In the last No. of the _Edinburgh Review_, there is an admirably written
article on Hallam's "Constitutional History," not a mere essay, but
somewhat more like a review than usual. It contains an abundance of
florid, bold, and vigorous writing, extending through upwards of 70
pages. Among the most striking passages we notice a parallel between
Cromwell and Napoleon, drawn with considerable force. But our extract is
from the lighter portion, as the following ludicrous sketches of some of
the enormities of Charles II. "Towards the close of the Protectorate,
many signs indicated that a time of license was at hand. But the
restoration of Charles II rendered the change wonderfully rapid and
violent. A deep and general taint infected the morals of the most
influential classes, and spread itself through every province of
letters. Poetry inflamed the passions; philosophy undermined the
principles; divinity itself, inculcating an abject reverence for the
court, gave additional effect to its licentious example. ... The
favourite duchess stamps about Whitehall, cursing and swearing. The
ministers employ their time at the council board in making mouths at
each other, and taking off each other's gestures for the amusement of
the king. The peers at a conference begin to pommel each other, and to
tear collars and periwigs. A speaker in the House of Commons gives
offence to the court. He is way-laid by a gang of bullies, and his nose
is cut to the bone. ... The second generation of the statesmen of this
reign, were worthy of the schools in which they had been trained, of the
gaming table of Grammont, and the tiring room of Nell ----." This is but
a small portion of the good set terms in which the reviewer illustrates
the licentiousness of the times. Speaking of Clarendon, he says, "Mr.
Hallam scarcely makes sufficient allowance for the wear and tear which
honesty almost necessarily sustains in the friction of political life,
and which in times so rough as those through which Clarendon passed,
must be very considerable. When these are fairly estimated, we think
that his integrity may be allowed to pass muster." Perhaps political
honesty is like Joseph Surface's French plate, or the tinsel spread over
a pair of Birmingham saleshop candlesticks, whose tenderness will not
withstand the wear and tear of conveyance in the purchaser's pocket. But
the oddity of the reviewer's comparisons even puts one in good humour
with their virulence.
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