  at  least  \ 
prevented  his  being  superseded,  or  its  being  proposed  that  he  | 
should  be  superseded  by  some  other  equally  unknown  man.    i 
The  American   Constitution  necessitated  the  choice   for  the 
first  position  at  an  awful  crisis ;  it  has  at  least  settled  once 
for  all  who  he  should  be ;  it  has  compelled  a  conclusive  choice, 
which  an  Australian  Constitution  would  not  have  done. 

But  with  this  single  item  the  aid  which  the  American  ! 
Constitution  has  given  to  Mr.  Lincoln  in  his  presidency  begins 
and  ends.  It  has  put  him  there,  and  it  has  kept  him  there 
but  it  has  done  no  more.  He  has  had  to  carry  on  the  govern- 
ment with  new  subordinates ;  for  at  every  change  of  th< 
American  President,  all  the  officials,  from  the  cabinet  minister 
to  the  petty  postmaster,  are  changed.  So  far  from  giving 
him  any  special  powers  suitable  to  a  civil  war,  it  authori- 
tatively declares  that  the  right  of  the  people  to  keep  and 
bear  arms  shall  not  be  infringed ;  that  it  shall  be  illegal  "  to 
abridge  the  freedom  of  speech  or  of  the  press,  or  the  right  of 
the  people  peaceably  to  assemble  or  to  petition  for  a  redress 
of  grievance".  It  does  not  permit  the  punishment  of  any 
person,  or  the  confiscation  of  his  property,  except  after  satis- 
factory proof  before  a  civil  tribunal.  Even  now,  at  this  earb 
state  of  the  civil  contest,  martial  law  has  been  declared  ii 
Missouri  and  habeus  corpus  suspended  in  Baltimore;  the 
property  (slave-property,  certainly,  but  still  legal  property 
America)  of  Secessionists  has  been  confiscated ;  the  liberty 
speech  is  almost  at  an  end ;  the  liberty  of  the  press  has  ceasec 
to  exist.  These  last  are  indeed  infractions  of  the  law,  not  by 
the  administration,  but  by  the  mob ;  it  is  they,  and  not  Mr. 


THE  PRESENT  CRISIS  383 

Lincoln,  who  have  burnt  printers'  offices  and  proscribed 
dissentient  individuals.  But  Mr.  Lincoln  and  his  ministers 
have  broken,  and  have  been  obliged  to  break,  the  law  on 
almost  innumerable  occasions,  because  that  law  provided 
no  suitable  procedure  for  the  extreme  contingency  of  a 
great  civil  war.  The  framers  of  the  Constitution  shrank 
naturally,  and  perhaps  not  unwisely,  from  providing  against 
such  an  incalculable  peril.  They  may  have  not  unreasonably 
feared  that  they  might  augment  the  probability  of  such  a 
calamity  by  recognising  its  possibility,  even  in  order  to  provide 
against  it.  But  their  omission  must  have  been  grievously 
lamented  by  those  who  have  had  now  to  violate  the  law,  for 
it  may  hereafter  expose  them  to  imminent  danger.  The 
English  Parliament,  in  such  an  emergency,  could  and  would 
condone  every  well-intentioned  and  beneficial  irregularity  by  an 
act  of  indemnity.  But  the  American  Congress  cannot  do  so. 
Its  powers  are  limited  powers,  defined  by  the  letter  of  a  docu- 
ment ;  and  in  that  document  there  is  nothing  to  authorise  a 
bill  of  indemnity — nor,  indeed,  could  there  be  consistently 
with  the  very  nature  of  it  By  its  fundamental  conception, 
the  States  should  relinquish  certain  special  powers  to  the 
Federal  Government,  and  those  powers  only ;  if  the  Federal 
Government  could  pass  a  bill  of  indemnity  for  infractions  of 
the  law,  it  would  have  absolute  power;  it  would  be  a 
generally  sovereign  body,  like  the  King,  Lords,  and  Commons 
of  England  ;  it  would  have  over  the  States  of  America,  and 
over  their  people,  not  a  defined  and  limited  superiority,  but 
an  uncontrolled  and  unlimited  one.  Mr.  Lincoln  is,  therefore, 
in  peril  from  the  inseparable  accidents  of  the  office  he  holds ; 
he  is  a  President  under  a  Constitution  which  could  give  him 
only  defined  powers,  and  he  is  in  a  position  requiring  indefinite 
powers  ;  he  has  therefore  had  to  take  his  life  in  his  hand,  and 
violate  the  law.  At  present,  popular  opinion  approves  of  what 
he  has  done;  but  the  Republican  party,  of  which  he  is  the 
head,  has  many  bitter  enemies.  If  his  announced  aim  should 
be  successful,  and  he  should  re-establish  the  Union,  those 
enemies  will  be  reinforced  by  the  whole  constitutional  power 
of  the  whole  South,  bitterly  hostile  to  their  vanquisher, 


A 


384     AMERICAN  CONSTITUTION  AT  PRESENT  CRISIS 

bitterly  aggrieved  at  the  means  by  which  they  have  been  van- 
quished.    Against   such    a   coalition    of  enemies    it    will 
difficult  to  defend  the  illegal,  the  arbitrary,  the  impeachabl< 
acts  (for  such,  in  the  eye  of  American  law,  they  are)  of  whi< 
Mr.  Lincoln  has  been  guilty.     We  doubt  much  whether  h< 
can  succeed  in  compelling  the  South  to  return  to  the  Union 
but  if  he  should,  he  will  have  succeeded  at  his  peril. 

It  is  easy  to  sum  up  the  results  of  this  long  discussiu, 
We  cannot  regard  the  American  Constitution  with  the  defer- 
f  ence  and  the  admiration  with  which  all  Americans  used  to  rt 
gard  it,  and  with  which  many  Northern  Americans  still  regar< 
I  it.     We   admit  that  it   has  been  beneficial  to  the  America] 
Republic  as  a  bond    of  union  ;  it  has    prevented  war,  it  h; 
fostered  commerce,  it  has  made  them  a  nation  to  be  count< 
with.     But  it  always  contained  the  seeds  of  disunion.     Then 
is  no  chance  of  saving  such  a  polity  when  many  States  wisl 
to  separate  from  it,  for  the  simple  reason  that  its  whole  actio: 
essentially  depends  on  the  voluntary  union  of  all,  or  of  nearly 
all,  the  States.     So  far  from  its  being  wonderful  that  the  pre' 
sent  rupture  has  happened  now,  it  is  rather  wonderful  that  il 
did  not    happen    long  since.     It    is  rather  surprising  that  a 
Government,  which  in  practice,  though  not  in  theory,  is  depen- 
dent on  the  precarious  consent  of  many  distinct  bodies,  should 
have  lasted  so  long,  than  that  it  should  break  asunder  now. 
We  see,  too,  that  the  American  Constitution  was,  in  its  very 
essence,  framed  upon  an  erroneous  principle.     Its  wise  founders 
wished  to  guard  against  the  characteristic  evils  of  democracy  ; 
but  they  relied  for  this  purpose  upon  ingenious  devices  and 
superficial  subtilties.     They  left  the  essence  of  the  government 
unchanged  ;  they  left  the  sovereign  people,  sovereign  still.    As 
has  been  shown  in  detail,  the  effect  has  been  calamitous.     Their 
ingenuities  have  produced  painful  evils,  and  aggravated  great 
dangers  ;  but  they  have  failed  of  their  intended  purpose— they 
have  neither  refined  the  polity,  nor  restrained  the  people. 

END  OF  VOL.    III. 


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