must necessarily find their advantage in entrenching themselves behind
those prejudices, that could not be eradicated in a moment, I was
willing to wait for the hour of calmness and deliberation. I resolved
cooly to let the first gush of prepossession blow over, and the spring
tide of censure exhaust itself. I believed, that such a cause demanded
only a fair and candid hearing. I have endeavoured to discharge my part
in obtaining for it such a hearing. And I must leave the rest to my
readers.
Among these there probably will be some, who, struck with the force of
the arguments I have adduced on the one hand, and entangled in their
favourite prejudices on the other, will remain in a kind of suspence;
ashamed to retract their former opinions, but too honest to deny all
weight and consideration to those I have defended. To these I have one
word to say, and with that one word I will conclude. I will suppose you
to confess, that appearances, exclusive of the controverted step, are in
a thousand instances favourable to the new ministers. They have made the
strongest professions, and the largest promises of attachment to the
general cause. To professions and promises I do not wish you to trust. I
should blush to revive the odious and exploded maxim, not men, but
measures. If you cannot place some confidence in the present
administration, I advise you, as honest men, to do every thing in your
power to drive them from the helm. But you will hardly deny, that all
their former conduct has afforded reasons for confidence. You are ready
to admit, that, in no instance, but one, have they committed their
characters. In that one instance, they have much to say for themselves,
and it appears, at least, very possible, that they may have been acted
in it, by virtuous and generous principles, even though we should
suppose them mistaken. Remember then, that popularity and fame are the
very nutriment of virtue. A thirst for fame is not a weakness. It is
"the noble mind's distinguishing perfection." If then you would bind
administration by tenfold ties to the cause of liberty, do not withdraw
from them your approbation till they have forfeited it, by betraying, in
one plain and palpable instance, the principles upon which they have
formerly acted. I believe they need no new bonds, but are unchangeably
fixed in the generous system, with which they commenced. But thus much
is certain. If any thing can detach them from this glorious cause; if
any thing can cool their ardour for the common weal, there is nothing
that has half so great a tendency to effect this, as unmerited obloquy
and disgrace.
FINIS.
* * * * *
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INSTRUCTIONS
TO A
STATESMAN.
HUMBLY INSCRIBED TO
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
GEORGE EARL TEMPLE.
M.DCC.LXXXIV.
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE GEORGE EARL TEMPLE.
MY LORD,
The following papers fell into my hands by one of those unaccountable
accidents, so frequent in human life, but which in the relation appear
almost incredible. I will not however trouble your lordship with the
story. If they be worthy of the press, it is of no great consequence to
the public how they found their way thither. If they afford your
lordship a moment's amusement, amidst the weightier cares incident to
your rank and fortune, I have obtained my end.
I have endeavoured in vain to investigate who was their author, and to
whom they were addressed. It should seem, from the internal evidence of
the composition, that they were written by a person, who was originally
of a low rank or a menial station, but who was distinguished by his lord
for those abilities and talents, he imagined he discovered in him. I
have learned, by a kind of vague tradition, upon which I can place
little dependence, that the noble pupil was the owner of a magnificent
_ch√Ęteau_ not a hundred miles from your lordship's admired seat in the
county of Buckingham. It is said that this nobleman, amidst a thousand
curiosities with which his gardens abounded, had the unaccountable whim
of placing a kind of artificial hermit in one of its wildest and most
solitary recesses. This hermit it seems was celebrated through the whole
neighbourhood, for his ingenuity in the carving of tobacco-stoppers, and
a variety of other accomplishments. Some of the peasants even mistook
him for a conjuror. If I might be allowed in the conjectural licence of
an editor, I should be inclined to ascribe the following composition to
this celebrated and ingenious solitaire.
Since however this valuable tract remains without an owner, I thought it
could not be so properly addressed to any man as your lordship. I would
not however be misunderstood. I do not imagine that the claim this
performance has upon the public attention, consists in the value and
excellence of it's precepts. On the contrary, I consider it as the
darkest and most tremendous scheme for the establishment of despotism
that ever was contrived. If the public enter into my sentiments upon the
subject, they will consider it as effectually superseding Machiavel's
celebrated treatise of The Prince, and exhibiting a more deep-laid and
desperate system of tyranny. For my part, I esteem these great and
destructive vices of so odious a nature, that they need only be exposed
to the general view in order to the being scouted by all. And if, which
indeed I cannot possibly believe, there has been any noble lord in this
kingdom mean enough to have studied under such a preceptor, I would
willingly shame him out of his principles, and hold up to him a glass,
which shall convince him how worthy he is of universal contempt and
abhorrence.
The true reason, my lord, for which I have presumed to prefix your name
to these sheets is, that the contrast between the precepts they contain,
and the ingenuous and manly character that is universally attributed to
your lordship, may place them more strongly in the light they deserve.
And yet I doubt not there will be some readers perverse enough to
imagine that you are the true object of the composition. They will find
out some of those ingenious coincidences, by which The Rape of the Lock,
was converted into a political poem, and the _Telemaque_ of the amiable
Fenelon into a satire against the government under which he lived. I
might easily appeal, against these treacherous commentators, to the
knowledge of all men reflecting every corner of your lordship's gardens
at Stowe. I might boldly defy any man to say, that they now contain, or
ever did contain, one of these artificial hermits. But I will take up
your lordship's defence upon a broader footing. I will demonstrate how
contrary the character of your ancestors and your own have always been
to the spirit and temper here inculcated. If this runs me a little into
the beaten style of dedication, even the modesty of your lordship will
excuse me, when I have so valuable a reason for adopting it.
I shall confine myself, my lord, in the few thoughts I mean to suggest
upon this head, to your two more immediate ancestors, men distinguished
above the common rate, by their virtues or their abilities. Richard earl
Temple, your lordship's immediate predecessor, as the representative of
your illustrious house, will be long remembered by posterity under the
very respectable title of the friend of the earl of Chatham. But though
his friend, my lord, we well know that he did not implicitly follow the
sentiments of a man, who was assuredly the first star in the political
hemisphere, and whose talents would have excused, if any thing could
have excused, an unsuspecting credulity. The character of lord Chatham
was never, but in one instance, tarnished. He did not sufficiently dread
the omnipotence of the favourite. He fondly imagined that before a
character so brilliant, and success so imposing as his had been, no
little system of favouritism could keep its ground. Twice, my lord, he
was upon the brink of the precipice, and once he fell. When he trembled
on the verge, who was it that held him back? It was Richard earl Temple.
Twice he came, like his guardian angel, and snatched him from his fate.
Lord Chatham indeed was formed to champ the bit, and spurn indignant at
every restraint. He knew the superiority of his abilities, he
recollected that he had twice submitted to the honest counsels of his
friend, and he disdained to listen any longer to a coolness, that
assimilated but ill to the adventurousness of his spirit; and to a
hesitation, that wore in his apprehension the guise of timidity. What
then did Richard earl Temple do? There he fixed his standard, and there
he pitched his tent. Not a step farther would he follow a leader, whom
to follow had been the boast of his life. He erected a fortress that
might one day prove the safeguard of his misguided and unsuspecting
friend.
And yet, my lord, the character of Richard earl Temple, was not that of
causeless suspicion. He proved himself, in a thousand instances, honest,
trusting, and sincere. He was not, like some men, that you and I know,
dark, dispassionate, and impenetrable. On the contrary, no man mistook
him, no man ever charged him with a double conduct or a wrinkled heart.
His countenance was open, and his spirit was clear. He was a man of
passions, my lord. He acted in every momentous concern, more from the
dictates of his heart, than his head. But this is the key to his
conduct; He kept a watchful eye upon that bane of every patriot
minister, _secret influence_. If there were one feature in his political
history more conspicuous than the rest, if I were called to point out
the line of discrimination between his character and that of his
contemporaries upon the public stage, it would be the _hatred of secret
influence_.
Such, my lord, was one of your immediate ancestors, whose name, to this
day, every honest Briton repeats with veneration. I will turn to another
person, still more nearly related to you, and who will make an equal
figure in the history of the age in which he lived, Mr. George
Grenville. His character has been represented to us by a writer of no
mean discernment, as that of "shrewd and inflexible." He was a man of
indefatigable industry and application. He possessed a sound
understanding, and he trusted it. This is a respectable description.
Integrity and independency, however mistaken, are entitled to praise.
What was it, my lord, that he considered as the ruin of his reputation?
What was it, that defeated all the views of an honest ambition, and
deprived his country of the services, which his abilities, under proper
direction, were qualified to render it? My lord, it was _secret
influence_. It was in vain for ministers to be able to construct their
plans with the highest wisdom, and the most unwearied diligence; it was
in vain that they came forward like men, and risqued their places, their
characters, their all, upon measures, however arduous, that they thought
necessary for the salvation of their country. They were defeated, by
what, my lord? By abilities greater than their own? By a penetration
that discovered blots in their wisest measures? By an opposition bold
and adventurous as themselves? No: but, by the _lords of the
bedchamber_; by a "band of Janissaries who surrounded the person of the
prince, and were ready to strangle the minister upon the nod of a
moment."
With these illustrious examples ever rushing upon your memory, no man
can doubt that your lordship has inherited that detestation of
_influence_ by which your ancestors were so honourably distinguished. My
lord, having considered the high expectations, which the virtues of your
immediate progenitors had taught us to form upon the heir of them both,
we will recollect for a moment the promises that your first outset in
life had made to your country.
One of your lordship's first actions upon record, consists in the high
professions you made at the county meeting of Buckingham, in that
ever-venerable aera of oeconomy and reform, the spring of 1780. My lord,
there are certain offices of sinecure, not dependent upon the caprice of
a minister, which this country has reserved to reward those illustrious
statesmen, who have spent their lives, and worn out their constitutions
in her service. No man will wonder, when he recollects from whom your
lordship has the honour to be descended, that one of these offices is in
your possession. This, my lord, was the subject of your generous and
disinterested professions. You told your countrymen, that with this
office you were ready to part. If a reformation so extensive were
thought necessary, you were determined, not merely to be no obstacle to
the design, but to be a volunteer in the service. You came forward in
the eye of the world, with your patent in your hand. You were ready to
sacrifice that parchment, the precious instrument of personal wealth and
private benevolence, at the shrine of patriotism.
Here then, my lord, you stood pledged to your country. What were we not
to expect from the first patriot of modern story? Your lordship will
readily imagine that our expectations were boundless and indefinite.
"Glorious and immortal man!" we cried, "go on in this untrodden path. We
will no longer look with drooping and cheerless anxiety upon the
misfortunes of Britain, we have a resource for them all. The patriot of
Stowe is capable of every thing. He does not resemble the vulgar herd of
mortals, he does not form his conduct upon precedent, nor defend it by
example. Virtue of the first impression was never yet separated from
genius. We will trust then in the expedients of his inexhaustible mind.
We will look up to him as our assured deliverer.--We are well acquainted
with the wealth of the proprietor of Stowe. Thanks, eternal thanks to
heaven, who has bestowed it with so liberal a hand! We consider it as a
deposit for the public good. We count his acres, and we calculate his
income, for we know that it is, in the best sense of the word, our own."
My lord, these are the prejudices, which Englishmen have formed in your
favour. They cannot refuse to trust a man, descended from so illustrious
progenitors. They cannot suspect any thing dark and dishonourable in the
generous donor of 2700_l_. a year. Let then the commentators against
whom I am providing, abjure the name of Briton, or let them pay the
veneration that is due to a character, in every view of the subject, so
exalted as that of your lordship.
I have the honour to be,
MY LORD,
with the most unfeigned respect,
your lordship's
most obedient,
most devoted servant.
INSTRUCTIONS
TO A
STATESMAN.
MY LORD,
I have long considered as the greatest happiness of my life, the having
so promising a pupil as your lordship. Though your abilities are
certainly of the very first impression, they are not however of that
vague and indefinite species, which we often meet with in persons, who,
if providence had so pleased, would have figured with equal adroitness
in the character of a shoe-black or a link-boy, as they now flatter
themselves they can do in that of a minister of state. You, my lord,
were born with that accomplishment of secrecy and retentiveness, which
the archbishop of Cambray represents Telemachus as having possessed in
so high a degree in consequence of the mode of his education. You were
always distinguished by that art, never to be sufficiently valued, of
talking much and saying nothing. I cannot recollect, and yet my memory
is as great, as my opportunity for observation has been considerable,
that your lordship, when a boy, ever betrayed a single fact that chanced
to fall within your notice, unless indeed it had some tendency to
procure a school-fellow a whipping. I have often remarked your lordship
with admiration, talking big and blustering loud, so as to frighten
urchins who were about half your lordship's size, when you had no
precise meaning in any thing you said. And I shall never forget, the
longest day I have to live, when I hugged you in my arms in a kind of
prophetic transport, in consequence of your whispering me, in the midst
of a room-full of company, in so sly a manner that nobody could observe
you, that you had just seen John the coachman bestow upon Betty the
cook-maid, a most devout and cordial embrace. From your rawest infancy
you were as much distinguished, as Milton represents the goddess Hebe to
have been, by "nods and becks and wreathed smiles;" with this
difference, that in her they were marks of gaiety, and in you of
demureness; that in her they were unrestrained and general, and in you
intended only for a single _confidant_. My lord, reflecting upon all
these circumstances, it is not to be wondered at that I treated your
lordship even in clouts with the reverence due to an infant Jove, and
always considered myself as superintending the institution of the first
statesman that ever existed.
But, my lord, it has ever been my opinion, that let nature do as much as
she will, it is in the power of education to do still more. The many
statesmanlike qualities that you brought into the world with you,
sufficiently prove, that no man was ever more deeply indebted to the
bounty of nature than your lordship. And yet of all those qualities she
has bestowed upon you, there is not one that I hold in half so much
esteem, as that docility, which has ever induced you to receive my
instructions with implicit veneration. It is true, my coat is fustian,
and my whole accoutrement plebeian. My shoes are clouted, and it is long
since the wig that defends this penetrating brain, could boast a crooked
hair. But you, my lord, have been able to discover the fruit through the
thick and uncomely coat by which it was concealed; you have cracked the
nut and have a right to the kernel.
My lord, I thought it necessary to premise these observations, before I
entered upon those important matters of disquisition, which will form
the object of my present epistle. It is unnecessary for me to inform a
person of so much discernment as your lordship, that education is, by
its very nature, a thing of temporary duration. Your lordship's
education has been long, and there have been cogent reasons why it
should be so. God grant, that when left to walk the world alone, you be
not betrayed into any of those unlucky blunders, from the very verge of
which my provident hand has often redeemed your lordship! Do not mistake
me, my lord, when I talk of the greatness of your talents. It is now too
late to flatter: This is no time for disguise. Pardon me therefore, my
dear and ever-honoured pupil, if I may seem to offend against those
minuter laws of etiquette, which were made only for common cases. At so
important a crisis it is necessary to be plain.
Your lordship is very cunning, but I never imagined that you were
remarkably wise. The talents you received at your birth, if we were to
speak with mathematical strictness, should rather be denominated knacks,
than abilities. They consist rather in a lucky dexterity of face, and a
happy conformation of limb, than in any very elevated capacities of the
intellect. Upon that score, my lord,--you know I am fond of comparisons,
and I think I have hit upon one in this case, that must be acknowledged
remarkably apposite. I have sometimes seen a ditch, the water of which,
though really shallow, has appeared to careless observers to be very
deep, for no other reason but because it was muddy. Believe me, my lord,
experienced and penetrating observers are not so to be taken in.
But, as I was saying, education is a temporary thing, and your
lordship's, however lasting and laborious, is at length brought to a
period. My lord, if it so pleases the sovereign disposer of all things,
I would be very well satisfied to remain in this sublunary state for
some years longer, if it were only that I might live to rejoice in the
exemplification of my precepts in the conduct of my pupil. But, if this
boon be granted to my merits and my prayers, at any rate I shall from
this moment retire from the world. From henceforth my _secret influence_
is brought to its close. I will no longer be the unseen original of the
grand movements of the figures that fill the political stage. I will
stand aloof from the giddy herd. I will not stray from my little vortex.
I will look down upon the transactions of courts and ministers, like an
etherial being from a superior element. There I shall hope to see your
lordship outstrip your contemporaries, and tower above the pigmies of
the day. To repeat an idea before delivered, might be unbecoming in a
fine writer, but it is characteristic and beautiful under the personage
of a preceptor. The fitnesses which nature bestowed upon your frame
would not have done alone. But joined with the lessons I have taught
you, they cannot fail, unless I grossly flatter myself, to make the part
which your lordship shall act sufficiently conspicuous.
Receive then, my lord, with that docility and veneration, which have at
all times made the remembrance of you pleasant and reviving to my heart,
the last communications of the instructor of your choice. Yes, my lord,
from henceforth you shall see me, you shall hear from me no more. From
this consideration I infer one reason why you should deeply reflect upon
the precepts I have now to offer. Remembering that these little sheets
are all the legacy my affection can bestow upon you, I shall concenter
in them the very quintessence and epitome of all my wisdom. I shall
provide in them a particular antidote to those defects to which nature
has made you most propense.