Notwithstanding the Duke’s kind notice and patronage, Captain von Rahden

takes occasion to attack his grace for an expression used by him in the

House of Lords in 1836, during a debate on a motion for the abolition of

corporal punishment in the army. The Duke maintained that such

punishment was necessary for the preservation of discipline; and on the

Prussian army being cited as a proof of the contrary, he referred, in no

very flattering terms, to the state of discipline of Blucher’s troops in

1815. There was some talk about the matter at the time, and an indignant

answer to the Duke’s assertion, written by the German general, Von

Grolman, was translated in the English journals. Baron von Rahden

himself, as he tells us, took advantage of being in London on the

anniversary of Waterloo, 1836, to perpetrate a little paragraph

scribbling, in certain evening papers, with respect to the battle, and

to the share borne in it by old MARSCHALL VORWAERTS and his men. That

the campaigns of 1813-15 were most creditable to Prussian courage and

patriotism, none will dispute; that the discipline of the Prussian army

was then by no means first-rate, is equally positive. Nay, its

mediocrity is easy to infer from passages in Baron von Rahden’s own

book. Without affirming it to have been at the lowest ebb, it was

certainly not such as could find approval with one who, for five years,

had ranged the Peninsula at the head of the finest troops in Europe. As

to who won the battle of Waterloo, the discussion of that question is

long since at an end. The Baron claims a handsome share of the glory for

his countrymen, and insists, that if they were rather late for the

fight, they at least made themselves very useful in pursuit of the

beaten foe. “If their discipline, had been so very bad,” he says, “they

could hardly, on the second day after a defeat, have come up to the

_rescue_ of their allied brethren.” The arrival of the Prussians was

certainly opportune; but, had they not come up, there cannot be a doubt

that Wellington, if he had done no more, would have held his own, and

maintained the field all night: for he commanded men who, according to

his great opponent’s own admission, “knew not when they were beaten.”

“Old General Blucher was a sworn foe of all unnecessary wordiness and

commendation. ‘What do you extol?’ he once said, to put an end to the

eulogiums lavished on him for a gloriously won victory. ‘It is my

boldness, Gneisenau’s judgment, and the mercy of the Great God.’ Let us

add, and the stubborn courage and perseverance of a faithful people and

a brave army. Without these thoroughly national qualities of our troops,

such great results would never have followed the closing act of the

mighty struggle of 1813, 1814, and 1815. General Gneisenau’s

unparalleled pursuit of the French after the battle of La Belle

Alliance, could never have taken place, had not our troops displayed

vigour and powers of endurance wonderful to reflect upon. The instant

and rapid chase commanded by Gneisenau was only to cease when the last

breath and strength of man and horse were exhausted. Thus was it that,

by daybreak on the 19th June, he and his Prussians found themselves at

Frasne, nearly six leagues from the field of battle, which they had left

at half-past ten at night. Only a few squadrons had kept up with him;

all the infantry remained behind; but the French army that had fought so

gallantly at Waterloo and La Belle Alliance, was totally destroyed.”

The battle won, a courier was instantly despatched to the King of

Prussia. The person chosen to convey the glorious intelligence was

Colonel von Thile, now a general, commanding the Rhine district. From

that officer’s narrative of his journey, the Baron gives some

interesting extracts.

“In the course of fight,” Von Thile _loquitur_, “I had lost sight of my

servant, and of my second horse, a capital gray. The brown charger I

rode was wounded and tired, and it was at a slow pace that I started, to

endeavour to reach Brussels that night. A Wurtemberg courier had also

been sent off, the only one, besides myself, who carried the good news

to Germany. Whilst my weary steed threatened each moment to sink under

my weight, the Wurtemberger galloped by, and with him went my hopes of

being the first to announce the victory to the king. Suddenly I

perceived my gray trotting briskly towards me. I wasted little time in

scolding my servant; I thought only of overtaking the Wurtemberger.

“At Brussels I learned from the postmaster that my fortunate rival had

left ten minutes before me, in a light carriage with a pair of swift

horses. I followed: close upon his heels every where, but unable to

catch him up. At last, on the evening of the third day, I came in sight

of him; his axle-tree was broken; his carriage lay useless on the road.

I might have dashed past in triumph; but I refrained, and offered to

take him with me, on condition that I should be the first to proclaim

the victory. He joyfully accepted the proposal; and I was rewarded for

my good nature, for he was of great service to me.”

Von Thile expected to find the king at Frankfort-on-the-Main; but he had

not yet arrived, and the colonel continued his hurried journey, by

Heidelberg and Fulda, to Naumberg.

“Five days and nights unceasing fatigue and exertion had exhausted my

strength, but nevertheless I pushed forward, and on the following

morning reached Naumberg on the Saal. In the suburb, on this side the

river, I fell in with Prussian troops, returning, covered with dust and

in very indifferent humour, from a review passed by the king. At last

then I was at my journey’s end. They asked me what news I brought: all

expected some fresh misfortune, for only an hour previously intelligence

of the defeat at Ligny had arrived, and upon parade the king had been

ungracious and out of temper. I took good care not to breathe a word of

my precious secret, and hurried on. In the further suburb I met the

king’s carriage. We stopped; I jumped out.

“‘Your majesty! a great, a glorious victory! Napoleon annihilated; a

hundred and fifty guns captured!’ And I handed him a paper containing a

few lines in Prince Blucher’s handwriting. The king devoured them with

his eyes, and cast a grateful tearful glance to Heaven.

“‘TWO HUNDRED CANNON, according to this,’ was his first exclamation, in

tones of heartfelt delight and satisfaction.

“I followed his majesty into the town. The newly instituted assembly of

Saxon States was convoked, and the king made a speech announcing the

victory. And truly I never heard such speaking before or since. I was

ordered to go on to Berlin with my good news. This was in fact

unnecessary, for a courier had already been despatched, but the king

knew that my family, from which I had been two years separated, was at

Berlin, and he wished to procure me the pleasure of seeing it. For that

noble and excellent monarch was also the kindest and best of men.”

Soon after Waterloo, Baron von Rahden appears to have left the service;

for he informs us, that between 1816 and 1830 he made long residences in

Russia, Holland, and England. Perhaps he found garrison life an

unendurable change from the stir and activity of campaigns, and

travelled to seek excitement. Be that as it may, fifteen years’ repose

did not extinguish his martial ardour. The echoes awakened by the tramp

of a French army marching upon Antwerp, were, to the veteran of Leipzig,

like trumpet-sound to trained charger, and he hurried to exchange

another shot with his old enemies. Having once more brought hand and

hilt acquainted, he grieved to sever them, and when the brief struggle

in Belgium terminated, he looked about for a fresh field of action.

Spain was the only place where bullets were just then flying, and

thither the Baron betook himself, to defend the cause of legitimacy

under Cabrera’s blood-stained banner. Concerning his travels, and his

later campaigns, he promises his readers a second and a third volume;

and the favourable reception the first has met with in Germany, will

doubtless encourage him to redeem his pledge.

LAPPENBERG’S ANGLO-SAXONS.

THE HEPTARCHY.

We are willing to acknowledge, without blindly exaggerating, our

obligations to the men of learning of Germany, in several branches of

art and science. We owe them something in criticism, something in

philosophy, and a great deal in philology. But in no department have

they deserved better of the commonwealth of letters, than in the

important province of antiquarian history, where their erudition, their

research, their patience, their impartiality, are invaluable. Whatever

subject they select is made their own, and is so thoroughly studied in

all its circumstantial details and collateral bearings, that new and

original views of the truth are sure to be unfolded, as the fixed gaze

of an unwearied eye will at last elicit light and order out of apparent

darkness and confusion.

The writer, whose chief work is now before us, cannot and would not, we

know, prefer a claim to the foremost place among those who have thus

distinguished themselves. That honour is conceded by all to the name of

Niebuhr, a master mind who stands unrivalled in his own domain, and

whose discoveries, promulgated with no advantage of style or manner, and

in opposition to prejudices long and deeply cherished, have wrought a

revolution in the study of ancient history to which there is scarcely a

parallel. But among those who are next in rank, Dr. Lappenberg is

entitled to a high position. His present work is one of the very best of

a series of European histories of great merit and utility. He has given

fresh interest to a theme that seemed worn out and exhausted. He has

brought forward new facts, and evolved new conclusions that had eluded

the observation and sagacity of able and industrious predecessors. He

has treated the history of a country, not his own, with as much care and

correctness, and with as true a feeling of national character and

destinies as if he had been a native; while he has brought to his task a

calmness of judgment, and freedom from prejudice, as well as a range of

illustration from extraneous sources, which a native could scarcely be

expected to command. It must now, we think, be granted, that the best

history of Saxon England--the most complete, the most judicious, the

most unbiassed, and the most profound, is the work of a foreigner. It

must, at the same time, be said that Lappenberg’s history could not have

exhibited this high degree of excellence, without the ample assistance

afforded by the labours of our countrymen who had gone before him, and

of which their successor has freely taken the use and frankly

acknowledged the value.

The history and character of our Anglo-Saxon ancestors, have employed

the pen of the most illustrious among our native writers. One of our

greatest poets, and one of our greatest masters of prose,--Milton and

Burke--have felt the attraction and importance of the subject, at the

same time that they have given evidence to its obscurity and difficulty.

In later times men of less genius, but of more acquaintance with the

times and topics involved in the inquiry, have added greatly to our

knowledge of those important events and institutions in which the germs

of our present government and national disposition are to be found. But

Saxon England can only be thoroughly understood by means of aids and

appliances, which have been seldom possessed in any eminent degree by

the general run of our antiquarian writers. A thorough familiarity with

the Anglo-Saxon language and literature is obviously the first

requisite: yet this attainment was scarcely to be met with till within a

few years back, and even now, we fear that it is confined to a narrow

circle, and that the able men who have made progress in this arduous

path, lament that they have so slender and so scattered a train of

followers. If we can suppose inquirers studying Roman history, without

being able to conjugate a Latin verb, or to gather more than a dim

suspicion of a Latin author’s meaning, we shall have a case nearly

analogous to the condition and achievements of our Saxon scholars in the

last, and even in part of the present century. Another qualification for

the successful cultivation of this field of study, is an intimate

acquaintance with the analogous customs and traditions of kindred

countries, an accomplishment which few Englishmen could till lately

pretend to possess, but without which, a great deal of what occurs in

our own early history must seem senseless and unintelligible. The key to

many apparent mysteries in English antiquities, is often to be found in

something which has been more clearly developed elsewhere, and which may

even yet survive in a Danish song or saga, or a German proverb or

superstition.

In these respects, our kinsmen across the water have undoubtedly the

advantage of us; and to most of them the subject of English history

cannot be alien in interest or barren of attraction. It is impossible

for an enlightened native or neighbour of continental Saxony, to tread

the southern shore of the North Sea, and think of the handful of his

countrymen who, fourteen centuries ago, embarked for Britain from that

very strand, without feeling the great results involved in that simple

incident, and owning the sacred sympathies which unite him with men of

English blood. He may well remember with wonder that the few exiles or

emigrants who thus went forth on an obscure and uncertain enterprise

carried in their bark the destinies of a mighty moral empire, which was

one day to fill the world with the glory of the Saxon name, and to

revive the valour and virtue of Greece and Rome, with a new admixture of

Teutonic honour and Christian purity. He may well kindle with pride to

admire the eminence to which that adventurous colony has attained from

such small beginnings, and to consider how much the old Germanic virtues

of truth and honesty, and home-bred kindliness, have conduced to that

marvellous result; while perhaps the less pleasing thought may at times

overshadow his mind, that his country, great as she is, has in some

things been outstripped by her descendant, and that the best

excellencies and institutions of ancient Germany may have been less

faithfully preserved and less nobly matured in their native soil than in

the favoured island to which some shoots of them were then transplanted.

If some such feelings prompted or encouraged the writer of these volumes

to engage in his work, Dr. Lappenberg had other facilities to aid him in

the task. He had been sent to Scotland in early life, and had studied at

our metropolitan university where he is still kindly remembered by some

who will be among the first to peruse those pages. His residence in this

ancient city of the Angles, and his visits to the most interesting

portions of the island, must have formed a familiarity and sympathy with

our language, manners, and institutions which would afford additional

inducements and qualifications to undertake a history of England. He has

distinguished himself by other valuable compositions of a historical and

antiquarian character, and particularly by some connected with the

mediæval jurisprudence and history of his native city of Hamburgh. But

his reputation will probably be most widely diffused, and most

permanently preserved, by the admirable work which is the subject of our

present remarks.

The labours of Mr. Thorpe, so well known as one of the very few

accomplished Saxonists of whom we can boast, has now, after much

discouragement, placed the Anglo-Saxon portion of Lappenberg’s history

within the reach of English readers, and has given it a new value by his

own additions and illustrations. The translation ought to be found in

the library of every one among us who professes to study the history or

to patronize the literature of his country.

The invasion or occupation of England by German tribes is involved in an

obscurity, which does not disappear before a rigorous examination of its

traditional details. On the contrary, the more we consider it the less

certainly we can pronounce as to the truth. That on the departure of the

Romans in the fifth century, a full and continuous stream of German

population found its way into Britain, and that ere long the invading

race gained the ascendant, and planted firmly in the soil their laws,

their language, and their institutions, are facts established by a cloud

of witnesses, and by that real evidence which lawyers consider superior

to testimony. But how, or at what exact date this process commenced,

under whose leadership or auspices it was carried on, and with what

rapidity, or through what precise channels the tide flowed, are matters

of more difficulty, on which, from the want of authentic materials, it

is idle to dogmatise, however unpleasant it may be to remain in doubt.

There is no want of ancient narratives of these supposed events; but

though ancient as to us, they are neither so near the time to which they

refer, nor so clear and consistent with probability, and with each

other, as to command implicit deference.

Dr. Lappenberg, leaning perhaps too readily to the German theory of

mythes, sees little in the history and achievements of Hengist and Horsa

which can be considered authentic. Mr. Thorpe, on the other hand, is

less sceptical, and while directing our notice to the fact that the

northern tribes occasionally submitted to the command of double leaders,

he has adduced in evidence the ancient poetical celebrity of Hengist as

a Jutish hero. The episode from Beowulf, which he has inserted and ably

translated in a note, is interesting and important in this view. But,

after all, we confess that our mind remains in a state of suspense. We

think the proof sufficient neither to justify a belief in the existence

of the two chiefs, nor to authorise us in consigning them to non-entity;

and we hold it an important duty in historical criticism to proportion

our conclusions precisely to the premises from which they are deduced.

Where there is good evidence, we should believe; where the evidence is

incoherent or impossible, we should disbelieve. But there are conditions

of a historical question where we can legitimately arrive at no opinion

either way, and where we must be content to leave the fact in

uncertainty, by a verdict of _not proven_.

There is no historian, we think, who mentions Hengist or Horsa, until at

an interval of two or three hundred years after their supposed era; and

what sort of interval had thus elapsed? A period of pagan obscurity,

passed by the invaders in incessant conflicts, for a home and

habitation, or for existence itself,--a period of which not a relic even

of poetical tradition has survived, and in which the means of recording

events, or of calculating time, were wholly different from our modern

apparatus, and are too little known to let us judge of their

sufficiency. The celebrity of Hengist in the old Saxon epics, but in

which he is never, we think, connected with the invasion of England,

appears to be a double-edged weapon, and may even account for his name

being taken as a convenient stock to bear a graft of later romance. If

we add to all this the tendency of the age to fiction and exaggeration,

the marks of a fabulous character, so forcibly pointed out by Lappenberg

in the recurrence of certain fixed numbers or periods of years, chiefly

on an octonary system, as distinguished by conspicuous events, the

divine genealogies attributed to the heroes, and the resemblance in

incident to similar traditions in other ages or scenes, we shall easily

see the unsteady footing on which the question stands, and be obliged to

own, that, if our belief must be renounced in Romulus and Remus, we can

scarcely go to the stake for Hengist and Horsa. It is remarkable, that

while the Roman brothers are said to bear one and the same name in

different forms, the appellations of the Anglo-Saxon leaders are also so

far identical, as each signifying the warlike animal which is said to

have been emblazoned on the Saxon banner.

It should be satisfactory to our West-British brethren, that Lappenberg

sees no reason to distrust the existence of the illustrious Arthur, but

he admits too readily the questionable discovery of his grave.

“The contemporary who records the victory at Bath gained by his

countrymen in the first year of his life, and who bears witness

of its consequences after a lapse of forty-four years, Gildas,

surnamed the Wise, considers it superfluous to mention the name

of the far-famed victor; but his wide-spread work, and the yet

more wide-spread extracts from it in Beda, have reached no

region in which the fame of King Arthur had not outstript them,

the noble champion who defended the liberty, usages, and

language of the ancient country from destruction by savage

enemies; who protected the cross against the Pagans, and gained

security to the churches most distinguished for their antiquity

and various knowledge, to which a considerable portion of Europe

owes both its Christianity and some of its most celebrated

monasteries. Called to such high-famed deeds, he needed not the

historian to live through all ages more brilliantly than the

heroes of the chronicles, among whom he is counted from the time

of Jeffrey of Monmouth; but, not to mention the works which,

about the year 720, Eremita Britannus is said to have composed

on the Holy Graal, and on the deeds of King Arthur, the rapid

spread of Jeffrey’s work over the greater part of Europe, proves

that the belief in the hero of it was deeply rooted. In the

twelfth century a Greek poem, recently restored to light, was

composed in celebration of Arthur and the heroes of the round

table. Still more manifestly, however, do the numerous local

memorials, which throughout the whole of the then Christian part

of Europe, from the Scottish hills to Mount Etna, bear allusion

to the name of Arthur; while on the other hand, the more

measured veneration of the Welsh poets for that prince, who

esteem his general, Geraint, more highly than the king himself,

and even relate that the latter, far from being always

victorious, surrendered Hampshire and Somersetshire to the

Saxons, may be adduced as no worthless testimony for the

historic existence of King Arthur. Even those traditions

concerning him, which at the first glance seem composed in

determined defiance of all historic truth,--those which recount

the expedition against the Romans on their demand of subjection

from him,--appear not totally void of foundation, when we call

to mind that a similar expedition actually took place in Gaul;

and are, moreover, informed, on the most unquestionable

authority, of another undertaking in the year 468, on the demand

of Anthemius, by the British general Riothamus, who led twelve

thousand Britons across the ocean against the Visigoths in Gaul,

and of his battles on the Loire. This very valuable narrative

gives us some insight into the connexions and resources of those

parts of Britain which had not yet been afflicted with the Saxon

pirates.

“Arthur fell in a conflict on the river Camel, in Cornwall,

against his nephew, Medrawd; his death was, however, long kept

secret, and his countrymen waited many years for his return, and

his protection against the Saxons. The discovery of his

long-concealed grave in the abbey of Glastonbury, is mentioned

by credible contemporaries, and excited at the time no suspicion

of any religious or political deception. Had the king of

England, Henry the Second, who caused the exhumation of the

coffin in the year 1189, wished merely, through an artifice, to

convince the Welsh of the death of their national hero, he would

hardly himself have acted so conspicuous a part on the occasion.

Poem and tradition bear witness to the spirit and his ashes, and

the gravestone to the life and name of Arthur. Faith in the

existence of this Christian Celtic Hector cannot be shaken by

short-sighted doubt, though much must yet be done for British

story, to render the sense latent in the poems of inspired

bards, which have in many cases reached us only in spiritless

paraphrases, into the sober language of historic criticism.”

It appears not unlikely, that the period fixed by the traditions for the

arrival of the Saxons does not truly indicate the first settlement of

their countrymen on our shores. In East Anglia, (Norfolk and Suffolk) as

well as in Northumbria, and perhaps indefinitely to the north-east,

successive colonies of German immigrants had probably found a home on

islands at the mouths of rivers, or on barren tracts of sea-beach, along

a thinly peopled and ill cultivated country. The cautious and tentative

occupation of the shore thus taken, may have ultimately suggested the

invitation of the Saxons, or facilitated their invasion of Britain in

the deserted and distracted state in which the Romanised inhabitants

were left, when their masters and protectors withdrew.

The introduction of Christianity among the English Saxons, is the first

great event in their annals, that stands brightly out in the light of

history. To whom we are indebted for this mighty and merciful

revolution, does not, we think, admit of controversy. Though no friends

to the corruptions or ambition of Rome, we cannot withhold from the

Roman see the honour that here belongs to it, and for the service thus

rendered to England, to Europe, and to mankind, the name of Gregory the

Great deserves a place in a nobler calendar than that in which the

saints of his own church are enrolled. The liberal spirit in which the

mission was in some respects organized, deserves high praise. “It is my

wish,” writes Gregory, “that you sedulously select what you may think

most acceptable to Almighty God, be it in the Roman, or in the Gallican,

or in any other church, and introduce into the church of the Angles that

which you shall have so collected; for things are not to be loved for

the sake of places, but places for the sake of good things.” The

intervention of the Pope was the more meritorious and seasonable from

the conduct of the British clergy, in leaving their Saxon conquerors

without an attempt to convert them. Such a course may have been natural

and excusable, but it was not prompted either by Christian love or by

enlightened policy; and we cannot altogether refrain from reading in the

subsequent massacre of the monks of Bangor by the Pagan sword of

Ethelfrid, the retribution which Augustine had denounced as awaiting the

Celtic Church, for not preaching to the Angles the way of life.

The Irish clergy, useful as they afterwards were, had not then advanced

so far in their progress, as to reach the Anglican border. It was in the

year 563 that St. Columba passed over from Ireland to the Northern

Picts, in whose conversion he was occupied about thirty years. And it

was in 597 that Ethelbert of Kent was baptized, and was followed soon

after to the font by ten thousand of his subjects. Whether there was any

connexion between these simultaneous movements, beyond the ripening of

events for so desirable a result, has not, so far, as we know, been

traced by any inquirer.

The rapidity with which Christianity was then accepted implies a

remarkable condition of the public mind. The bigotry, and even the

confiding belief of the old religion, must in a great measure have

passed away, and a certain dissatisfaction have come to be felt with its

creed and its consolations. This is peculiarly visible in the course

which the conversion took in Northumbria, where, if we can trust the

traditionary accounts, a spirit of philosophical inquiry had pervaded

the nobility, and even the priesthood, implying a high degree of

intellectual advancement, and an earnest sense of the religious

necessities of our nature. Let us take the well-known incidents of this

event as they are given in the poetry of Wordsworth, rather than in any

prose narrative.

PAULINUS.

But to remote Northumbria’s royal hall,

Where thoughtful Edwin, tutor’d in the school

Of sorrow, still maintains a Heathen rule,

Who comes with functions apostolical?

Mark him, of shoulders curved, and stature tall,

Black hair, and vivid eye, and meagre cheek,

His prominent feature like an eagle’s beak;

A man whose aspect doth at once appal

And strike with reverence. The monarch leans

Tow’rd the pure truths this delegate propounds;

Repeatedly his own deep mind he sounds

With careful hesitation,--then convenes

A synod of his counsellors:--give ear,

And what a pensive sage doth utter, hear!

PERSUASION.

“Man’s life is like a sparrow, mighty king!

That, stealing in while by the fire you sit

Housed with rejoicing friends, is seen to flit

Safe from the storm, in comfort tarrying.

Here did it enter--there, on hasty wing

Flies out, and passes on from cold to cold;

But whence it came we know not, nor behold

Whither it goes. Even such that transient thing,

The human soul, not utterly unknown

While in the body lodged, her warm abode;

But from what world she came, what wo or weal

On her departure waits, no tongue hath shown;

This mystery, if the stranger can reveal,

His be a welcome cordially bestowed!”

The Christian doctrine once planted in the hearts of Englishmen was

never eradicated, but a storm passing over Northumbria levelled, for a

while, the ripening harvest with the soil. Penda of Mercia, a man of

remarkable character and fortune, “the last unshaken and powerful

adherent of Paganisim among the Anglo-Saxons,” swept like a tempest over

the scene, and seemed to blast the growing hopes of the Christian

husbandman, while the native princes, in whom, from a national respect

for royal lineage, the government was nominally left, relapsed into the

errors of the old faith. The deliverance, however, was at hand, from a

quarter then beginning to send forth its beneficial influences. Oswald,

a Bernician prince, educated among the Scots, or converted Picts,

assembled a few followers under the banner of the cross, and restored to

his country independence and Christianity.

“History informs us that Oswald’s cross decided the fate of

Britain for ever. Oswald obtained the sovereignty of Bernicia,

and also of Deira, being entitled to the latter country by his

maternal descent, his mother ‘Acha,’ the sister of Eadwine,

being descended from Aelle. He was acknowledged as Bretwalda the

sixth who held that dignity, and is said to have reigned over

the four tongues of Britain, of the Angles, the Britons, the

Picts, and the Scots. Oswald combined great vigour with much

mildness and religious enthusiasm. By him Christianity was

introduced anew into his kingdom, but it was that of his

teachers, the Scots, by whom Aidan was sent to him from the isle

of St. Columba, (Hii or Icolmkill,) and to whom as an Episcopal

seat, he granted the isle of Lindisfarne, now Holy Island, the

hallowed abode of many heroes of the Christian faith. Severity

towards himself and the powerful, humility and benevolence

towards the poor and lowly, activity in the cause of religion,

zeal for learning, were the admirable qualities that were

praised in Aidan, and shed the purest lustre on the old Scottish

Church to which he belonged; and few will feel disposed to doubt

that the general impression which the lives of such men made on

the minds of people disgusted with Paganism, together with the

internal truth of the Christian doctrines, has ever, and in a

greater degree, contributed to their first conversion, than even

the most convincing and solid arguments. How else could the

so-often, vainly attempted conversion of the Northumbrians have

been effected by Aidan, who, sprung from a hostile race, sent

from a hostile school, strove to propagate the doctrines of the

defeated Scots and Picts, the former oppressors of the Britons,

in a tongue for which Oswald himself was compelled to act as the

interpreter?

“Of Aidan’s fitness for the pious work committed to him, a

judgment may be formed from the following anecdote related by

Beda. At the solicitation of Oswald, a priest had been sent by

the Scots to preach the word to the Pagans of Northumbria, who,

proving unqualified for the task, and unwelcome to the people,

through the austerity of his character, returned to his country,

where, in an assembly of his brethren, he declared his inability

to effect any good among a people so ungovernable and barbarous.

On hearing this declaration, Aidan, who was present at the

meeting, said to him, ‘Brother, it seems to me that you have

been harsher than was fitting towards such uninstructed hearers,

and have not, in conformity with apostolic usage, first offered

the milk of milder instruction, until, gradually nourished by

the divine word, they might become capable both of receiving the

more perfect, and of executing the higher precepts of God.’ A

discussion, to which these words gave rise, terminated in the

unanimous declaration, that Aidan was worthy of the Episcopal

dignity, and that he ought to be sent back to the ignorant

unbelievers.

“In such, and in every other manner possible, Oswald promoted

the religion of the Cross, planted by him, not in his own

kingdom only, but in the states encircling the British empire.

In this he followed the impressions of his youth, and the

conviction which had steeled his arm to victory. He might also

have cherished the hope that in a British Christian church, the

surest spiritual support would be found to consist in the union

of all the tongues of Britain.”

For some time the Catholic and Columban clergy lived and laboured

together in the common cause of true religion, with mutual charity and

increasing usefulness. But the desire for external unity, so attractive

in theory, so unattainable in practice, disturbed this pleasing repose;

and, in the struggle that ensued, the victory was on the side of the

Romish system, aided perhaps by superior learning and experience, and

perhaps by the great advantage which dictatorial intolerance often

possesses, in religious matters, over an enlarged liberality. On weak or

ill-instructed minds, the bold assertion of an exclusive access to

salvation, so dogmatically claimed by bigots of all churches, will

generally prevail over opposing doctrines, which invest the choice of a

sect with a less hazardous responsibility. The scene at the Synod of

Whitby reveals a part of the truth, but perhaps a part only; and views

of deeper policy may have been concealed under the somewhat slender

pretext which led to this momentous change.

“An important measure, both for the benefit of the church and

the closer union of the Anglo-Saxons, was reserved for King

Oswiu. The Anglo-Saxons, according as they had been converted by

Augustine and his followers, or by those of Columba, were

attached to the Roman Catholic, or to the British Church. The

majority of the ecclesiastics, at least of the more

distinguished, belonged to the latter; hence arose a difference

in religious views and worship, not only in the several

kingdoms, but in the several provinces, which threatened to

become extremely dangerous to the new faith. We see this

religious discussion introduced through marriages even among the

royal families, and that Oswiu himself celebrated the Easter

festival, according to the Scottish practice, on a different day

from that observed by his queen, Eanflœd, a daughter of the King

of Kent. Ealhfrith also, the son, and co-regent with Oswiu, was,

through the persuasion of his friend Cenwealh, favourable to the

Roman church. Differences of this kind, though affecting

externals only, greatly endangered the Christian faith among a

people scarcely weaned from the worship of their forefathers,

and acquainted with Christianity only in the closest connexion

with the new external observances. Colman, a Scot, the third

bishop of Lindisfarne, after the death of Finan, zealously

strove to establish the principles of his sect. A synod was

called at Streoneshealh, (Whitby) in which, under the presidency

of Oswiu, the most distinguished ecclesiastics of each church

defended their respective doctrines. Among the partisans of Rome

were Agilbert, bishop of Wessex, and Wilfrith, (Wilferth) the

future celebrated bishop of York. The disputation was maintained

on both sides with learning and acuteness, and the Scottish

clergy might have succeeded in settling for ever a strong

barrier against the Catholic pretensions of the Roman church, if

the king, wavering under the weight of so many conflicting

arguments, had not remarked, that the Scots appealed to St.

Columba, but the Catholics to the Apostle Peter; for Wilfrith

had not forgotten to adduce, in support of the Roman tenets,

that Peter was the rock on which the Lord had founded his

Church, and that to him were committed the keys of Heaven. ‘Has

Columba also received such power?’ demanded the king. Colman

could not answer in the affirmative. ‘Do you both agree, that to

Peter the Lord has given the keys of Heaven?’ Both affirmed it.

‘Then,’ said the king, ‘I will not oppose the Heavenly porter,

but to my utmost ability will follow all his commands and

precepts, lest, when I come to the gates of Heaven, there be no

one to open to me, should he, who is shown to have the key in

his custody, turn his back upon me.’ Those sitting in the

council, as well as those standing around, noble and vulgar,

alike anxious for their eternal salvation, approved of this

determination, and were thus, in the usual spirit of large

assemblies, and without further investigation of the arguments

adduced, impelled to a decision by the excited feelings of the

moment. The Scots either returned to their friends, or yielded

to the opinion of the majority, and thus, by the learning of

their school, became useful to the Anglo-Saxons; but, together

with these apparently trivial externals, the great latent

influence was sacrificed, which their church would probably have

acquired in opposition to the then less firmly established one

of Rome.”

The arrival of Theodore, an able and accomplished Asiatic, appointed to

the primacy by the Pope, and the co-operation of Wilfrith, just

mentioned, an Anglo-Saxon of transcendant talents and unconquerable

zeal, confirmed throughout England the ascendency of Romish influence,

which had thus been established in Northumbria, and which, from the

first, had been recognised in Kent.

We may speculate, with Lappenberg, on the results to be expected if

this controversy had terminated differently. A victory of opinion,

gained in England by the followers of Columba, might have laid the

foundation of a United Church, comprehending all the races that

inhabited the island, and sufficiently powerful to contest with Italy

the guidance of Christian principles over the rest of Europe, and to

confine the Roman Bishoprick within narrower and safer bounds.

“The British Church, established probably on the oldest direct

traditions from Judea, in closest connexion with conversions of

the highest importance in the history of mankind, appeared, no

less by its geographical position than by its exalted spiritual

endowments, fitted to become the foundation of a northern

patriarchate, which, by its counterpoise to Rome and the rest of

the south, its guardianship over a Celtic and Germanic

population, sanctified by the doctrine of Christ, might have

been the instrument to impart to those within its pale, that

which both meditative and ambitious men in the middle-age

sometimes ventured to think on, but which, in comparatively

modern times, Martin Luther first strove to extort for Romanized

Europe.”

The picture is pleasing if we contemplate these possibilities merely on

“the side that’s next the sun.” We fancy a church system extending over

Northern Europe, pure in its doctrines and peaceable in its policy, free

from foreign influence and intrigue, and in harmony with the frank and

earnest character of the nations it embraces within its bosom. We

imagine, too, that Rome herself, uninjured by the intoxication of a

wealth and power too great for any clerical rulers to bear meekly and

innocently, would have retained something more of apostolical truth and

simplicity; and that the two rivals might have run a friendly race of

Christian zeal and diligence. But there are also opposite contingencies

which may reconcile us to the course, in which events have been directed

by a wisdom greater than our own. We might have seen perhaps in our own

region the establishment of a church at variance with that of Rome, in

some essential articles of faith in which we now agree with her. We

might have been born under a great Arian or Pelagian heresiarchy,

enervating or polluting all our best elements of action; or, if _we_ had

remained pure, the unaided energy of the Roman See might have sunk under

the formidable errors with which she was at one time threatened, and the

limits of orthodox Christendom might have been fearfully abridged. As it

is, by the unity that for a time was attained even at a serious

sacrifice, the preservation and extension of the apostolic faith may

have been secured until the fulness of time arrived, when the

Reformation set men free from a bondage that had ceased to be necessary,

and had begun to be pernicious.

The ascendency of the Romish church brought with it another

compensation, in the influx of southern art and classical learning. It

cannot be doubted that our religious connexion with Christian Rome, was

mainly instrumental in rendering us familiar with Roman and even with

Grecian antiquity: and who shall say what might have been our mental

condition if we had wanted all the ennobling and ameliorating influences

which have thence been derived? A Saxon or a Celtic tendency

predominating in our literature, and in our habits of thought and

action, and excluding perhaps benigner elements of sentiment and

reflection, might have made us a rude and rugged people, brave and

impetuous, ardent and impassioned, but without either the refinement of

taste, the soundness of judgment, or the depth of philosophy, which have

been the fruits of that ingrafted instruction which has softened and

subdued our native character. On the whole, then, let us be grateful for

what we are: not repining at having learned our religion from Rome, and

not regretting that we are now emancipated from our schoolmistress, and

at liberty to judge and to act for ourselves.

With other arts and knowledge, as Lappenberg observes,

“Architecture also came in the suite of the Roman Church. The

Scottish clergy, from the preference, perhaps, of the northern

nations for that material, had built their churches of wood,

thatching them with reeds, an example of which existed in the

new Cathedral at Lindisfarne. It was at a later period only that

reeds were exchanged for sheets of lead, with which the walls

also were sometimes covered. Wilfrith sent for masons from

Kent, and the abbot Benedict for workmen from Gaul. The stone

basilica, erected by Paulinus, at York, which had fallen into a

disgraceful state of dilapidation, was restored by Wilfrith, the

roof covered with lead, the windows filled with glass, till then

unknown among his countrymen. At Ripon, he caused a new basilica

of polished stone to be erected, supported by pillars with a

portico. The consecration--at which the Kings Ecgfrith and

Ælfwine were present--was concluded by a feasting reminding us

of Pagan times, which lasted during three days and nights. The

four gospels, written with golden letters on purple vellum,

adorned with paintings, in a case of pure gold set with precious

stones, enables us to judge both of the wealth and munificence

of the patrons of Wilfrith.

An edifice still more remarkable was erected by the bishop at

Hexham, which, it is said, had not its like on this side of the

Alps. Benedict’s structure, too, at Wearmouth was the work of

masters from Gaul, after the Roman model. Thus, we perceive, in

the instance of the most memorable buildings of which mention is

found in the history of the Anglo-Saxons, how their architecture

sprang from that of ancient Rome, however it may have been

modified in England, to suit a difference of circumstances and

climate.”

The details we possess of the exertions of Benedict, mentioned in the

preceding extract, and generally distinguished by the name of Benedict

Biscop, are especially interesting, and present a remarkable view of the

actual importation and progress of those arts of civilization, to which

the Saxons but a century before were utter strangers. He was the

builder, and first abbot of St. Peter’s monastery at Weremouth:--“A

man,” as Bede tells us in his Lives of the Abbots of that locality, “of

a venerable life, (we use Dr. Giles’ translation,) blessed (benedictus)

both in grace and in name; having the mind of an adult even from his

childhood, surpassing his age by his manners, and with a soul addicted

to no false pleasures. He was descended from a noble lineage of the

Angles, and by corresponding dignity of mind, worthy to be exalted into

the company of the angels. Lastly, he was the minister of King Oswy, and

by his gift enjoyed an estate suitable to his rank; but at the age of

twenty-five years he despised a transitory wealth, that he might obtain

that which is eternal.” He visited Rome five times, and never returned

with empty hands. After being settled at Weremouth in the year 674,

Benedict visited Gaul, and brought with him masons and glass artificers,

to build his church in the Roman style. He then made his fourth voyage

to Rome, (we quote again from Bede,)

“And returned loaded with more abundant spiritual merchandise

than before. In the first place, he brought back a large

quantity of books of all kinds; secondly, a great number of

relics of Christ’s Apostles and Martyrs, all likely to bring a

blessing on many an English church; thirdly, he introduced the

Roman mode of chanting, singing, and ministering in the church,

by obtaining permission from Pope Agatho to take back with him

John, the arch chanter of the church of St. Peter, and Abbot of

the Monastery of St. Martin, to teach the English.”--Further,

“he brought with him pictures of sacred representations to adorn

the church of St. Peter, which he had built; namely, a likeness

of the Virgin Mary, and of the twelve Apostles, with which he

intended to adorn the central nave, on boarding placed from one

wall to the other; also some figures from ecclesiastical history

for the south wall, and others from the Revelation of St. John

for the north wall; so that every one who entered the church,

even if they could not read, whereever they turned their eyes,

might have before them the amiable countenance of Christ and his

Saints, though it were but in a picture, and with watchful minds

might revolve on the benefits of our Lord’s incarnation, and

having before their eyes the perils of the last judgment, might

examine their hearts the more strictly on that account.”

Some years afterwards, he made his fifth voyage

“From Britain to Rome, and returned (as usual) with an immense

number of proper ecclesiastical relics. There were many sacred

books and pictures of the saints, as numerous as before. He also

brought with him pictures out of our Lord’s history, which he

hung round the Chapel of Our Lady in the larger monastery; and

others to adorn St. Paul’s church and monastery, ably describing

the connexion of the Old and New Testament; as, for instance,

Isaac bearing the wood for his own sacrifice, and Christ

carrying the cross on which he was about to suffer, were placed

side by side. Again, the serpent raised up by Moses in the

desert, was illustrated by the Son of Man exalted on the cross.

Among other things, he brought two cloaks, all of silk, and of

incomparable workmanship, for which he received an estate of

three hides, on the south bank of the river Were, near its

mouth, from King Alfred.”

A glimpse of the pictures thus imported into England, in the seventh

century, and of the gazing multitudes who would crowd around them, would

carry us back almost to the childhood of modern art, and to the infancy

of English taste.

The establishment, however, of Roman influence in England was partial

after all, and ecclesiastical authority was not independent of the

State. The Anglo-Saxon clergy, as Lappenberg observes, were not so free

as their brethren on the continent, and many are the complaints that

their subjection to secular power seems to have called forth,

particularly as to their liability to the _trinoda necessitas_ of

fortress and bridge money, and contributions for military levies. The

weaker hold maintained by the Papal power helped to promote the use of

the vernacular tongue in their church service, and the diffusion of

vernacular versions of Scripture, as well as other benefits of which we

are still reaping the good fruits.

The permanent importance of the struggles then maintained for

ecclesiastical ascendency, and the profession and pursuits of the only

men by whom history could be written, have necessarily given an undue

prominence to those actors on the scene who belonged to the church, and

have left the laymen and even the royal personages of the period in

comparative obscurity. As illustrating the workings of Roman influence

on the minds of men, we may select two examples of distinguished

churchmen of Northumbria, the one representing the secular, and the

other the monastic portion of the clergy, and in whom the different

elements entering into the spirit of the times were very variously

exhibited.

“Wilfrith, though not of noble birth, was endowed with all those

natural advantages, the influence of which over rugged,

uncivilized people appears almost fabulous. In his thirteenth

year, the period at which an Anglo-Saxon youth was considered of

age, he resolved to leave his parents and renounce the world.

Equipped suitably to his station, he was sent to the court of

Oswiu, and, through the influence of the Queen Eanflœd, was

received into the monastery of Lindisfarne by the chamberlain

Cudda, who had exchanged earthly joys and sorrows for the

retirement and observances of a cloister. There he was as

remarkable for humility as for mental endowments. Besides other

books, he had read the entire Psalter, according to the

emendation of St. Jerome, as in use among the Scots. His anxious

desire to behold and pray in the church of the apostle Peter

must have been the more grateful to the queen and her Roman

Catholic friends, from the novelty and singularity of such a

wish among his countrymen. In furtherance of his object, she

sent him to her brother Earconberht, King of Kent, where he made

himself familiar with the doctrines of the Roman Church,

including the Psalms according to the fifth edition. He was

attached as travelling companion to Benedict, surnamed Biscop, a

distinguished man, who, at a later period, exerted himself so

beneficially in the cause of the Church, and in the civilization

and instruction of the Northumbrians. Benedict died abbot of the

monastery founded by him at Wearmouth, an establishment not less

famed for arts and scientific treasures, than ennobled through

its celebrated priest, the venerable Beda. On Wilfrith’s arrival

at Lyons, Dalfinus, the Archbishop, was so struck by his

judicious discourse, comely countenance, and mature

understanding, that he retained him long with him, offered to

adopt him for his son, to give him the hand of his brother’s

daughter, and to procure for him the government of a part of

Gaul.

“But Wilfrith hastened to Rome, acquired there a thorough

knowledge of the four Gospels, also the Roman computation of

Easter, which, as we have already seen, he afterwards so

triumphantly employed, and at the same time made himself

familiar with many rules of ecclesiastical discipline, and

whatever else was proper for a minister of the Roman Church. On

his return, he passed three years at Lyons, with his friend

Dalfinus, and extended his knowledge by attending the most

learned teachers. He now declared himself wholly devoted to the

Church of Rome, and received from Dalfinus the tonsure of St.

Peter, consisting of a circle of hair in imitation of the crown

of thorns, while the Scots shaved the entire front, leaving the

hair only on the hinder part of the head. Here he nearly shared

the fate of his unfortunate friend, the archbishop, in the

persecution raised against him by the Queen Baldhild, the widow

of Clovis the Second, and the mayor of the palace, Ebruin; but

the comely young stranger, through the extraordinary compassion

of his persecutors, was saved from the death of a martyr. He now

hastened back to his country, where he was honourably received

by King Ealhfrith, consecrated abbot of the monastery of Ripon,

and regarded as a prophet by high and low. After the disputation

with Bishop Colman at Whitby, Oswiu and his son, with their

witan, chose the abbot Wilfrith for Bishop of York, who passed

over to Paris to be consecrated by Agilbreht. On his return to

Northumbria, he was driven by a storm on the coast among the

Pagan south Saxons, who proceeded vigorously to exercise the

right of wreck on the strangers. The chief priest of the

idolaters stood on an eminence for the purpose of depriving them

of power by his maledictions and magic, when one of their

number, with David’s courage and success, hurled a stone at him,

from a sling, which struck him to the brain. At the fall of

their priest, the fury of the people was excited against the

little band, who succeeded however, after a conflict, four times

renewed, in re-embarking with the return of the tide, and

reached Sandwich in safety.”

Wilfrith in his absence had been deprived of the See of York, and on his

return retired with real or affected submission to his cloister at

Ripon; but the see was restored to him by the influence of Theodore.

Various events hastened an outbreak of dissensions among the higher

clergy, and of the jealousy of the secular towards the ecclesiastical

power.

In order partly to curtail the dimensions of Wilfrith’s power, the See

of York was divided into two dioceses; and the influence and

remonstrances of the bishop were unavailing to avert the blow. He set

out, therefore, on a journey to Rome, to appeal to the Papal authority;

but he had enemies abroad as well as at home, and was only saved from

their hostility by a storm, which drove his vessel to the coast of

Friesland, and secured for him the honour of being the first of the

numerous English missionaries who bore the tidings of the Gospel to the

continental Pagans of the North.

Resuming his journey, after a year, he laid his complaints before the

Roman See, and was here also the first in a less honourable path,--no

previous appeal to the Papal protection having ever been attempted by

Anglo-Saxon churchmen. The thunders of the Vatican sounded, as yet, but

faintly in British ears; and Wilfrith, on his return, was consigned to a

prison, instead of obtaining that restoration of his honours which Pope

Agatho had ventured to decree.

Driven from Northumbria a homeless exile, Wilfrith fled to the shores of

Sussex, the scene of his former peril and preservation, and, renewing

his efforts against the remains of Pagan barbarism still lingering in

that quarter, he taught the natives the lore of a better life, both in

worldly and in spiritual things, and established a bishopric, to the

charge of which he was himself elevated.

Again reconciled to Theodore, he was appointed to the See of Litchfield,

the fourth that had fallen to him, and he afterwards had the glory of

declining an offer of the archiepiscopate of Canterbury. After

recovering the bishopric of York, he once more lost it by becoming

involved in new disputes and contests for the superiority of the Romish

discipline, and, in his seventieth year, carried another appeal to the

Papal Chair, which, on this occasion, had the satisfaction of finding

that both Wilfrith and his enemies pleaded to its jurisdiction. Wilfrith

was exculpated by the Pope, but could only obtain from the Anglo-Saxon

Prince of Northumbria the See of Hexham and the monastery of Ripon.

“After a few years passed in almsgiving and the improvement of church

discipline, Wilfrith died in his seventy-sixth year, a man whose

fortunes and activity in the European relations of England were long

without a parallel.” He completed what Augustine began, and united the

English Church to that of Rome in matters of discipline. Even his

influence, however, could not destroy the independence of his

countrymen, who, as Lappenberg observes, “even after they were no longer

Anti-Catholic, continued always Anti-Papistical.”

The two achievements which occur as episodes in this singular biography,

the commencement of a Christian mission in Germany, and the conversion

of the last remnants of Paganism in England, would have been enough to

immortalise their author, independently of his influence on the outward

discipline of the Church.

To the chequered and restless career of Wilfrith, thus divided between

clerical ambition, and Christian usefulness, a striking contrast is

presented in the peaceful life of one who is the honour of Saxon

England, and the brightest, or the only bright name in European

literature during the centuries that intervened between Theodoric and

Charlemagne.

“But no one imparts to the age of the ‘Wisest King’ greater

brilliancy than the man just named, whom the epithet of ‘The

Venerable’ adorns, whose knowledge was profound and almost

universal. Born in the neighbourhood of Wearmouth, he enjoyed in

that abbey the instructions of Benedict, its first abbot, of

whom we have already had occasion to make honourable mention, as

well as those of his successor, Ceolfrith, equally distinguished

for his zeal in the promotion of learning. In the neighbouring

cloister of Jarrow, Beda passed his life in exercises of piety

and in varied study; and gave life and form to almost all the

knowledge which the age could offer him. If, on a consideration

of his works, it must appear manifest that that age possessed

more means of knowledge, both in manuscripts and learned

ecclesiastics, than we are wont to ascribe to it; and even if we

must recognise in Beda the high culture of the Roman church,

rather than Anglo-Saxon nationality, yet the acknowledgment

which his merits found in Rome during his life, and shortly

after his death, whereever learning could penetrate, proves that

in him we justly venerate a wonder of the time. His numerous

theological writings, his illustrations of the books of the Old

and New Testaments, have throughout many ages, until the total

revolution in that branch of learning, found readers and

transcribers in every cloister of Europe. His knowledge of

Greek, of medicine, of astronomy, of prosody, he made

subservient to the instruction of his contemporaries; his work

“De sex hujus seculi ætatibus,” though less used than it

deserves to be, is the basis of most of the universal chronicles

of the middle age. But his greatest merit, which will preserve

his name through all future generations, consists in his

historic works, as far as they concern his own native land. If a

second man like himself had arisen in his days, who with the

same clear, circumspect glance, the same honest and pious

purpose, had recorded the secular transactions of his

forefathers, as Beda has transmitted to us those chiefly of the

church, then would the history of England have been to posterity

almost like revelation for Germanic antiquity.”

It seems like a miracle to witness within a century of their country’s

conversion, two native names so remarkable as these. Under the influence

thus exerted, which in the one man was purely good, and in the other had

more good in it than evil, an active spirit of religion was necessarily

introduced, and the national character underwent a mighty change. The

condition of public feeling at this period is strongly illustrated in

the concluding chapter of Bede’s History.

“Such being the peaceable and calm disposition of the times,

many of the Northumbrians, as well of the nobility as private

persons, laying aside their weapons, rather incline to dedicate

both themselves and their children to the tonsure and monastic

vows, than to study martial discipline. What will be the end

hereof, the next age will show. This is, for the present, the

state of all Britain; in the year, since the coming of the

English into Britain about 285, but in the 731st year of the

incarnation of our Lord, in whose reign may the earth ever

rejoice; may Britain exult in the profession of his faith; and

may many islands be glad, and sing praises in honour of his

holiness!”

_What will be the end hereof the next age will show!_ These are ominous

words, of which we are soon to find the fulfilment in many grievous

revolutions and disasters. And yet amid all these it is impossible to

depreciate the value and operation of the peaceful interval that

preceded them, or to deny that, though other things might fall or fade

away for a time, the great work of the diffusion of Christian

civilisation was destined ever to make more rapid progress, even by the

help of those very events which seemed to threaten its extinction.

SCOTTISH MELODIES BY DELTA.

ERIC’S DIRGE.

Shon’st thou but to pass away,

Chieftain, in thy bright noon-day?

(All who knew thee, love thee!)

Who to Eric would not yield?

Red hand in the battle field,

Kinsman’s idol, Beauty’s shield,

Flowers we strew above thee!

Eagle-like, in Glory’s sky,

Soar’d thy dauntless spirit high;

(All who knew thee, love thee!)

Scion of a matchless race,

Strong in form, and fair of face,

First in field, and first in chase,

Flowers we strew above thee!

Three to one Argyle came on,

Yet thy glance defiance shone;

(All who knew thee, love thee!)

Fear thine Islesmen never knew;

We were firm, tho’ we were few;

And in front thy banner flew:--

Flowers we strew above thee!

What mere men could do was done;

Two at least we slew for one;

(All who knew thee, love, thee!)

But, ah fatal was our gain!

For, amid the foremost slain,

Lay’st thou, whom we mourn in vain:

Flowers we strew above thee!

Mourn!--nor own one tearless eye,

Barra, Harris, Uist, and Skye!

(All who knew thee, love thee!)

Eric! low thou liest the while,

Shadowed by Iona’s pile;

May no step thy stone defile:--

Flowers we strew above thee!

THE STORMY SEA!

Ere the twilight bat was flitting,

In the sunset, at her knitting,

Sang a lonely maiden, sitting

Underneath her threshold tree;

And, as daylight died before us,

And the vesper star shone o’er us,

Fitful rose her tender chorus--

“Jamie’s on the stormy sea!”

Warmly shone that sunset glowing;

Sweetly breathed the young flowers blowing;

Earth, with beauty overflowing,

Seem’d the home of love to be,

As those angel tones ascending,

With the scene and season blending,

Ever had the same low ending--

“Jamie’s on the stormy sea!”

Curfew bells remotely ringing,

Mingled with that sweet voice singing;

And the last red rays seem’d clinging

Lingeringly to tower and tree:

Nearer as I came, and nearer,

Finer rose the notes, and clearer;

Oh! ’twas heaven itself to hear her--

“Jamie’s on the stormy sea!”

“Blow, ye west winds! blandly hover

O’er the bark that bears my lover;

Gently blow, and bear him over

To his own dear home and me;

For, when night winds bend the willow,

Sleep forsakes my lonely pillow,

Thinking of the foaming billow--

“Jamie’s on the stormy sea!”

How could I but list, but linger,

To the song, and near the singer,

Sweetly wooing heaven to bring her

Jamie from the stormy sea:

And, while yet her lips did name me,

Forth I sprang--my heart o’ercame me--

“Grieve no more, sweet, I am Jamie,

Home returned, to love and thee!”

GENERAL MACK--A CHRISTMAS CAROL.

_To the Tune of “No one else could have done it.”_

At the taking of Ulm, some forty years back,

“No one could have done it” but General Mack:

Like “The League,” the besiegers were certainly strong,

But to Mack, without doubt, did the triumph belong:

“In vain,” people cried, “must have been the attack,

But for one single man--gallant General Mack!”

Yet “the Hero of Ulm,” doesn’t stand quite alone,--

For we have a General Mack of our own;

And when any strong Fortress in which he commands,

Any morning is found in The Enemy’s hands,

We cry till our voices are ready to crack,

“Pray, who could have done it but General Mack?”

In the time of _old_ Mack, although only a lad,

What delight in the name must the stripling have had!

How the opening buds of political truth

Must have swell’d in the heart of the generous youth,

As he nobly resolved to pursue the same track,

And become, in due season, a General Mack!

“If perchance,” he would say, “the time ever should be,

When some fortress as strong is entrusted to _me_--

If its chosen defenders I ever should lead,

Here at once is a system that’s sure to succeed!

How soon may the boldest and bravest attack

Be brought to an end, by a General Mack!”

In days when they tell us that prophets are rare,

This was, for a young one, you’ll own, pretty fair;

For in due course of time, (not to dwell upon dates,)

Full many a fortress had open’d its gates;

And I could not admit, though I were on the rack,

Any one could have done it but General Mack.

On each new exploit, the same wonderment ran--

“You’ll allow that this Mack _is_ a wonderful man.

All the optics of friends and of foes he defies--

He is always preparing some pleasant surprise--

What a squint you must have, if you see on what tack,

He next is to go--honest General Mack!”

Oh, gallant commander! I hear people say,

These triumphs of yours have at length had their day.

I will not determine how far that may be,

But I’m sure they have not been _forgotten_ by me;

And a Carol for CHRISTMAS you never shall lack,

As long as your name shall be GENERAL MACK!

REFLECTIONS SUGGESTED BY THE CAREER OF THE LATE PREMIER.

We have heard a great deal said of late against what are termed

“personalities”--a term which, I suppose, implies remarks or reflections

on the personal conduct of an individual. If a statesman is hard pressed

on some unpleasant point, he escapes by saying, that it is only a

“personality,” and that to “bandy personalities” is a thing from which

he is precluded by his dignity. If a discussion in Parliament turn much

upon these personalities, they are treated by those who may find them

distasteful, as a totally irrelevant matter, interrupting the true

business of the House; and if they are noticed, it is done as if it was

a pure πάρεργον, a gratuitous piece of condescension on the

part of the person replying to the attack. It seems to be laid down as a

sort of axiom by many, that political questions should be discussed

solely on their own merits, abstaining from all remarks on personal

character, more especially in Parliament, where all such reflections are

condemned as pure waste of the time of the House.

That political questions should be discussed on their own merits, and

that those merits are in no way affected by the character of any

individual whatever, is perfectly true; but if it be meant to be

inferred that the personal character of public men is therefore a matter

of no importance, a subject which is to be veiled in a sacred silence,

and never to be examined or discussed, such a sentiment is eminently

flimsy and false, one which could only find general acceptance in a

poor-minded age, to which material interests were of greater value than

the far higher ones of national character. For that the national

character is greatly affected by the personal character of its leading

public men, is a truth that will scarcely be called in question. The

venality and corruption which more especially disgraced the ministry of

Walpole, and infected, in a greater or less degree, that of his

successors, may reasonably be expected to have exercised a widely

debasing influence on the nation at large, an expectation amply

confirmed (to say nothing of native testimonies) by the estimates which

foreign writers of that time draw of the national character of England.

The intriguing and profligate character of many of the public men under

Charles II. had, no doubt, a similarly evil influence on the popular

mind; and generally, all insincerity in high places must be looked on as

a bane to the country. Most widely should we err, if, in estimating the

career of these statesmen, we looked only to the outward character of

their measures, in a commercial, economical, or political point of view.

However beneficial many of their measures may have been in these

respects, if their own character was not sincere and honest, if these

measures were brought about not by fair and open means, but by artful

and underhand intrigues, by false professions, by duplicity, and

insincerity, by venality, whether of the open bribe, or the insidious

government influence, we pass a verdict of censure on their career, we

reject them from the rank of the true patriots, the sacred band, who

have earned renown as the pure benefactors of their country,--“Quique

sui memores alios fecere merendo.”

If we looked only at the commercial or practical consequences of his

measures, the career of Walpole might be esteemed glorious--for I

believe it is generally considered that his measures were sagacious and

successful. But the venal character of his administration is a blot that

no one may remove, and this stain on his personal character neutralises

(as far as he is concerned) all the effect of his measures. Posterity,

accordingly, has done him justice, and has assigned him his fitting

rank--he takes his place among the skilful statesmen, not among the

great patriots. Who will be able to alter this decision? Who shall have

influence to induce the world to raise him to the higher rank,--to make

us couple the name of Walpole with those of Aristides, Phocion, and

Demosthenes?

Since, then, this personal character exercises so wide an influence for

good or for bad upon the character, and therefore on the destinies, of a

nation, are we to be told, that it is not a subject of discussion, that

it is shrined in an inviolable asylum, removed from the free exercise of

thought; that we must confine our views to the character of measures,

and not dare to direct them to the character of men? Who is it, in

writing the history of Charles I. who has not pointed out the lamentable

defect in the character of that unfortunate prince, that his friends

could not rely on his professions? And if there be a statesman of the

present day, whose friends cannot rely upon his professions, are we

totally to abstain from making any reflection, either mentally or

verbally, on so lamentable a defect? By whom are we taught this new and

precious doctrine? Certain members of the late Government take upon them

to be our chief instructors in it; more especially, perhaps, Mr. Sidney

Herbert. Sharp expressions had been raining pretty thick from his foes,

amid which he and his colleagues (proh nefas!) had been termed

“Janissaries!”

Talibus exarsit dictis violentia Sidnei;

Dat gemitum;

and he delivers an able lecture to his opponents on their strong and

ungentlemanly language. After this, let us take care what we are about:

let us say nothing ungentlemanly respecting the conduct of Walpole:

whatever we may think of the personal character of Cromwell, let us, in

our language at least, observe the established courtesies and urbanities

of discussion.

“Not so,” perhaps says Mr. Herbert. “I make a distinction: I do not mean

to debar you from free discussion on the characters of the dead; but

what I desire is, that you abstain from meddling with the conduct of the

living.” Where is it, then, that he has found this doctrine? Were those

who blamed, and strongly too, the conduct of Shaftesbury, and

Bolingbroke, and Walpole, when alive, culpable? Was it only permitted to

do so after their death? Is Aristophanes thought peculiarly guilty for

having blamed Cleon while alive and in power? Is Socrates stigmatised

for having wounded the feelings of any demagogue of the day, or of the

thirty tyrants? Is Cicero reproached for his ungentlemanly tone towards

Catiline, his disregard of the feelings of Verres, his total want of

courtesy and urbanity even to so eminent and distinguished a man as

Antony? Or in our own days, is Lord Lyndhurst blamed for having again

happily applied the language of Cicero to denounce the conduct, or

rather misconduct, of O’Connell? No; if their censure was deserved, they

are honoured for having decidedly expressed it. And when, indeed, is it

of greater importance that a true estimate should be formed of the

character of public men, than while they are yet alive,--while that

character is still exercising its widely-acting influence, and while

mistakes in respect to it may lead to the most pernicious consequences?

It is during their lifetime that we should discuss the characters of

such men as O’Connell and Peel. A true estimate of their character after

death is, doubtless, better than nothing; but a true estimate of it

during life is better still. The proverb tells us, that “late is better

than never;” but it does not deny that early is better than late.

“Well, then,” perhaps Mr. Herbert may reply, “you may, if you please,

judge their character while they are yet alive, but this must be in

proper time and place; I must request you to abstain from doing so in

Parliament. Strong language in Parliament on personal character is a

thing which I can never approve; here I must insist on the use of mild

language, on a gentlemanly and courteous tone of discussion.”

And what, we would ask, is the object of Parliament, if not to discuss

impartially, but firmly and decidedly, all important subjects that

deeply concern the public weal? And what subject more important than the

conduct of the men who hold the helm? Since how long is it that

Parliament has been considered as having no right to form or to express

any opinion on this subject? Since how long has the new doctrine been

held or been acted on, that they are only to regard measures, and not

the conduct of men? This is calling on them to abdicate one of the

highest and most important of their functions; for the public character

of statesmen is at least as important a consideration as that of the

measures they propose; frequently of much greater importance. And in

what place can such opinions be more fitly expressed, or with greater

weight and propriety, than within the walls of Parliament; of that

assembly, whose duty it is to deliberate on all matters concerning the

national welfare?

“Well, then,” perhaps says our Parliamentary master of the ceremonies,

“let us grant even this point; still I must insist on their expressing

such opinions in courteous and gentlemanly language.”

We should be much obliged to our preceptor, if he would inform us of the

precise mode in which this is to be done. We suppose he will grant that

if such opinions are to be expressed at all, the thing chiefly desirable

is, that the expression of the opinions be _true_; that the language

employed convey an accurate and well-defined idea of the real sentiments

entertained by the speaker.

Now, if the deliberate opinion which the speaker wishes to convey to the

assembly be, that a public man is insincere, underhand, and artful, one

whose convictions have no genuine strength, one whose professions cannot

be trusted, we would fain be informed how these ideas can be accurately,

truthfully, and unmistakeably conveyed, in gentlemanly, courteous, and

pleasing language. Our tutor must give us a list of expressions by which

this can be effected, before he blame us for not making use of them. But

even suppose that his ingenious intellect should enable him to

accomplish this, we would still desire to be informed what would be the

use of it, and why, if we wish to express our opinion of a person’s

insincerity, the discourteous word of “insincere,” which is now in use,

should not be as good as the most gentlemanly and elegant detour that

could be invented even by Mr. Herbert’s ingenuity.

Or take the very word of “_Janissary_,” which forms the bone of

contention. The Janissaries were a body who acted under orders of their

chief, without perhaps troubling themselves much about the abstract

merits of the case. If bidden by their General to do a thing, they did

it; if bidden to abstain, they abstained. Such conduct is not altogether

unknown among the politicians of England. If, then, the word Janissary

convey an accurate idea, well applicable to certain individuals, why

should its use be so atrocious? Really, we are at a loss to comprehend

the storm of indignation excited in the late Government by the simple

word Janissary. We have heard of a fish-woman who patiently endured all

the opprobrious epithets heaped on her by one of her fellows, till this

latter happened to apply to her the term of “individual.” What the term

of “individual” was to the fish-woman, the term of “Janissary” seems to

have been to certain members of the late Peel cabinet. We will, however,

grant that its application was somewhat unjust, though quite in a

different way from what those parties suppose. Leaving it to them to

defend themselves, we must take up the part of the Janissaries, whose

feelings seem to have been totally disregarded in the whole matter. Let

us remember that they no longer exist; victims of a melancholy end, they

are incapable of speaking for themselves; be it then allowed to us to

see that fair play is done them. Is it just, we ask, that their name

should be so scornfully rejected as the _ne plus ultra_ of reproaches by

English statesmen? What great guilt are they charged with, that it

should be thus opprobrious? Not, surely, that they were paid: I have

some doubts even whether such was the case; but, granted that they were,

so are our soldiers, so are our officials. Whatever were their errors,

they were bold and brave, true and consistent to their Mussulman

principles. They were not basely subservient to government influence;

their fault lay rather the other way. It was not that they truckled to

the Prime Vizier, but that they did not sufficiently respect their

Sultan. Their misconduct has been expiated by their death. Peace be with

their ashes! Let us not add insult to injury. It is not for Peel and his

followers to spurn at and dishonour their name. Considering the recent

conduct of so many of our public men, may we not reasonably think that

it is a greater insult to the Janissaries to apply their name to some of

our statesmen, than it is to those statesmen that the name of Janissary

should be applied to them. Would not the shade of an old Janissary be

fully as indignant if he heard himself termed a paid English official,

as the English official in his full-blown virtue could be at being

called a paid Janissary?

The contrast of all these indignant professions of our statesmen with

their actual practice, has not the best effect. The present is not the

time best fitted for these displays; the brilliancy of public virtue has

not of late been so lustrous as to justify this tone of triumph over the

poor Ottomans. If these epithets are so distasteful to our public men,

there is a far better mode of repelling them than these angry

protestations. Let them act with that openness, sincerity, and candour

which England looks for in her statesmen, and they need not fear far

harder terms than this much dreaded name of Janissary.

But enough of this digression, which is purely incidental. We have

merely wished to state a principle, let others accommodate it to the

rules of Parliamentary warfare. Enough has been said for our object, to

vindicate the utility of a review of the public character of leading

statesmen, and the right of expressing a judgment upon it in firm and

decided language.

That the practice of defaming the character of a public man without

cause, simply because he is a political opponent--a practice too much

employed in the party political warfare of the day--is one deserving the

severest reprobation: this is a truth that no one ought to deny. But the

evil of this practice consists, not in the decided tone of the language,

nor in the severity of the opinion expressed, but in the absence of all

just cause to warrant the strength of the censure.

But to argue, that because many people are blamed unjustly, no one is to

be blamed justly--that the abuse of censure precludes the use of it,--is

a mode of reasoning which cannot for a moment be admitted. We all know,

that if we are forbidden from using everything that may be abused,

nothing of any worth or importance would be left; and it is an old

remark, that the very best and most useful things, are precisely those

that are liable to the easiest and greatest abuses.

If I thought that the views which I entertain on the conduct of the late

Premier were in the least degree the result of political prejudices, I

should carefully abstain from giving them publicity. But I am not

conscious of being swayed by any such motives. With regard to the

greater part of the actual measures brought forward by Sir R. Peel, as

far as I know them, I feel no reason to disapprove of them. With regard

to many of his measures, which are wanting in any specific or decided

character, it is natural that no very decided opinion should be felt.

They are good, for all I know to the contrary, as far as they go. With

respect to the more prominent measure of Catholic Emancipation, it is

one that has my hearty approval. With respect to the bulk of his

financial measures, I believe them, from general report, to be sagacious

and skilful. But, it will be said, you have a strong opinion in favour

of Protection, and here your political prejudices warp your judgment.

Such, I can safely say, is by no means the case. I by no means entertain

any fixed and definite opinion, either for or against the actual measure

of the repeal of the Corn Laws. I have not obtained sufficient knowledge

of the facts of the case, to enable me to come to such a decisive

opinion; and so little am I suited at present for a staunch

Protectionist, that I feel in perfect readiness, if greater knowledge,

or the practical result of the working of the measure should convince me

of its utility, to recognise its value and importance; nay, I will even

say, that in the state of excitement into which the public mind had been

worked on the subject, I rejoice at the experiment being made, for if it

work well, so much the better, and if it work ill, our laws are not as

those of the Medes and Persians. Its evils can be stopped in time, and

if so, will be far less than those arising from permanent disaffection

among the people. Certainly, many of the principles urged in its

support, I consider fallacious, and some of those fallacies I have

endeavoured to expose; but I know perfectly well, that people may form a

correct practical judgment, though unable to explain, philosophically,

the true principles on which that judgment is really based. No earnest

free-trader, who advocates his cause from a sense of its truth, could

wish such fallacies to remain without exposure. If their view is true,

it cannot but gain instead of lose, by being removed from the

treacherous support of unsound principles.

But I feel quite sure that I entertain no prejudice against any man,

merely on account of his being a free-trader. I dislike all whose

suspicious conversion prevents full confidence in the sincerity of their

motives. I feel no sympathy with those who, with the ignoble violence of

petty minds, preach up a war against the aristocracy, impugn all motives

but their own, and seem to anticipate with triumph the downfal of those

above them, and their own seizure on rank and power in their turn.[7]

But then, it is not here the free trade that I dislike, but, in the one

case, the insincerity; in the other, the bigotry and narrow-mindedness.

But with a reasonable and liberal-minded free-trader, such as many of

the Whig party doubtless are, who is willing to do justice to other

motives than his own, and is actuated by a sincere and earnest belief in

the truth of his principles, I feel perfectly sure that no animosity

vitiates my feelings towards him, and that I could be as good friends

with him as with any person whatever. I believe, indeed, that there are

few people in England less under the influence of party or political

prejudice than myself, nor less unfitted, so far as their absence is

concerned, for forming an impartial estimate of a public man’s

character. I feel, therefore, no apprehension, in the present case, of

being influenced, even unconsciously, by unworthy motives, but simply by

the desire of expressing my opinion on conduct which appears to me to

call for grave and decided censure. My judgment is not based on any

isolated or doubtful expression, nor on minute and recondite

circumstances: it is the simple reading of those plain and unmistakeable

characters which more conspicuously mark Sir Robert Peel’s career, which

are known and admitted by all, and which lie within the comprehension of

all.

For my own part, I knew next to nothing of his former political conduct,

till the discussion caused by recent circumstances; a vague knowledge of

some change in his opinion on the Catholic Question, was nearly the

whole information I possessed of the career of a man respecting whom,

feeling no great admiration of his character, I never took any lively

interest. Nor can I say, that at present I have any thing but the most

elementary knowledge of the circumstances of his political life. I know

no more than those leading events which form the salient points in his

career, which, however, it seems to me, are quite sufficient for a just

conclusion,--a conclusion which, perhaps, is the less likely to err, as

founded on simpler premises, and freer from all subtle minutiæ.

I take then the facts which, as far as I can learn, are admitted by

all,--himself among the rest. If there be any error in my statement of

them, it certainly does not arise from design.

After having been for some time in the government with Canning, he

refused to hold office under him, and went into opposition, from a

strong and decided feeling (as was professed by himself) against the

Catholic claims which that statesman advocated.

Amid the ranks of this opposition, were some partisans, more zealous

than scrupulous, who carried on their party warfare in an unduly violent

way, which produced an effect much deeper than political attacks usually

do, on the generous and sensitive mind of Canning. This misconduct,

though confined to few, and little thought of at the time by their

associates, has, by its result, cast somewhat of a shade over the whole

of this opposition.

Owing at length to the efforts of his party, Sir R. Peel is brought in,

as the Protestant champion, to resist the Catholic claims, which the

great bulk of that party look upon as fraught with danger both to the

spiritual and temporal welfare of the State.

This party, which places him in power, never for a moment doubts that

his opinion coincides with their own, nor does he ever express a

sentiment which could lead them to suppose that they were mistaken in

their conviction. His actions and his speeches are perfectly in harmony

with that opinion, and all tend to confirm them in unlimited confidence.

When, however, he is seated in office, and while they are still enjoying

their opinion in perfect security, lie astonishes them by proposing and

passing the very measure which they imagined it was his principal object

to resist.

On the sudden and unexpected triumph of the principles of reform, which

raised the Whigs to power, Peel is again reduced to the ranks of

Opposition, and we here find him strenuously attacking all their

principles, which he denounces as dangerous to the institutions of

Church and State. He thus rallies round himself a party termed

Conservative, whose object is to resist these encroachments, which they

look on as irreligious, destructive, and anarchical.

This party gradually gains ground, while the Whigs decline in

proportion. At length, when the Whigs begin to devote their attention to

the development of free-trade principles, the storm, under Peel’s

auspices, is roused to the highest pitch, and the Whigs fall prostrate

under their triumphant adversaries.

Peel then comes into power, (for the second time,) supported by a large

majority. He stands forth in the character of “Defender of the Faith,”

and of the institutions of Church and State, and, generally, as the firm

antagonist of all Whiggish principles.

But more especially does he stand forth as the great Champion of

Protection--to resist the menacing encroachments of Free Trade--to check

all advances in the direction of that dimly seen and dreaded

catastrophe--the Repeal of the Corn Laws. Here, again, his party

entertain the strongest conviction that his opinions on this subject

coincide with their own; and on the strength of this conviction they

take their measures in full security on the most important matters.

Sir R. Peel, as before, never for a moment leads them to infer, by any

word or action, that this conviction is erroneous; on the contrary, for

a considerable period of time, he gives repeated assurances, in the

strongest language, of his support of the principle of Protection.

Nevertheless his measures, as it is soon observed, are all imbued with

the precise policy which he had formerly so denounced in his

opponents--a discovery which excites considerable dissatisfaction among

his followers, though they reconcile themselves to it, as they best may,

on the plea of the necessity of the times. Not for a moment, however,

are they induced to doubt of his firm determination to uphold the Corn

Laws.

No sooner, however, has the repeal of these laws (by the declaration of

the opposite party and the strength of public opinion) become feasible,

than, without giving any previous intimation of his real opinion, while

his party are still in complete security, and relying on his support, he

proposes and carries the very measure which they believed him to be

heartily endeavouring to oppose, and for the sake of resisting which

they had placed him in power, and supported him.

Before quitting power, he makes a speech explanatory of his views and

principles, in which he expresses his adoption of all those principles

of policy which, when the Whigs were in power, he had so resolutely

denounced, and his perfect readiness to assist in developing their

doctrines much further than they themselves had done.

Such is a simple outline of the facts,--facts of no dubious or recondite

nature, but notorious, and not, I apprehend, capable of denial.

It is from these facts that my opinion is formed, that Sir R. Peel’s

career is deserving of the gravest censure: it is from these that I draw

the conclusion, by some so much deprecated, and venture to pronounce,

without feeling much risk of error, that Sir R. Peel, in his public

conduct, is insincere, a man unworthy of all trust and confidence. A

most unwarrantable attack, exclaim his partisans; an imputation that can

only be the result of the venomous malignancy of a political opponent!

Who else would dare to brand such a man with the odious crime of

insincerity, to assert that he is not worthy of being trusted--to impute

to a statesman of such pure and exalted virtue the detestable guilt of

political hypocrisy!

How far the simple ideas of right and wrong may be altered by a tenure

of office, or by long acquaintance with political affairs, we are

fortunately ignorant; but unless they undergo some improvement, or at

least some modification, we are at a loss to account for all the

indignation manifested at these charges by the principal members of the

late ministry, and by other leading political luminaries, and are

tempted to inquire whence arise such great angers in these celestial

minds? To our unsophisticated intellect it seems, that to say that Sir

R. Peel is insincere, is only saying, in a concise and general way, what

is conveyed in the simple statement of the above facts, with somewhat

more of detail. What better exposition of the word _insincerity_ could

we give to a person desirous of receiving it than the plain recital of

Sir R. Peel’s conduct, as given above? That conduct is little else than

the very definition of the word. Is not a man said to be insincere when,

either by words or deeds, or by their omission, he wilfully leads people

to believe that he holds opinions which he really does not, and to act

in important matters upon that supposition;--when, knowing that they

believe him to support their cause, and that they are placing their

trust in him accordingly, he does not undeceive them, as one word of his

might do, but suffers them complacently to remain in their error?

Is not a man said to be unworthy of trust, or faithless, who, while he

knows that a trust of the greatest importance is reposed in him, and who

has tacitly acknowledged the acceptance of that trust, is seeking all

the time the ruin of that cause, the defence of which has been intrusted

in full confidence to him?

Is not a man said to be a hypocrite who acts outwardly a part which is

at variance with his inward convictions? Is not a man a hypocrite, who

outwardly so behaves himself, that he is looked upon as the Protestant

champion, while inwardly he is casting about how to carry the Catholic

claims? Is not he a hypocrite whose demeanour is such that he is clapped

on the political stage as the hero of Protection, whilst inwardly he is

thinking of the time when he shall be cheered as the Repealer of the

Corn Laws?

Now, that Sir R. Peel was ignorant that his party reposed trust in him,

and believed his views to coincide with their own, is, I imagine, what

nobody, not even himself, could for a moment pretend. It may be looked

on as a fact that cannot be disputed, that he knew that a large body of

men believed him to hold a certain class of opinions, while he himself

knew that he was holding the contrary,[8] and that nevertheless he

suffered them to repose trust in him, without ever undeceiving them of

their error, which a word of his would have sufficed to do, and allowed

them to act in security on matters of importance upon that erroneous

belief.

He is placed, then, in this dilemma;--that if he acknowledges the fact

he acknowledges the insincerity; if he denies the fact, nobody will

believe the denial; and so far from escaping from the odium of

insincerity, he will only prove it the more, by adding one piece of it

to another. Any way, then, he cannot escape this charge of insincerity,

which is complained of as so peculiarly distasteful. To what purpose,

then, are all these high-sounding speeches, this tone of injured

innocence, this indignation at the slightest hint of the names of deceit

or hypocrisy? It falls powerless on his accusers; it is not they who

laboriously strain to prove the charges, it is the facts which speak for

themselves. But what is the use, alas! of all this declamation against

the unhappy facts, which are in no degree moved or affected by it? Here,

again, if the reputation of sincerity be so much valued, would it not

have been a far better method of securing it, instead of making all

these laboured professions of esteem, to have simply observed its rules

in practice? How is it that so mature and able a statesman overlooked so

simple and obvious a course? Let politics explain the mystery.

The fact that he himself professes to see nothing in the least degree

blamable in his conduct, nothing that can in any way be qualified as

insincere, and that some of his partisans are indignant at such terms

being applied to it, is a useful example, to show how political

prejudices can blind the mind to the simplest moral truths.

The only line of defence that he could reasonably take, would be to

grant the insincerity, but to maintain that it was rendered necessary

and justifiable by circumstances. Thus, (taking the second case, of the

repeal of the Corn Laws,) his partisans might argue, that the measure

was one most highly beneficial to the country; that it was of vital

importance as well for its commercial interests, as also to allay the

strong and growing discontent which had taken hold of the nation; that

the concealment and dissimulation of which such complaint is made, were

necessary to obtain these benefits. Had Sir R. Peel avowed at an early

stage his real views, the prejudices of the Protectionists would

immediately have displaced him from power. It was necessary not to

awaken these prejudices, and this end was obtained by concealing his

true sentiments; by suffering them to repose their trust in one who was

really their enemy, which, it is admitted, was certainly a piece of

hypocrisy. “But then,” would they say, “mark the advantages of this

hypocrisy. Peel is thus enabled quietly to watch his opportunity. The

Whigs, finding the current of opinion strongly setting for free trade,

declare their adherence to it. Now, then, they are fairly compromised,

and Peel has the game all to himself. If he goes out, and the Whigs come

in, they will not be able to carry it, for when Peel is out of office,

not a dozen of his party will vote in favour of Free Trade. They will

not be able then to make any head, and if they come in they will be

immediately displaced again. Peel all the time, with that hypocrisy

which you so much blame, has kept his own plans snugly locked up in his

impenetrable breast, and is still looked upon by the unconscious

Protectionists as their hero and champion, so much so, that they refuse

to believe any rumours which may be floating about to the contrary.

Thanks then to this hypocrisy, he smoothly comes in again as before, but

the case, now that he is once more in office, is widely altered. If the

Whigs had proposed the measure, perhaps not a dozen of his party would

have supported it. But now that he is in office, the ‘_government

influence_’ is in his hands;” (that “_government influence_,” a phrase

after Mr. Sidney Herbert’s own heart which means, I believe, being

interpreted, that mixture of motives which combines, with the purest

public duty, certain visions of peerages, salaries, offices of various

kinds, and all the undefinable tribe of loaves and fishes.) “Will Peel

find only a dozen free-traders among his ranks now? Rest assured that a

wonderful liberality will be diffused among them; for the government

influence has the property of making many a man a free-trader, who

otherwise would have lived and died a staunch Protectionist. A round

hundred will be converted in addition to the former dozen, by the magic

of this government influence. This, in addition to the Whigs, who would

any way vote for free-trade, will be sufficient to carry the measure

with a good majority.

“Do not then let us blame so loudly this hypocrisy, before we have

examined how far it has been advantageous. In the present case, it has

hastened on a most beneficial measure, and we may well overlook in

regard to that a little falsehood and deceit. If the Protectionists have

been taken in, it is no very great matter; they are not people to be

pitied; they should have looked sharper about what they were doing. Peel

had shown them before what they might expect in the Catholic business;

and it is their own fault if such old birds let themselves be caught,

twice running, with chaff.”

This, altering somewhat the expressions to suit the dignity of his

language, is the line of defence that Sir R. Peel ought to adopt.

Admitting the insincerity, which it is useless to attempt to deny, he

should rest his case on the necessities of the State, on the important

benefits of his measure. In this view it will be a case of a conflict of

duties,--of the duty of truthfulness and sincerity, which in ordinary

cases is binding--and the duty to his country; and he may say, that

considering his duty to his country as greater than his duty of

sincerity to the Protectionists, he considered himself justified in

deceiving them, with a view of benefiting the nation. In this case,

however, we must remark, that he ought to acknowledge the deceit, and

feel compunction for it; for the breach of a duty, even when sacrificed

to a superior one, should not (as the moralists and as reason tell us)

take place in a virtuous mind without pain.[9] This pain, however, Sir

R. Peel is particularly unwilling to acknowledge; he strenuously insists

on feeling no humiliation or compunction of any kind for any part of his

conduct, by which assertion he gives us no favourable impression of the

nature of his mind; while by taking up so foolish and exaggerated a

posture, he materially injures the strength of his defence.

That the duty of truth, though paramount in ordinary circumstances, is

not so in all, and requires in certain cases to be sacrificed to

superior duties, is what all must on reflection admit.[10] The wife who

saved her husband by a falsehood, is immortalized as the “splendide

mendax” of Horace, and many other cases might be quoted in point. There

is no reason why a statesman also might not, in some circumstances, be

“splendide mendax,” but it is a dangerous aim, and he must take especial

care, that the natural meanness of the “mendacia” do not more than

counteract the splendour of his measures.

In estimating such conduct, two points come into consideration, the

splendour of the benefit obtained, and the character of those upon whom

the deceit is practised. Thus, in the above case of Hypermnestra, the

benefit obtained was the preservation of her husband’s life, a benefit

of the greatest importance to him, and one which her duty to her husband

made it imperative upon her to seek. Moreover, the conduct of those whom

she deceived was such, that the duty of sincerity towards them was

scarcely binding; for they themselves were endeavouring to compass an

act of the greatest guilt, one which involved not only deceit, but

murder. In every way her conduct was perfectly right, and justly is she

celebrated as “splendide mendax.”

Let us then examine, on both these points, the conduct of the late

Premier; let us weigh Peel against Hypermnestra. Let us scrutinise the

character of his “mendacia,” and see whether it should be ranked in the

category of “splendida” or “ingloria.”

First, then, as to the benefits which his recent conduct has conferred

upon his country.

Admitting (what, however, we cannot hold as any way proved at present)

that the measure itself of free-trade in corn, is one of the highest

benefit to the country,--granting that the promises held out by its most

sanguine advocates, shall be copiously fulfilled,--it still remains to

inquire, how far the country’s possession of those benefits will be

attributable to the conduct of Sir R. Peel, who, up to the eleventh

hour, was their strenuous and consistent opponent.

It is a generally admitted truth, that under the constitution we now

possess, as soon as public opinion is decidedly formed in favour of any

principle, that principle must triumph over all opposing influences. If,

then, public opinion were strongly pronounced in favour of free-trade in

corn, if the majority of the electors, who, under our constitution,

represent by the members they send to Parliament the deliberate opinion

of the nation, were strongly and decidedly in favour of the measure, why

should they be unable to give effect to those opinions?--what need would

they have of all the circuitous and underhand process employed by the

late Premier? No damage could have been done in this case to their cause

by Sir R. Peel’s avowal of his real opinions, instead of the close

secrecy in which, for purposes best known to himself, he thought fit to

veil them for so long a period. Granted, that by so doing he would have

been displaced from office; the country would not have felt at all

embarrassed by such an event--it would have had no difficulty on that

account in finding men who could execute its deliberate opinion. However

desirable it may be to Sir Robert, that he should have been the minister

to pass the measure, that his name might be associated with it, and that

it should cast a halo on his career, all that is a matter of pure

indifference to the nation, and cannot be looked on in the light of a

benefit. If the opinions of the actual Parliament were the only

obstacle, a dissolution was nigh at hand, or might have been resorted to

at any moment, when the country could have had no possible difficulty in

expressing its real opinions, and carrying them into effect, either

through him or others. However much, then, it might be advantageous to

himself, we cannot see what benefit, in such a case, free-trade can have

derived from the sinister support of all this disingenuous conduct.