But, if the merit attributed to him be, that by means of his skilful

artifices, and by the government influence at his disposal, he succeeded

in carrying the measure before it was the deliberate opinion of the

House, or of the majority of the electors of the country, then it is

plain that his conduct has been unconstitutional, and deserving far more

blame than praise. In this case the majority would have been obtained by

improper influences, not by the deliberate convictions of sincere and

earnest men, and would have been forced, by a species of trick, by the

minority of the electors on the majority. We all know to some extent

what “government influence” means--though the idea of it is so

mysterious and vague, that it is impossible to give a very precise

definition. Without asserting that it is an influence of any very

dishonourable kind, (as times go,) we may safely assert that it is not

of the most honourable. Motives resulting from sincerity and truth, are

certainly more estimable than those which result from government

influence. We should have thought that a minister, however useful he

might find it in practice, would carefully abstain from making much

direct reference to it in public. That a statesman should boast of the

success with which, by his eloquence and earnestness, he had advocated a

principle--of the impression which his arguments had made on the minds

of his hearers,--of how he had consistently supported it from the time

while it was yet weak and doubtful, till its triumphant success had

crowned his arduous exertions, this we could readily understand,--this

would be a just subject of self-gratulation. But if he has no proofs of

having persuaded the minds of men by reason; if, on the contrary, his

arguments have all tended to plunge them deeper into error and delusion,

we cannot understand how he should think it a matter of boast, that he

had persuaded their minds by “government influence.” Such a boast

appears to us not to be of the most honourable kind to himself, and

certainly not very complimentary to those who had supported him. If we

ourselves had voted for a minister, and had heard him afterwards

declare, that he believed us to have done so from “government

influence,” we should certainly look upon it as a species of insult.

Sir R. Peel, however, in giving his own account of his share of merit in

promoting the measure, makes no scruple of attributing it all to his

well-timed use of “government influence.” After particularly insisting,

that Lord John Russell cannot claim much merit in the affair, he

explains to us what amount properly falls to himself. “The real state of

the case,” says he, “was, that parties were nearly equally balanced, and

THAT THE GOVERNMENT INFLUENCE WAS THROWN INTO THE SCALE.” With his

wonted egotism, he does not seem to think it possible, that the

gentlemen of his party may have given their vote without reference to

him, solely as the result of their genuine convictions. Such is the

reward which his unhappy followers receive from the master whom they so

faithfully supported. We do not say that they may not have deserved it,

but we think they had a right to look for it from other hands.

By his own account, then, the matter stands thus: the merit of the

affair is to be shared between Cobden and Peel. In this division of

labour, Cobden has all the clean work, and Peel all the dirty. Cobden

converts all those whose minds are amenable to persuasion, and Peel all

those whose minds are amenable to “government influence.”

Sir Robert Peel, however, seems most perfectly satisfied with his

exploit, and never for a moment to doubt that it entitles him to the

greatest applause. St. Augustine could not speak with more exultation of

converting millions of Pagans to Christianity by the fervour of his

eloquence, than Sir R. Peel does of his illustrious feat of converting

some hundred ignoble minds to free-trade by his paltry government

influence. This is the glorious, the devoted deed, upon which he rests

his claims to immortality; this it is which is to enshrine his name amid

the gratitude of an admiring posterity. On account of this he trusts

that “his name will be gratefully remembered in those places which are

the abode of the man whose lot it is to labour, and to gain his bread

with the sweat of his brow, when he recruits his strength with abundant

and untaxed food, the sweeter because no longer leavened with a sense of

injustice.” What this abundance of food will actually turn out to be,

and when it is to begin, (for I apprehend that as yet, although the law

is in operation, no labourers have been incommoded with plethora,) we

will not here endeavour to determine. But even if it should turn out to

be an abundance altogether unlooked for and unprecedented, we would not

have Sir Robert Peel imagine that much of the labourer’s gratitude will

go to him. The labourer is generally a shrewd man, with a good share of

honest common sense; and he neither likes his bread nor his minister to

be leavened with the taint of injustice. He is perfectly capable of

discriminating between those who consistently advocate a cause, and

those who, having profitably opposed it in the hour of its weakness,

when they might have aided it, embrace it at the eleventh hour, in the

time of its triumph, when it is capable of aiding them. It is not on

time-serving patriots, such as these, that posterity confers her

gratitude. Posterity gives her gratitude to the upright and sincere, not

to the crafty, servile, and deceitful. Posterity admires those who

convert their fellows to truth by persuasion, she scorns those who can

only convert them to dishonour by government influence.

If, then, the majority of electors were in favour of free-trade, Peel’s

artifices were null and superfluous; if they were not yet in favour of

it, they were unconstitutional. He either did no good whatever to the

cause, or he passed it sooner than constitutional principles warranted.

In the latter case he might claim some merit for anticipating, by a

brief period, the time when it would have been duly carried by a

majority of the electors. A short additional interval of the enjoyment

of free-trade is then, it appears, the utmost extent of his services.

Against this are to be placed all the evils arising from his peculiar

mode of passing the measure,--the shock given to confidence in public

men by such sudden inconsistency,--the general lowering of political

character by his craftiness and duplicity,--the disgust excited at the

avowed and conspicuous part which government influence has played on the

occasion. The country feels justly offended with the minister, who, in a

free nation, where the conscientious voice of the majority should alone

decide, attempts to anticipate that decision by the voice of those who

are biassed by lower and unrecognised motives, and who scruples not to

boast of the success of such a method, and lay claim to merit on its

account. It feels justly offended also at the discovery, that no less

than a hundred of its representatives, who are looked on as the elite of

the land, are capable of voting on a measure of first-rate importance,

on other grounds than their own heartfelt convictions; that they are

ready to vote against it if proposed by A, and for it if proposed by B.

Even the cause of free-trade receives its share of damage by becoming

associated with the odium of such mischievous proceedings. This, indeed,

is felt and acknowledged by many of the free-traders themselves. I may

quote, as an illustration, some expressions in a published letter of Mr.

Vernon Smith, that has fallen under my eye. He states as a motive for

declining office, that “he should be very sorry in his person, however

humble, to sanction the belief that official emolument is a motive of

action among public men. Sufficient shock” he says, “has already been

given to public virtue;” and he subsequently adds, speaking of the Corn

Bill, “We have to await many mischiefs from its mode of settlement.”

For our part, had we been free-traders, most earnestly should we have

implored that our cause might not be encumbered with the sinister aid of

Sir Robert Peel.

Weighing, then, well all the circumstances of the case; considering the

relative value of moral and economical advantages; nay, even looking

principally merely to the latter, it appears to me, as the result of Sir

R. Peel’s recent proceedings, that no residuum of benefit to the country

is left, but a very considerable amount of injury. Such a result is not

one of sufficient lustre and brightness to enable us to grant him the

title in question of “splendide mendax.”

Let us, however, inquire into the other point, as to the character of

those who were the dupes of his insincerity, and how far the duty of

sincerity between him and them was binding.

The duty of sincerity between a leading statesman and that body of men

who were termed his party, does not result from any verbal promise given

by one to the other, but is a tacit compact, arising from the nature of

things, mutually understood, though not defined; and, precisely on

account of its tacit nature, and of so much being left to good faith, is

perhaps the more incumbent on an honourable mind. Not, indeed, that the

party who have placed a public man in power, have therefore the smallest

right to claim an influence over his opinions;--not that because they

think they have done a service to him, they are to claim his support of

their views as a recompense for that service. He is perfectly free to

hold what opinions he pleases, but he is under an obligation honestly to

profess those opinions. He is free to change them when he likes, but he

is bound to give an intimation of those changes. This is not a case of

services bandied to and fro between one party and another, but it is a

mutual duty which all public men owe to each other for the furtherance

of the welfare of the State. Unless public men of all parties and

positions are sincere in the avowal of their opinions, public business

sustains severe injury. For in this, as in other things, isolated

individuals can accomplish little; men must combine their efforts, and

organise themselves, that they may act effectually; and in order to do

this, they must know the general tenor of each other’s opinions, and

count on their support or their hostility accordingly. If they once took

to deceiving one another on these points; if a body of Whigs came over

to the Tory benches, (or _vice versâ_,) and acted and spoke like Tories,

merely with the view of deceiving them, leading them into erroneous

calculations, and then profiting by the error they had caused, such

conduct would justly be stigmatised as baneful and dishonourable. For

public men act and concert measures in matters of the greatest

importance upon the belief which they thus entertain of the general

views of others, and unless they can act in security on this belief,

there is an end of all public confidence. But this general sincerity of

profession and behaviour, though binding on all, even the humblest

member of the House, is more especially so on the leading and more

distinguished statesmen, inasmuch as its breach in their case is

productive of greater evils. A knowledge of their real views is of the

greatest importance to all parties, whose measures vitally depend on the

opinion they entertain of the general views of these statesmen. Upon

this belief they securely act in matters of the greatest importance;

upon this they support or oppose a ministry; and if they are deceived in

this belief, they are thus induced to act in a way which they would, if

they knew the truth, think contrary to the public welfare. If a man

should knowingly induce in another, though without any actual falsehood,

an erroneous belief, and suffer him to act in consequence in a way

prejudicial to his private fortune, (of which we have seen many

instances in the late railroad transactions,) such conduct is justly

denounced as highly censurable. But much more censurable is the conduct

of him who induces an erroneous belief in another, so as to lead him to

act in a way prejudicial (under his views) to the public welfare. By how

much the public welfare is dearer to the high-minded man than his own

individual fortune, by so much is the misconduct of the hypocrite in

Parliament greater than that of the hypocrite upon ’Change. When,

therefore, a Prime Minister knowingly suffers an erroneous belief to

exist in the minds of men, owing to which they give him their support,

which support, if they knew his real views, they would think injurious

to the public welfare, he is committing a breach of a solemn trust; he

is suffering, or rather he is inducing, men to act contrary to the

dictates of their conscience, to do that which he knows they will

afterwards repent of, as contrary to what they deem the interests of

their country; and his conduct is in every way deserving of the

strongest and severest censure.

That Sir Robert Peel knew that men looked upon him as a Protectionist,

while he knew that he was not one; that he knew that, in consequence of

this belief, they supported him; that he knew that if they were aware of

his real views, they would instantly withdraw their support, and that as

soon as they discovered them they would grievously repent of that which

they had given him, as having been contrary to the real interests of

their country;--that he knew all this, and that, nevertheless, he

concealed his real views from these men, and allowed them to retain

their erroneous belief, and to act consequently in a way diametrically

opposite to their conscientious convictions, though a single sentence of

his would have sufficed to dispel their error, and enable them to

further their country’s interests conformably with their own

views--this, I say, is matter of fact, which he would in vain attempt to

deny.

This case, then, exactly corresponds with the preceding; he has broken a

solemn though tacit trust; he has given a severe blow to public

confidence; he has culpably suffered honourable men to deceive

themselves in matters deeply concerning the public welfare; and his

conduct, therefore, exposes him to a severer censure than I have any

wish to seek for language to express.

And when honest men, who have been for a long time conscientiously

supporting him, find that he has been tacitly deceiving them, and

concealing from them his real views,--that he has been sporting with

their convictions, and using them for nothing more than tools for his

own secret purposes,--shall we wonder that they feel just indignation at

such conduct, and that they express their feelings in stronger terms

than suit the delicate ears of Mr. Sidney Herbert?

Sir R. Peel has indeed attempted, in a broken kind of way, to excuse his

conduct, by saying,--“I never told you so and so; if you supported me

without knowing my real opinions, it was your own fault. I did not _say_

any thing that you can charge me with as a falsehood.” Without

mentioning that, in this case, great suspicion is cast on many even of

his verbal professions, which come down to no distant period, surely a

sexagenarian Premier can scarcely need to be told, that there is a

deceit in actions not less than in professions. Does he think it an

excuse that he did not deceive others, but only allowed them to deceive

themselves? A pleasant kind of sincerity! Why, this is no more than the

excuse of a school-boy, who thinks it a sufficient salve to his

conscience that he has skilfully managed to deceive without uttering any

thing directly false with his lips. And this is the excuse put forth by

an English Minister! Miserable excuse, that fitly crowns the

deceit--paltriness of mind, almost inconceivable!

Still worse is it, when he attempts to justify his conduct by taunting

his friends with a previous inconsistency of their own, which they had

been reluctantly induced to commit through him, in order to support him

in power.[11] We cannot understand why he should thus delight in

exposing the not very pleasing recesses of his ignoble nature.

Certainly, “Quem Jupiter vult perdere, prius dementat.” Otherwise he

must see that such palliations as these are far more injurious to his

character than the severest attacks of his foes.

The only case in which this duty of sincerity towards public men could

at all cease to be binding, and admit of a valid excuse, would be, when

those upon whom the deceit was practised were not men conscientiously

seeking the public good, but were acting from unworthy views, for

private or for class interests. In this case, we will admit that the

duty of sincerity would not be of any very strict obligation. This is

doubtless the view that is taken by many people of the conduct of the

Protectionists; by all that numerous class represented by Messrs.

Bright, Villiers, &c.--men who, however sincere themselves, are not

probably endowed by nature with very comprehensive or liberal minds.

From these gentlemen we hear nothing but attacks on the character of the

whole body of the landlords; they look on them as a selfish oligarchy,

sacrificing the public good to their own class interests. Such views

having been industriously propagated by the League, are entertained with

more or less of bitterness by a considerable body of the people. It is

on this account that Sir R. Peel’s conduct has met with so much applause

among them; this it was which animated the cheers that consoled him on

his resignation of power; his treachery to the Protectionists, so far

from appearing censurable in the eyes of these admirers, has rather

enhanced the merit of his success. But such views, however they may suit

the minds of those whose passions are aroused in the party warfare of

the day, can meet with no acceptance from the impartial judge. It is

impossible to admit for a moment that a very large portion of the whole

population of the country, including not only landlords but people of

all classes, merchants, tradesmen, and operatives, were so lamentably

destitute of all regard for their country, and that public spirit was

entirely monopolised by the party advocating free-trade. Neither can we

admit that the large body of Protectionist members in the House, forming

upwards of a third of the whole, were all playing so unworthy a part.

For, adding them to the converts of “Government influence,” we should

thus have more than half the House of Commons acting upon questionable

motives--a prospect certainly not cheering, nor honourable to the

country.

Sir R. Peel, indeed, with his usual magnanimity, does not scruple to

adopt, in a great measure, the above view; and, seeing how little he

spares the feelings of his own devoted supporters, we cannot expect him

to show much tenderness to those who have become his foes. Accordingly,

we find him making frequent hints at these unworthy motives; indeed, but

for some such belief, we cannot understand how he could have justified

to himself his deceitful conduct. In his last words, on laying down his

power, he does not conceal his sentiments:--“I shall leave a name,” says

he, “execrated by every monopolist, who, from less honourable motives,

clings to Protection for his own individual benefit,”--a sentiment

warmly, applauded by Messrs. Bright, Villiers, & Co.

The generosity of nature displayed in this parting blow is indeed worthy

of admiration! We should scarcely think that it was pronounced by a man,

who, up to the age of fifty-six, had done every thing in his power to

uphold this very monopoly and oppose the Repeal of the Corn Laws, and

who had strongly denounced all imputations of the above kind, in the

language of its early and consistent supporters. How noble must be the

man, who, having for all his life courted and flattered the aristocracy,

and thus obtained power as their champion, now gives them a parting

kick, and delivers them over to popular odium as monopolists, after

having obtained for himself popularity and influence at their expense!

Really, let us remark, when Sir Robert scruples not to express such

views, he has no reason to be indignant if the stones of his opponents

break some of the panes of his own glass house, even though they damage

a few of the artificial flowers, which he has been striving to rear

there with so much care.

But, as we observed before, the impartial judge cannot accept this

opinion of Sir Robert’s. He will proportion his praise and blame pretty

nearly equally between both parties. He will hope that in both, the main

body of men are acting on sincere and worthy motives; in both he must

acknowledge it to be probable that there are a few whose motives are of

a less estimable kind. But he will not put all the virtue on one side,

nor all the selfishness on the other. We have yet to learn that Sir

Robert is in any way qualified to pass his censure on the body of

English gentlemen. The less he says upon these points the better. In the

impartial estimate of the three parties, it is he and his that will come

by far the worst off.

We cannot then admit that the character of the parties deceived, in any

way justified the insincerity; no sufficient excuse is found upon this

head, and the breach of the duty remains exposed to grave and severe

censure. England does not recognise such conduct in her Ministers. She

has long been accustomed to pride herself on a general openness and

sincerity of dealing; and that honesty which she looks for in the

humbler walks of life, she claims in a yet more imperative degree from

her leading and conspicuous statesmen. She reprobates among these all

deceitful and underhand conduct, all espionage and mystery; she loves

not the secret opener of letters, even though the plea of utility be at

hand to excuse his conduct; nor is the government influence, Sir

Robert’s darling, at all palatable to her taste. Such proceedings she

thinks more fitted to the court of the despot, to the sinuous policy of

the Oriental Divan; in a free country she demands that public men should

be honest and straightforward, and should not, from whatever motives,

suppress and mask the genuine convictions of their mind. She looks not

on language as a method of concealing the thoughts, but as a method of

declaring them. The recent conduct of Peel has been in every way alien

to her principles. It was a skilful _coup d’état_, well suited to a

Turkish Vizier, but totally inappropriate to an English Minister.

Having, then, examined the insincerity on both the points proposed, we

find that in neither does it wear an aspect of splendour or of

brilliancy, but much of the reverse. We refuse it then the title of a

splendid insincerity, but we qualify it as poor, culpable, and

inglorious.

Sir R. Peel, however, gives us quite a different account of the matter:

he puts in his claim to a generosity of the purest and most exalted

kind. “What possible motives could I have had,” he asks, “except the

most devoted and patriotic? See what an enormous sacrifice I have made!

To afford my country the blessings of Free Trade, I have given up my

power and the confidence of a large party, every thing, in a word, which

is chiefly valuable to a public man. I have come forward and boldly

avowed the truth, in spite of all the taunts of inconsistency and

apostasy to which I inevitably exposed myself. But these I esteem as

nothing in comparison with the good of my country. For my part, I

declare that the proudest moment of my life was when I avowed my

opinions to my colleagues, and proposed measures for opening the

ports.”

It is curious to observe how completely blind Sir Robert Peel seems to

be, to the point on which his conduct is really blamable. He insists

much on his perfect integrity in proposing the measure, seeing that he

thought it highly beneficial to his country. Surely so self-evident a

truism can scarcely need so much parade: surely it is an acknowledged

fact that a statesman is not to blame for proposing measures which he

deems to be highly beneficial. Sir Robert was doubtless most perfectly

right in proposing his measure; nobody, I apprehend, at all blames him

on that head. He was doing his simple duty, considering what his views

were upon the subject. But that for which he is justly blamable, is for

not having done so before. He was culpable for suppressing so long his

real opinions, for professing to deem free trade injurious, while really

he thought it beneficial. He is culpable for the general mask which he

has so long thrown over all his real character and opinions, leading

astray the minds of men, and ruining public confidence. This is the

point to which blame attaches, and on this he is perfectly silent. We

should be glad to know whether it was from motives of a very high and

exalted virtue, that he so long suffered his colleagues, and the public

generally, to deceive themselves? Was it from any very stoical sense of

duty that he so long passed himself off for a protectionist, when really

a free trader? Was it from any very intense and devoted patriotism that

for so long he bitterly denounced Whig principles, when, as it now turns

out, he thoroughly approves of them in his heart? Was it any great

stretch of self-sacrifice, any very generous magnanimity, to obtain

power, and so long to retain it, upon false pretences? This is the point

which it would be desirable for him to clear up. Instead of this, we

have much declamation, quite beside the purpose, on his virtue in coming

forward and avowing his real opinion. What! is it then any such

excessive stretch of virtue, that a man should actually tell the truth?

Is it any thing so marvellous in a statesman, that he should advocate a

measure which he thinks vitally necessary for his country? Sir R. Peel

seems to think that when it entails, as in his own case, the sacrifice

of power, such conduct is eminently praise-worthy and meritorious. Why,

it is his bare duty and nothing more; it is what he ought to have done

years ago, holding the views he does; or, rather, he should never have

entered on that power at all. Surely power and place are not so dear to

statesmen that they should think it very arduous and patriotic to

sacrifice them for their duty to their country. Not to do so would be

highly blamable, to do so is simply right, but in no way a subject for

praise or self-glorification. And yet Sir R. Peel naively tells us, that

the proudest moment of his life was when he declared his real sentiments

to his colleagues, and avowed his advocacy of free trade. A strange

subject of pride, to fulfil (much too late) a duty of common honesty!

Wondrous triumph of virtue, to put a tardy close to a culpable and

pernicious dissimulation, which had already been productive of great

harm! And this is the glorious feat, which, as Sir R. Peel informs us,

afforded him the proudest moment of his life! Curious, unenviable

career, of which such is the proudest moment?

It seems then to be “the enormous sacrifice” which he has made, upon

which he rests his claim to devoted virtue. “I have sacrificed,” says

he, every thing that “is dear to a public man.” Certainly, we do not

deny that he has made many sacrifices. He has sacrificed his former

supporters, handing them over to discomfiture and to the public odium as

monopolists. By his course of dissimulation and deceit he has also

sacrificed his character, and with it all claims to public confidence.

But these sacrifices are not of any very sublime and devoted nature. It

is not by a sacrifice of character that a claim to exalted virtue can

best be established. The method is ingenious, but somewhat Irish,[12]

and likely to meet with no solid success. There remains, then, the

sacrifice of power, to which we will grant its share of merit, (provided

it is not made a matter of boast.) We learn, however, from some of his

new admirers, that it has not been laid down for nought. It appears to

have been exchanged for a good equivalent of popularity and influence,

upon which it is hinted that a firmer power is to arise ere long, much

grander and more durable than the last. Mr. Wakley, for instance,

informs us that “at this moment Sir R. Peel is the most popular man in

the kingdom; that he is beloved, nay adored, by the masses, who believe

that no man has ever before made such sacrifices on their behalf.” And

that most probably “he (Sir R. Peel) will shortly return to power upon

the shoulders of the people, and will remain there just as long as he

pleases.”

If this be so, what shall we say of the sacrifice? Had Sir Robert

advocated this measure while it was weak, and while such advocacy

entailed a real sacrifice, then might he justly put in his claim to

heroism and devotion. But he gained his power by opposing it while weak,

he did not adopt it till it was strong, and capable of supporting that

power. He rejected it when its adoption would have weakened him, he

embraced it when his adherence procured for him an extensive (though

ill-deserved) popularity and influence. By associating his name with it,

he has obtained renown, frequently the dearest reward of ambition. In no

way are the circumstances of his conduct such as to support his claims

to intense and exalted patriotism. It is not for men of time-serving

convictions like these, to aspire to the rank of Aristides or

Washington.

If, indeed, we go back to the characters of antiquity, we find others

much better suited to our man, than these exalted natures; but there is

one especially whose resemblance is such that we cannot help suspecting

that there must be more than chance in it. He is described by

Aristophanes, and with such lively and accurate traits, that no one can

fail to recognise the type of our present hero. It has not, indeed, been

reserved for the nineteenth century to discover that a measure promising

cheap food is well suited to procure popularity and power, and that the

favour of the people can most readily be obtained by courting that

highly important organ, its stomach. (Nor can we altogether blame this

judgment of the “popular bellua.”) The late contest between our

political leaders is most amusingly similar to that described in the

“Knights,” between the two candidates for the good graces of the

Athenian Demos.

R. ὁρᾷς· ἐγώ σοι πρότερος ἐκφέρω δίφρον.

P. ἀλλ’ οὐ τράπεζαν· ἀλλ’ ἐγὼ προτεραίτερος.

R. ἰδοὺ φέρω σοι σάχχαρον Κύβης ἐγὼ,

ἤρτυνε δ’ αὐτὸν δοῦλος Ἀφρικανικός.

P. ἐγὼ δὲ μᾶζαν Ἰνδικὴν μεμαγμένην.

R. λαβέ νῦν πλακοῦντος πίονος παρ’ ἐμοῦ τόμον.

But it is when we come to the crowning trick that we more especially

recognise our patriot, that famous “coup” of the hare, which has shed

immortal lustre on the ἀλλαντοπώλης. How exactly was Cleon like

the Whigs, boasting

Κ. ἀλλ’ οὐ λαγῷ’ ἕξεις ὁπόθεν δῷς· ἀλλ’ ἐγώ·

ΑΛΛΑΝ. οἴμοι. πόθεν λαγῷά μοι γενήσεται;

ὦ θυμὲ νυνὶ, βωμολόχον ἔξευρέ τι.

And how beautiful is the heaven-sent flash of genius which irradiates

the mind of the Athenian Peel, when, distracting his adversary’s

attention, by directing it to “envoys _with bags of money_,” he snatches

away the choice tit-bit, and proffers it with his own hands to the

chuckling Demos;--

ΑΛΛΑΝ. ὦ Δημίδιον, ὁρᾷς τὰ λαγῷ’ ἅ σοι φέρω;

It is a stroke that may have been often imitated, but never surpassed,

and must excite envy even in the breast of his present successful

follower. And is not our modern trickster’s recognition of the services

of Cobden, and his own claim of merit for his skilful “government

influence,” almost prophetically expressed in the slightly varied line--

P. τὸ μὲν νόημα Κοβδένος, τὸ δὲ κλέμμ’ ἐμόν.

and the contest for their respective claims to favour between himself

and Lord John?

R. ἐγὼ δ’ ἐκινδύνευσ’. P. ἐγὼ δ’ ὤπτησά γε.

with the pithy judgement of the Demos,

ἄπιθ’· οὐ γὰρ ἀλλὰ τοῦ παραθέντος ἡ χάρις.[13]

Yes, when we read this it is impossible to hesitate; an Attic colony

must have settled in England, and the sausage-seller’s progeny must

still be thriving among us. The blood of the ἀλλαντοπώλης must

yet be circulating in the veins of the κοτωνοπώλης of the day.

Yet when we read of our sausage-seller’s subsequent career, we feel that

we have done him injustice; most widely different is his policy as

Agoracritus, from any thing in the career of Peel.

In fact, our κοτωνοπώλης is the ἀλλαντοπώλης inverted.

The Athenian starts as a demagogue, and ends as a patriot. Peel starts

in the character of a patriot, and ends in that of a demagogue. The

Athenian starts with the trick of the hare, and ends in an honest and

noble policy. Peel starts with the appearance of an honest policy, and

ends with the trick of the hare.

The Athenian directs his efforts to a high and noble aim, to purify and

regenerate the Δῆμος, to purge him from the love of gain, from

fickle caprice, and overweening vanity, and lead him to higher and

nobler influences; to attune his mind to old national feelings, and

revive in him a love of his country’s institutions, before fast falling

into contempt. Under the auspices of the bard of the shining brow, we

are conducted to a glorious vision, where amid the sound of the opening

Propylæa, the regenerate Δῆμος is sitting on his throne, clad

in his long-lost ornaments, τεττιγοφόρας ἀρχαίῳ σχήματι

λαμπρός. οἷός περ Ἀριστείδῃ πρότερον καὶ Μιλτιάδῃ ξυνεσίτει·

But what is the vision to which Peel’s principles have conducted us? How

will the Δῆμος that delights his economical mind bear

comparison with that of the Athenian? The Athenian’s is sitting upon a

throne, Peel’s is standing bowing behind a counter. The Athenian’s is

animated by the love of the beautiful, Peel’s by the love of the

gainful. The Athenian’s is alive to poetry and art, Peel’s is engrossed

by industry and commerce. The Athenian’s strives to give real value to

mind, Peel’s to give exchangeable value to matter. The Athenian’s

delights in philosophical, Peel’s in commercial speculations. The

Athenian’s is a nation of heroes, Peel’s is a nation of shopkeepers.

There is the workman toiling twelve hours a-day, while Parliament

discusses the probability of a discussion on his condition. There is the

pauper, revelling in the workhouse on his diet of “abundant and untaxed

food.” There, too, is the liberal cotton lord, proud of his

intelligence, his piety, and his purse. “I thank my stars that I am not

as other men are, monopolists, aristocrats, or even as this

Protectionist. I eat slave-grown sugar. I pay half per cent income-tax

on all that I possess. I work my men twelve hours a-day, and leave them

no time for vice and idleness. I buy in the cheapest, and I sell in the

dearest market.”

There is the liberality that prefers free trade to free man, and the

principles of economy to those of humanity. There is the piety that

justifies its avarice by texts, and patronises slavery on the ground of

Christian duty. There is the philanthropy that loves itself and its tea

better than the happiness of its fellows; that dooms thousands of its

race to the lowest depths of wo, in order to save a penny on the pound

of sugar. Go, ye liberal and enlightened Christians, learn Christianity

from Voltaire. He did not bow before the idol of trade, at which you are

now prostrating yourselves; he raised his voice in the cause of humanity

against those vile principles of commercial cupidity which you have

chosen for your creed. He, pointing to the degraded negro, could

indignantly exclaim--

“Voyez, à quel prix vous mangez du sucre en Europe!”

He did not think that market cheap, where such a price was paid for it.

Yes! while you are dealing out damnation in your bigoted sects, he was

more, far more a Christian than you are.[14]

We by no means wish to lay to Sir Robert’s charge all the evils of the

above picture; nevertheless, we think that the economical principles so

dear to his heart, have had no little share in contributing to them.

Certainly we look in vain for any efforts on his part to elevate the

national character. His last support of the sugar bill is admirably

characteristic; he is decidedly opposed to its principle, (he

sympathises indeed most warmly with the negroes,) but, nevertheless, he

is compelled as usual to support it--at a great sacrifice of course to

his feelings--owing to the peculiar position of political affairs.

Certainly, his career cuts a lamentable figure by the side of that of

Agoracritus.

Nevertheless, though we cannot think his career meritorious, it is

without doubt remarkable. This phenomenon of a man, who through life had

been regarded as a leader in the aristocratic or Tory school, casting

his skin nearly at the mature age of sixty, and soaring forth in the

sunshine of popular favour in the gaudy and pleasing colours of the

Radical, is certainly one of a curious and interesting kind. A variety

of questions are suggested by it to the inquiring spirit. For how long

has this suppression of his real opinions existed? For how long has he

been pleased, according to his phrase, to allow people to deceive

themselves? Is he still allowing them this amusing privilege? Do we even

now see him in his real colours, or is some further metamorphosis in

store? Have his changes been the sudden conversions of a facile and

unstable inconsistency, or are they the long prepared denouement of a

secret and mysterious plot? Has a tyro in politics been unlearning his

prejudices and mistakes at the expense of his country, or has a Radical

in disguise been prowling in the Tory fold, luring on the aristocracy to

their own discomfiture?

Between the two alternatives of inconsistency and insincerity, it might

be thought that his apologists would all take the first, and his

accusers the second; that while the latter attacked him for premeditate

treachery, the former might defend him on the ground of a natural

facility of disposition, which rendered him prone to sudden conversions

beneath the pressure of the times.

Such, however, by no means seems to be the case: on the contrary, the

darker and more mysterious view of his conduct is the one taken by his

most ardent admirers; (for, strange to say, such beings still exist.)

Happening to be in conversation with one of these, (a zealous Radical,)

I chanced to indulge in some animadversions on Sir Robert’s weakness, as

shown in his numerous and repeated conversions, expressing an opinion

that a statesman so exceedingly fallible must be totally unfitted to

guide the destinies of a great nation. But such, I found, was by no

means the view of my radical friend; who, somewhat to my surprise,

maintained that he was a most able and skilful man, by far the best

fitted of all our existing statesmen for the post of Prime Minister. Of

any thing like weakness he would not hear. Does Peel’s general

character, said he, savour of weakness? does he look like an innocent

child, who does not know what he is about? Depend upon it there is a

method in his inconsistency; depend upon it he has perfectly well known,

all along, the game he has been playing.

What! then, said I, do you mean to say, that all his former professions

were insincere? that when he opposed Canning on the Catholic question,

he all along looked forward to his carrying it? that when he opposed the

Whigs, he intended when in, power to adopt their principles? that when

he made such strenuous professions in favour of Protection, he all

along had an eye to the repeal of the Corn Laws?

Certainly, replied my friend, I may say not only that I think it, but

that I know it. Do you suppose that so skilful a man would make his

moves without having an eye to the game he was playing?

And is not such insincerity, said I, most detestable?

Insincerity! replied my Liberal, with a shrug of the shoulders,--it is a

fine word, a very pretty word for declamation; but, young man, when you

are as old as I am, you will know what it passes for in the political

world. Depend upon it, only those cry out about it who are hurt by it;

those who benefit by it give it quite a different name. The man who is

an apostate and a renegade to the party whom he betrays, is a virtuous

and patriotic convert to that which receives him.

Surely, cried I, if Peel has really been playing the game you attribute

to him, no one could hesitate to pronounce him insincere.

Not at all so, said his admirer, his sincerity can easily be defended. I

look upon him myself as a most sincere patriot, notwithstanding the view

that I take of his policy. His principle has been a most consistent and

patriotic one;--always to carry the popular measure, as soon as the

public mind was ripe for it.

But was not, then, his conduct to Canning most reprehensible, when he

professed such repugnance to the Catholic claims?

Not by any means; he really opposed them at the time, because the public

mind was not yet ripe for them; and he sincerely proposed them

afterwards, because it had ripened in the interim. The measure which

would have been hazardous in the former case, had become safe and

beneficial in the second. The same may be said of his apparent changes

with respect to the principles of the Whigs and the Free Traders. He

abstained from these doctrines as long as their popularity was doubtful,

and embraced them as soon as the maturity of public opinion had rendered

them wise and beneficial.

Why then, I inquired, did he profess to oppose them on principle?--why

did he not declare that he was only waiting for the public mind to

ripen? I cannot say that I got a very satisfactory answer on this head,

but it was something to the effect that the public good, statesman-like

discretion, peculiarities of political affairs, might justify some

suppression on this point.

In fact, continued my friend, his whole opposition to the Whigs and the

Reform Bill, was nothing but a piece of acting, into which he was led by

the force of circumstances. Nobody thought that the public mind was so

nearly ripe for it as it proved to be, and Peel therefore was not

prepared to take advantage of it. It was an unforeseen event which took

him by surprise, and he thus, against his will, was forced out of the

movement. But his opposition was entirely fictitious,--he was never a

Tory at heart: he might use their prejudices as tools to serve his

purposes, but he was always too wary to adopt them in reality. His heart

was always with the popular doctrines, more so than was the case with

the Whigs themselves, as his recent behaviour evinces. He is ready now

to take up and carry out their principles at a point where they

themselves hesitate to do so. This is what he has all along been aiming

at,--the post he aspires to is that of the man of the people, the leader

of the movement. He is far better fitted for this than the Whigs; he has

no sickly visions of finality. He will not scruple to carry out the

dominant wishes of the people, whithersoever they may lead. Then he has

this peculiar advantage, that while most other ministers are fettered by

their pledges and professions, these are no impediments to Peel. This is

why I look upon him as our fittest minister, because he will most fully

carry out the people’s will. As soon as that will is decidedly

expressed, his only care will be to execute it.

We ventured to raise some doubts as to the fitness of such a character

for the post of Minister. Surely, said we, _he_ can scarcely be fit for

a ruler, who is thus servile to the dominant opinion of the day. Surely

a Minister should be somewhat in advance of the mass, and rather capable

of directing their opinion than compelled to follow it.

If we look to mere outward brilliancy, replied he, that may be true, but

if we look to solid utility, the case is different. In a despotic

country, such a minister as you require might be needful; in Austria,

for instance, a Metternich may be of use to direct and anticipate public

opinion. But in a free country like ours, where public opinion is so

active, we shall never want demagogues to form it; of these there will

always be a plentiful stock; the difficulty is to find a minister who

will interpret and execute the popular will, after it has been fashioned

by these more original spirits. And this, if I mistake not, is eminently

found in Peel, as time, I suspect, will demonstrate. Think not that his

career is over; think not, as his short-sighted adversaries may imagine,

that he is extinguished as a public man. That darling wish of his heart,

to be borne triumphantly into power by the masses, as leader of the

popular movement, lies at length almost within his grasp. His recent

desertion of the aristocracy was admirably timed; though he may have

lost their support, he has gained in exchange the favour of the people.

He has craftily quitted the falling house, to take ampler lodgings in

the new and rising fabric. However powerless he may seem to the

ignorant, he has still admirable cards in his hand. His adversaries may

be formidable in number, but they are weak in intrinsic strength. No one

knows better than he how to play them off one against the other, and to

profit by their dissensions. Meanwhile he is patiently biding his time,

which, be assured, is not far distant. Politics have lately displayed

much greater wonders than the triumphant return to power of Sir Robert

Peel.

And if once he return, think not that he will easily be dispossessed of

it. He will well know how to play the part of the popular favourite.

There stands not in the House a more thorough Radical than the inner man

of Sir Robert Peel. It is from him that we shall obtain Extended

Suffrage, finally to become Universal. It is from him that we shall

obtain the diminution, and at last the abolition of Church

Establishments. It is from him, or from such as he, that we may hope

finally to obtain a Republic. You may smile, and think such a prospect

absurd. Would you have thought it more absurd, if I had told you three

years ago that from him we should have obtained Repeal of the Corn Laws?

Depend upon it, we shall yet see the day when Sir Robert shall be the

triumphant popular minister.

Heaven forbid! thought I; yet I was forced to confess that it did not

seem unlikely. I could, however, by no means join in the admiration

which my friend expressed for such a character. While granting that some

respect might be felt for the skilful δημαγωγός, who leads and

sways the popular mind, I could feel nothing but contempt for the

servile δημοπηδός, who merely watches and follows it. I rallied

him somewhat upon the magnanimous liberality, which could ally itself

with so poor and ungenerous a character, so debased, if his account were

true, by meanness, duplicity, and hypocrisy. My Radical waxed somewhat

warm, and at length he parted, in all the dignity of his liberality,

thinking me a young fool; while I returned, laughing at his generous

patriotism, and thinking him a servile-minded old humbug.[15]

The more, however, I pondered on the subject, the more did I see the

justice of his views on Peel’s character, and at length I almost

entirely coincided with him,--in every thing but his admiration.

What then shall we say of these principles, looking at them under their

moral aspect? Taking his admirer’s view, I know not how they could

escape the severest censure. But though these admirers of his make no

scruple in adopting this view, and even in warmly defending it, we

cannot but hesitate to follow their example. An insincerity so

deliberate, so calculated, is more than we can readily admit. No doubt,

his actual conduct has been such as my friend above described, as facts

sufficiently show. No doubt, he has professed one set of principles

when seeking power, and another when in possession of it. No doubt, he

has used the aristocratical element as his stepping-stone to greatness,

and has afterwards kicked it over for the popular one as its support.

But we think that these principles have acted in a great measure

spontaneously, without any very fixed and deliberate plan in his own

mind. We take his conduct to have been not so much the result of

calculation, as of the peculiar organisation of his nature. We believe

him to have been in a great measure unconscious of the inherent

servility and flexibility of his convictions. When he opposed a measure,

he probably imagined that he did so chiefly on its own merits, and was

not aware that his conversion would inevitably take place, as soon as

public opinion was ripe for that measure.

Let us, however, listen to himself, and see what light we can derive

from his own lips as to the nature of his principles. By his own

account, in the case of the Corn Laws, the suppression of his real

opinions lasted for somewhere about three years. “About three years

ago,” says he, “a great change took place in my opinions on the

subject;” but it seems that for the public good, he thought it best to

allow people to deceive themselves, and therefore carefully suppressed

all intimation of this change. So far, then, his own account tallies

with that of his admirer, and we have his own word that his insincerity,

for a considerable period of time, was deliberate and calculated. But

the actual duration of this hypocrisy it must evidently be impossible to

determine with accuracy; for if a person can, by his own avowal,

practise it knowingly and deliberately for three years, it is probable

that in a vague and unconscious way, not thoroughly known even to

himself, he has been indulging in it for a much longer period.

Again, with respect to his Whig principles, it is impossible to

determine accurately how long they have been suppressed, and he has not

favoured us on this point with much specific information; but it would

appear that they latently existed at the time that he so strenuously

opposed that government, and that the germ of Whiggery was developing

itself in his bosom, while outwardly he was shining as a high Tory.

With respect to the Catholic Question he is more communicative, and he

takes care to inform us, in a speech revised by his own hand, and

published for the benefit of posterity in Hansard, that here, too, his

duplicity had been of long standing, and very much of a deliberate and

premeditated nature. When proposing, as Minister, the measure of

Catholic Emancipation, which outwardly he had so long opposed, he

reports himself to have said, “So far as my own course in this question

is concerned, it is the same with that which suggested itself to my mind

in the year 1825, when I was his Majesty’s Principal Minister for the

Home Department, and found myself in a minority in this House on this

[the Catholic] Question.”[16] Now, the course which he was then pursuing

was that of openly advocating and supporting the Catholic claims. And

the same course, he tells us, (that, therefore, we must conclude, of his

advocating these claims,) suggested itself to his mind in 1825. His

duplicity then was of long standing; for he did not, as is well known,

suffer the public to be in the least aware of any such suggestion, from

the time when it presented itself to his mind in 1825, till 1829, when

he first avowed that favourable leaning to those claims, which had so

long lain dormant in the interior of his breast. His conduct certainly

was well calculated to prevent any suspicion of the existence of such a

tendency in his mind; for in 1827, two years after the suggestion had

offered itself, he declared himself compelled, by a painful but rigorous

sense of duty, to quit Canning’s ministry, and join the opposition

against that statesman, on account of his own deep repugnance to those

claims, and his conviction of their ruinous tendency. Nay, more, he

suffered himself to be borne into power for the ostensible purpose of

resisting those claims, and made the round of the country amid the

acclamations of his supporters, as Protestant champion, without giving

the slightest hint of the suggestion which the minority in 1825 had

awakened in his mind, and which was so shortly to develop itself in full

force, as soon as he was seated in power.

If, then, we are to believe his own account, his hypocrisy in this

matter must have been of considerable duration, of much skill, and

consummate perfidy. Though a feat of his earlier prime, it must have

been quite worthy to compare with the recent great exploit of his

maturity.

The speech from which we have extracted the above passage, is the same

which gave rise to the discussion in Parliament, in which Sir Robert’s

conduct in this business was attacked. He then endeavoured to rebut the

charges founded on it, by denying the authenticity of the expressions

attributed to him, some of which rested only on the isolated reports of

particular newspapers.[17] But the sentence above quoted stands at full

length in his own corrected report in Hansard, revised, as its title

tells us, by Mr. Secretary Peel, the authenticity of which has never

been questioned. And certainly its natural sense would lead us to

conclude, that he was ready, in the interior of his mind, in 1825, to

embrace the cause of Catholic Emancipation. If, as he would fain

demonstrate, it has a contrary meaning, it can be only, we presume, when

taken in some _non-natural sense_;--the fixing of which we leave to

those more conversant than ourselves with that very ingenious mode of

interpretation.

And if it be true that he did feel so disposed, that he was “almost

persuaded,” at that early period, of the wisdom of granting the Catholic

claims, then his subsequent behaviour in putting himself at the head of

the party who unflinchingly and undoubtingly opposed those claims, as

injurious to the country, his professing to coincide fully in their

views, and his obtaining power on the strength of those professions,

cannot but be looked on as a political manœuvre of the most disingenuous

and culpable kind.

What could have been the motive of his making so strange a confession,

is a somewhat curious subject of inquiry. We think we recognise in it an

attempt to establish a kind of vague compromise between insincerity and

inconsistency. If his conduct were attributed to mere inconsistency, he

must plead guilty to a long previous mistake, and must forfeit all

pretensions to political prudence and foresight. If, however, it were

thought that he had for a long time had a secret leaning in favour of

the Catholic claims, and had only been waiting for the ripeness of

public opinion to declare his real sentiments, then he would escape the

charge of weakness and imprudence, and would only incur the blame of a

beneficial insincerity. He would thus gain the good graces of all those

whose strong attachment to the measure would make them overlook, in

behalf of its importance, what they would consider a pardonable deceit.

This view, indeed, he could not explicitly state in so many words, as it

would have laid him too open to the accusations of his opponents; but it

can be hinted at, as in the above passage. For what intelligible meaning

can be attached to that sentence, if it do not convey the idea that his

inconsistency, after all, was not so flagrant as had been represented;

that his mind for some time previously had been leaning that way, and

that, to use his peculiar phrase, his course was “the same with that

which suggested itself to his mind in the year 1825.” We believe this

expression to be the most accurate that he could have used. The design

of supporting the Catholic claims had not then fully ripened in his

mind, he had not formed any accurate and deliberate plan of conduct; but

the possibility of doing so at some future day secretly “suggested

itself to his mind.” A scarcely audible voice whispered in his mind,

“Perhaps, Peel, some time or other, in certain contingencies, State

necessities, public duty, &c., may require that you should lend a

favourable ear to the Catholic claims.” What these peculiar

contingencies were would also be suggested by the same little voice, but

in so low a tone and in such vague terms that he himself would not be

able to render a definite account of them.

Whatever, however, be the real construction of the above passage, or of

any other similar ones that may be met with among his speeches, we

ourselves should not be disposed to attach too prominent an importance

to them. Such confessions might be admirably fitted as a taunt to him,

as an “argumentum ad hominem,” as a case of “habemus confitentem reum:”

but it is not on his own verbal expressions that the judgment on his

conduct is to be formed. Strange indeed would it be if a skilful orator

should so blunder in his speech as openly to avow an act of duplicity

and deceit; it is only matter of marvel how such expressions as that

above quoted could ever have been used. But, in a case like this, if he

wished fully to express all that he knew of his own intentions, if he

desired to unburden his mind by the fullest possible confession, he

would not be able accurately to do so, and his own estimate of his own

character would be little worth. It is an unfailing consequence with

those who practise hypocrisy in the view of deceiving others, that they

also at the same time deceive themselves. One deliberate and systematic

piece of deceit produces an incalculable amount of this subtler and

unconscious hypocrisy. It is a kind of general veil or mantle in which

the person walks, which conceals his soul even from his own view, and

deceives him as to the motives of his own actions. Under its soothing

influence no sense of insecurity is felt; and the man whose conduct is

all the time biassed by some egotistical motive, walks in the proud

conviction to himself that he is a model of patriotism and virtue. Such

an hypocrisy, to take a prominent instance, is well exemplified in the

case of Cromwell; but illustrations must be familiar to every one in the

humbler walks of life, and if he have a difficulty in discerning it in

others, he will have none if he knows how to examine himself. It is a

tendency which exists in all, and requires strong efforts for its

subjugation. All strong passions or desires carry it along with them,

unless their deceptive influence be firmly counteracted by the stronger

desire for truth and right.

In Sir Robert’s case we believe it to have arisen from the action of a

strong egotistical desire of power and fame, unchecked by any heartfelt

and earnest convictions with regard to the truth of his public

principles. His whole career is a continuous proof of this defect of all

genuine and lively seizure of the truth; for never does he advocate an

opinion while it is weak, and never does he oppose it when it is strong.

Owing to this, his principles, though he himself may have no distinct

consciousness of it, have insensibly bent themselves to the stronger

motives of ambition. He remains all the time in ignorance of the secret

bias, and is by no means aware of how far from true patriotism he is.

Accustomed to rely on the opinions of others, from the absence of all

earnest conviction in himself, he must be forced to trust to their voice

even in matters relating to his own conduct; and, when he hears the

cheers of the populace that salute him at the door of the House of

Commons, he lays the flattering unction to his soul that he is a martyr

and a patriot. How should it be otherwise? When he hears himself

applauded as an eminently virtuous and injured man, what means is there

of undeceiving him, if his own conscience be silent or confirm the

delusion? I find it well remarked to my purpose by Mencius, the Chinese

sage, speaking of some statesmen of his day, whom he declares to have

had only a false appearance of virtue,--“Having had for a long time this

false appearance, and not having made any return to sincerity and

integrity, how could they know,” he asks, “that they did not possess

it?”[18]

And when we speak of the weakness or servility of conviction, we would

by no means be understood to mean a mere liability to change. The man of

sincere and earnest mind frequently changes his opinions oftenest. The

difference lies in the motives of the change. In the case of the earnest

man these arise from his own mind, in the case of the servile-minded man

from external circumstances. Such, for instance, are political

advantages, or the number, or clamour, or strength of the advocates of

an opinion. Circumstances generally enable us to discriminate pretty

accurately. If a man always rejects an opinion when shared by few, and

always adopts it when popular and dominant; if he has nothing to say to

it when it is of no service to him, but embraces it when it is strong,

and can give him renown and popularity, we shall not probably err in

deeming that man to be of a servile mind, wanting in sincere and earnest

convictions. The truthful-minded man at once avows his change, the

servile-minded one cunningly conceals it till it suits his purpose. If,

besides this, a man be cold, pompous, and an egotist, if his character

be marked by duplicity, if his language be plausible, but unsatisfactory

if he be found to pay more deference to his foes through fear than to

his friends from affection, all these are corroborating tests of the

servile character in question. Though it may be difficult to assign its

precise tokens in words, there is less difficulty in discriminating it

in practice.

It is this total want of all earnest and heartfelt conviction of the

truth, which forms the key to the interpretation of the whole of Sir R.

Peel’s career. Deciphered by this, all the tortuous inconsistencies of

his course arrange themselves in systematic order, all the varied

hieroglyphics of his mysterious conduct yield a clear and intelligible

meaning. The man who is thoroughly convinced of the truth of his

principles, labours unceasingly to impart them to others, to urge upon

them the importance of his views, to point out the beneficial results

which must flow from his course of policy. Such an earnest conviction

animated Pitt in his resistance to the French Revolution, Canning in his

advocacy of the Catholic claims, Wilberforce in his endeavours for Negro

Emancipation; and lately, (if we may be pardoned somewhat of a bathos,)

Cobden in his war against the Corn Laws. Without meaning to assimilate

the merits, of these various efforts, they all serve as examples of the

way in which men act when animated by a genuine and sincere conviction.

But there is no principle, great or small, which has owed its advance in

public opinion to one sentence of Peel’s. Say rather, there is none

which while yet in its infancy, and in need of support, has not been

opposed by him to the best of his power. While it is weak, he raises his

tongue against it; while it is doubtful, he halts between two opinions,

and watches the struggle in cautious silence; as soon as it has become

dominant and can dispense with his support, he proffers his aid with

copious professions of zeal, and seeks to fix on his inglorious brow the

laurels that rightly belong to another.

Had he lived in the Roman world at an earlier age, when Christianity was

yet striving against the secular powers, while it was weak and

despised, who would have opposed it more loudly than the Robert Peel of

the day? who would have more warmly urged its impracticability, its

unfitness for the concerns of life? who would more eloquently have

exhorted the Roman world to hold to the wisdom of their forefathers? As,

however, the tide gradually and steadily rolled on, and day by day one

conversion followed another, these eloquent protestations would begin

somewhat to flag, and at length that plausible tongue would lie in

silence. But when at last it began to make its way among the higher

powers of the land, amid the eminent and wealthy; when finally it even

penetrated into the Court of the Emperor, and rumours began to be

whispered that he himself looked on it with no unfavourable eye, a few

days before Constantine’s conversion Pellius would announce his formal

adhesion to its principles, with an intimation that he had for some

years been leaning that way, and that “a similar course had suggested

itself to his mind,” even at the time when he took some part in the

Dioclesian persecution.[19] A skilful management of “government

influence,” pouring grace and unction on many benighted minds, would

secure him a good claim to merit, and he would doubtless be rewarded for

his seasonable change by a high post amid the officers of the regenerate

Emperor.

This time-serving conduct, skilfully managed, will frequently succeed

admirably with the world; for these children of this world are in their

generation wiser than the children of light. The sincere advocates of

principles through good and through bad report, are looked upon as

unpractical and fanciful theorists; while those who carefully watch

their opportunity, and conform themselves with good grace to the

dominant tide of opinion, are hailed as able and practical men, and even

obtain from the mass the praise of more than common honesty, inasmuch as

they are not ashamed to avow a change in their opinions. It is of such

as these that the wise Confucius pointedly says, “The most honest men of

their time are the pest of virtue.”

“What!” asks the surprised disciple Wen-tchang, “whom do you call the

most honest men of their time?”

“Those,” replies the Sage, “who direct their principal efforts to speak

and act like all the world, are the adulators of their age: these are

the most honest men of their generation.”

“And why,” says the disciple, “do you call them the pest of virtue?”

“If you wish to find a defect in them, you will not know where to lay

hold of them; if you wish to attack them in any place, you will not be

able to compass it. They participate in the poverty of the manners of

their age. That which dwells in their heart resembles integrity and

sincerity, and their actions resemble the practice of temperance and

virtue. As all the people of their country boast of them incessantly,

they believe themselves to be models of perfection. This is why I regard

them as the pest of virtue.”

“I detest,” continues Confucius, “that which has only the appearance of

reality: I detest the tares, in the fear that they will ruin the crop. I

DETEST THE SKILFUL STATESMAN, IN THE FEAR THAT HE WILL CONFOUND

EQUITY.”[20]

Might not the simple lessons of Confucius be read with advantage even in

our enlightened age, which certainly is not without its “adulators?”

Might not they do some good to Sir R. Peel, and awaken that “skilful

statesman” to a juster estimate of his real virtue?

The idea contained in the above passage is most accurately and

profoundly true, and shows, like most of his remarks, that Confucius had

a penetrating knowledge of human nature. There are, in fact, two great

classes into which mankind may be divided; those whose model of conduct

is the general conduct of the society in which they live, and those

whose model is an ideal in their own minds, unattainable indeed, and

never to be realised in practice, but the mere aiming at which elevates

their character. The first of these are the men described above by

Confucius, “whose principal effort is to think and to act just like all

the world,” whom he ironically terms “the most honest men of their

district.” And even in our day this class furnishes us with a vast

number of “most highly respectable men.” Destitute of all splendid

visions, they are never led astray into any extravagance that might

shock the decorous laws of society, and they are looked upon accordingly

as models of temperance and virtue. These are the “children of this

world” most wise in their generation: the “men of the world,” from whom

arise the sharp practical man, the skilful statesman, the time-serving

diplomatist,[21] and all the host of Vicars of Bray, whether in religion

or politics.

The others are those who derive their principles not from the

fashionable dicta of the world, nor the ruling doctrines of the age, but

from the idea of truth within their own minds; who, “though the sun were

on their right hand and the moon were on their left,” would not be

diverted from the genuine convictions of their conscience. They look not

to the flickering glare of public opinion, but to the immutable light of

truth; these are “the children of light,” the souls of pure and

high-minded virtue. From these have sprung all that humanity has of

great and noble, all those who have sacrificed on the altar of truth; in

religion the Martyrs, in philosophy the Sages, in politics the sincere

and devoted Patriots. They do not despise opinions because the world

despises them, nor do they honour them because the world does them

honour; they are “justi ac tenaces propositi viri,” who do not ebb and

flow with the tide of public opinion.

In which of these two classes Sir Robert Peel is to be placed, is what

his own conduct will decide, better than our judgment. Nevertheless, we

will hazard the opinion, that Sir Robert Peel is no child of light. We

suspect that there are _very_ few principles, for which he would suffer

himself to be burnt,--even in effigy. With no high ideal by which to

guide his conduct, with no generous or exalted views, he has ventured on

a career beyond his powers. Fitted by Nature to make an excellent

Chancellor of the Exchequer, he has not known how to content himself

with his proper post. A narrow egotist, he has attempted to guide the

destinies of a great nation. His career, as might have been expected,

has been a notable failure. If it be not exposed to very heavy blame, we

decidedly must withhold all praise from it; if it have little of the

execrable, it certainly has nothing of the admirable. Unstable as water,

how could he excel? and excellence has been wanting accordingly. His

career has been one continuous mistake; the greatest mistake of all

being that he ever began it. His only discoveries have been, that he had

previously been in error. His only victories have been over his friends,

whom thrice he has dragged through the mire of dishonour.[22] He has

portioned out triumph to his foes, defeat and bitterness to his

supporters. He quits power amid the disgust and indignation of his old

friends, and the contemptuous patronage of his new. Such has been the

career of the _safe_ man, the practical and able statesman! The generous

Canning, a man of real and noble ideas, was looked upon as dangerous,

and the wary and cautious Peel was raised to power in his stead. Could

they have foreseen--those who were toiling for their safe man, and so

alarmed at the dangerous ideas of Canning--that it was to the safe man

they were to be indebted for Catholic, Emancipation, and Repeal of the

Corn Laws? Reflect upon this, ye lovers of _safe_ men, and be wise:

choose those who are really safe, and see first that they are men at

all, and next only that they be safe ones; men--of high and bold ideas,

not crafty and narrow-minded egotists.

The above described modification of character is, no doubt, extensively

prevalent, and by its frequency in their ranks casts somewhat of a

shade over the whole body of politicians and statesmen; so much so, that

it was an axiom of one of the most distinguished of their number, that

they were all to be considered dishonest, till their conduct proved the

contrary. But, though far too many examples of it are afforded by

political history, we may safely say that seldom has a better

opportunity of studying such a character existed, than at the present

day, when it is exemplified in a far more open and unblushing way than

usual, by the two most noted actors on the political stage, the one of

England, the other of Ireland. It is impossible not to recognise the

intrinsic similarity in the characters of Peel and O’Connell, though

outwardly very differently modified by the circumstances and the tempers

of the nations with which they have had to deal. But in both, one great

characteristic is the same, that their professions have been at variance

with their convictions; that the ends to which they have secretly been

working, have been totally different from those which they put forward

to the public as their aim. Both have made use of principles and

feelings as tools to their ambition, in which they themselves did not in

the least degree sympathise; nay, which, in Peel’s case, were the secret

object of his hostility and aversion. Peel made use of the principles of

Toryism, the banner of Church and State; O’Connell of the principle of

Nationality, so dear to the Irish, the cry of Repeal, and the Parliament

in College Green. That O’Connell cares little enough about Repeal, is

now sufficiently evident; and that Peel cared absolutely nothing about

Toryism, is but a faint expression of the truth, inasmuch as his object

has evidently been to overthrow it, as soon as it had raised him to

power. O’Connell, while professedly upholding the cause of the National

and fiery Anti-Saxon party, has secretly made friends with the much less

romantic and more practical interests of the Catholic priesthood and the

Whigs; Peel, while professedly maintaining the declining cause of the

Church and State, the old institutions, the national feelings, &c., of

the country, has secretly made friends with the much less ideal and more

substantial interests of the commercial classes, and the Manchester

cotton lords. Both have ended in a complete rupture with the party of

which they were the former champion. Peel is at open war with the

Tories, O’Connell with the Nationals. The love of their former friends,

is in both cases turned into bitter disgust and contempt; and as we have

already heard violent denunciations of Peel from his old supporters, we

shall probably ere long hear equally violent against O’Connell. Both, in

fact, share the merited fate of long-continued falsity of principle;

they stand forth in their old age with their nakedness uncovered, the

contempt of all those who can penetrate the hollowness of their career.

For both the same excuse is set up, that they deceived for the good of

their country. For both the excuse is alike untenable, for nothing can

justify such deliberate tampering with the truth; and in both, their

final exposure may serve as a warning to show how delusive is such a

notion.

On the whole, however, we must greatly give the preference to the Irish

agitator; his services to his country have been much greater, his

exertions much more effective, and his career much more consistent; for,

however insincere he may be on certain points, he has never been guilty

of professing principles diametrically opposite to his convictions; he

cannot be accused of any such hypocrisy as that of professing Toryism

while in heart a Radical. He has consistently supported, and very mainly

procured, by his own exertions, many measures important to his country;

not to name others, that of Catholic Emancipation. But there is not a

single measure which owes its success to the exertions of Peel; though

he may have been the nominal instrument of carrying them, their triumph

has been in reality the work of others, and they would have been passed

with equal or greater readiness had he never existed. The Corn Bill, on

which he rests his principal claim, has doubtless lost much more by his

long-continued opposition, than it has gained by his tardy conversion.

He has done nothing but adopt those principles which had already become

dominant through the exertions of others, and has lived entirely on the

fruit of other people’s intellects. Every one must admit, that in all

this O’Connell is, beyond comparison, superior to Peel. In other

respects, too, the bold and open _bonhommie_ of the Irish agitator, is

far preferable to the cold and repulsive egotism of the English

statesman.

That the career of the man who, with weak principles, as above

described, attempts to play a conspicuous part in politics, will be

pregnant with humiliation, is what we might at once predict. In the

present instance of Peel this has been most strikingly exemplified.

Unable to nourish himself with the food of truth, he has scantily

sustained himself by eating his professions. Perpetually has he opposed,

to the best of his power, men whose principles he has afterwards been

compelled to adopt. After gaining power by such opposition, he has been

forced to confess that he gained it by injuring his country. Even should

we take the most favourable view of his conduct to Canning, that the

nature of the case will allow, how much has it still of a humiliating

character! He is reluctantly induced, at a great sacrifice to his

feelings, to join the unfortunate opposition against that statesman,

solely, as he _believes_, from a stern sense of public duty. Yet he is

obliged afterwards to confess that Canning was much wiser than himself

in the matter, and to carry the very measure on account of which his

friend had been so mercilessly assailed. He discovers that the violence

done to his feelings, not only was productive of no good to his country,

but actually of detriment. He discovers that his former objections were

not (as had been professed) to the principle of the measure, but only

because the public mind was not yet ripe for it, and that as soon as the

public mind ripened, his own would ripen too. What regret must thus be

excited in the mind awakened to the consciousness of its long mistake!

If he had been satisfied that his opposition to Canning had proceeded

from a firm and well-grounded conviction, from an unswerving sense of

public duty, his conduct, however repugnant to his feelings, would, on

the whole, be a just subject of pride, and the sacrifice of his

friendship to his duty would entitle him to gratitude and respect. But,

alas! it turns out that this firm conviction was wanting, that it was

based on a foundation of sand; that what principles he had were vague

and weak, and were liable to be biassed all the time, much more than he

knew, by extraneous and contingent circumstances. This is the reason why

they afterwards gave way, when their yielding was demanded by his

political position. The law of duty that was deemed so stern and

inflexible, proved, when the test was applied, to be pliant and elastic;

the convictions which were believed to be based on the firmest

Protestant principle, turned out to be chiefly dependent on public

ripeness. And when he reflected that he had gained his power by so

mistaken a course, by so unfounded an opposition to Canning, surely this

would call for feelings of repentance on account of his previous errors,

this would at least demand some expression of that contrition and

humiliation, which seem so distasteful to his nature. But this is what

he seems peculiarly disinclined to do, and till some such avowal of

repentance has been made, we cannot think that he will have expiated his

error.

His position with respect to the Whigs is of a similarly humiliating

kind. What must he now think of that bitter opposition which he formerly

promoted and encouraged against them, now that he discover that he is

fully prepared to carry out their extremest principles? Must it not be a

subject of penitence to him to discover, that here again his policy was,

under his present views, injurious to his country; that his power has

been based on an opposition to people wiser, as he now confesses, than

himself? Yet here, too, he most strangely resists any avowal of

contrition or humiliation.

This phenomenon is not of an amiable nature, nor one which would dispose

us to a favourable view of his career. We can scarcely, I think, wonder,

all things considered, that his previous conduct, and more especially

that towards Canning, should have been brought under discussion in

Parliament, as liable to the suspicion of premeditate duplicity and

insincerity--of having, in fact, been similar to that of his three last

years with respect to the Corn Laws. Ill, indeed, would it have spoken

for the political morality of that Honourable House, if his conduct had

been passed over without notice, as the usual and proper course which

might be looked for from a British Statesman. Upon this question we will

leave others to decide, for this is a point on which every one must

entertain his own opinion. Since such has avowedly been his conduct for

the three last years, there is nothing to prevent us from extending it

over the whole of his public life. We do not, however, purpose to enter

minutely into any such researches. We can only wonder at the very

needless amount of agitation into which his supporters were thrown, when

the subject, not long since, was broached in Parliament. A belief was

there expressed, that his conduct on the Catholic Question had been

equally insincere with his recent behaviour on the Corn Laws; that he

had then, as now, suffered his colleagues and the public to deceive

themselves, and had not openly avowed his real opinions. Sir R. Peel is

roused to the greatest indignation at such an assertion. Yet surely this

anger in him is somewhat out of place. His present insincerity, or

deceit by sufferance, he does not attempt to deny;--it would, indeed, be

useless for him to do so. Why, then, is he so indignant at the idea that

his former conduct should have been similar to his present? Was

insincerity a greater crime twenty years ago than it is now? Is deceit

in the green tree worse than it is in the dry? If his public duty in

1845 authorised him to allow Lord Stanley, Lord Ashburton, and his party

generally, “to deceive themselves,” why might it not have authorised him

in 1825 to allow Mr. Canning and Lord Liverpool to deceive themselves

also? If it be lawful for him now to mask and suppress his real

opinions, why should it not have been so then? Yet by his energetic

protestations he would seem to think that it must have been highly

censurable. Such charges could only proceed, if we believe him, from the

base and vindictive malice of political opponents. Yet what are these

charges? The charges of having done then precisely what he has avowedly

been doing now, and what it can scarcely be questioned he has done in

the case of the Whigs also; the charge of having suppressed his real

opinions, and led his colleagues and the public astray; of having

opposed a measure professedly on principle, when in reality he was only

waiting for sufficient symptoms of “public ripeness,” or for some other

favourable conjuncture, as might best suit his views.

His indignation, then, seems to me to be the severest censure that could

be passed on his conduct; and since he takes such pains to condemn

himself, we will not trouble ourselves to defend him. We will leave him

to his own tender mercies; from no quarter can his castigation proceed

better than from his own hand.

We will merely hint a few remarks on the line of defence he has adopted.

He seems to think that it all turns on some verbal expressions of his

own, and that if he establish his position on these, no possible ground

is left for suspecting him of insincerity. He insists several times, “I

repeat that the whole of this question turns on the point, Did I, or did

I not (at a certain time) use such and such expressions to Lord

Liverpool?” We cannot agree with him in thinking that the question turns

mainly upon this, or even that it is much affected by it. The question,

in our apprehension, turns upon this:--Seeing that you have been,

through an unknown portion of your career, accustomed to suppress and

mask your opinions, and allow people, as you phrase it, to deceive

themselves, have we any reason to think that your conduct was more

ingenuous in your youth than it was in your mature prime, and is in your

declining age? Seeing what your practice has recently been, we think

that people must be allowed on these matters to judge for themselves,

and to form their own opinion on your insincerity, as to its nature, its

duration, and its amount. Indeed, if the question were to be decided by

his own words, it would fare ill with his case; for, as we saw above, in

a passage of his revised and corrected speech, his own expressions on

this matter make against him more than those of his bitterest opponent

could do. Were we to believe his own assertion, that the same course

which he pursued in 1829, with respect to the Catholic Question, had

suggested itself to his mind so early as in 1825, we should be forced to

regard his conduct to Canning as disgraced by most culpable hypocrisy.

He must have opposed that statesman upon hollow and deceitful grounds,

and must have obtained power upon false pretences. We do not assert that

such was actually the case, but if we are to believe his statements it

must have been so. We can only hope that his account of the business was

incorrect, and that the foresight he would seek to attribute to himself

had no real existence. If, then, any body is maligning him, it would

seem to be himself; and when he is thus merciless to his own character,

he can scarcely wonder at some severity from the hands of his foes. We

have no wish for our part to say any thing of him so injurious, as that

which he has left on record against himself; and we will leave him

therefore, as before, to smart beneath the lash of his own

self-inflicted chastisement.

There is another charge, quite distinct from the preceding, brought

against him with respect to his conduct towards Canning; viz., that he

sanctioned the violent attacks made against that statesman by some of

his supporters.[23]

His own language, indeed, is free from this violence, but we can

scarcely avoid thinking that blame attaches to him for indifference in

the matter, for suffering his followers to employ an ungenerous mode of

warfare against his rival, when it may reasonably be supposed that a

decided expression of disapproval on his part would have gone far to put

a stop to this. His conduct in the case of the Whigs was very similar,

and their very generous behaviour at the present time to him, affords a

most striking contrast to his previous treatment of them. As to the

actual guilt to be imputed to these direct assailants of Canning, we

hear very different estimates. That their attacks had a very powerful

effect upon him personally, and were bitterly felt by him, there can be

no doubt; and there seems no good ground for questioning the opinion of

his relatives, that they had a share in hastening his death. It is

urged, however, in their behalf, that they were doing no more than what

is frequently done in politics; that they were young men, accustomed to

see violent personal attacks considered an ordinary weapon of political

warfare, and they would probably therefore think that theirs were

perfectly _en régle_; that their assaults were not more bitter than what

have often been made on other statesmen; that public men must expect

this kind of annoyance, and that it was impossible to anticipate that

they would produce so unwonted an effect in this instance. Granting them

the full benefit of these apologies, there will still remain a

considerable share of blame. If a practice is culpable, however general,

those who adopt it must bear in some measure the guilt of any evil

consequences that ensue. School-boys are in the habit of flinging stones

without any very great regard to the damage they may occasion, and the

practice among them not being looked on as blamable, we cannot, from

proofs that a boy has flung these stones, argue in him any very

peculiarly evil nature. Nevertheless, nobody can deny, that if one of

these boys, though not much more careless or vicious than his fellows,

should chance to aim so full at a more than usually delicate head, that

his stone should be the cause of death, this should be a subject of

repentance to him, a lesson that he should remember with humiliation for

the rest of his life, and one which should be frequently quoted as a

useful example of the culpability of the practice. A guilt of a nature

analogous to this is what we should attribute to these assailants; the

guilt of great wantonness and meanness, though not of _malice

prepense_.

And if a person whose years, or whose position, such as a tutor to these

boys, ought to have rendered him wiser, should have been standing by at

the time, while these stones were raining against a friend or rival of

his, with the view of diverting and pleasing him, and should have

regarded the matter with indifference, thinking to himself it is no more

than what all boys do, it is not likely that any harm will come from it

this time more than any other;--he also should look on his connivance,

under the circumstances, as matter of humiliation and repentance. A

culpability similar to this very possibly attaches to Sir R. Peel, and

if so, it should not be looked upon as in any way light and trivial,

however much it may be sought to be sheltered by custom or example.

His blame indeed in this matter would be rather negative than positive,

rather of omission than of commission, and would not therefore afford

ground for any positive charge. Very probably, by the ordinary rules of

political warfare, his conduct in this affair would be justifiable. It

would be deemed sufficient by them that he should be clear from all such

violence himself; it would not be thought incumbent on him to take any

especial pains to stop it in others. Had he, however, been of a generous

nature, we should have expected more than this; and we think in that

case he would have taken more energetic measures to repress this wanton

and culpable practice, especially against one who had been his friend.

There is certainly nothing in his conduct on this occasion to applaud;

no generous traits, as there might have been, to raise him in our

estimation. But this is more, perhaps, than we could reasonably expect;

men do not look for grapes from thistles, nor for generosity from Peels.

We cannot well make it an actual charge against a man, that he was not

generous; absence of generosity is not guilt, but poverty of character.

That Sir R. Peel’s conduct on this occasion may have evinced poverty of

character, is no more than what his general career would dispose us to

believe. A higher mind would not have been contented with doing no more

than what was ordinarily done; he would have seen more clearly the

culpability of the practice, though established by usage, and would have

blamed it in stronger language than many of his party would think it

merited. We think, therefore, that it is a passage in his career which

he should look on with deep humiliation, although we should not be

disposed to consider it the ground of any very serious charge.

It is not, however, in any way a matter of wonder that some should

entertain a severer judgment; for Sir R. Peel’s subsequent conduct has

been such, that it justifies much liberty of opinion on these matters.

It is in these cases that a perfect sincerity and ingenuousness of

conduct is of the greatest use in purging a character which may

undeservedly have been placed in untoward and suspicious circumstances.

If his own wily and deceitful behaviour has very much weakened the

defence which such a character would have afforded him, he has none but

himself to blame. We can feel no pity for him under such imputations,

for these suspicions are no more than the natural and proper punishment

which general insincerity calls down upon itself. As one of the rewards

of truthful and ingenuous conduct is that it fortifies the whole

character, and repels unmerited suspicion, so the fitting and

appropriate punishment of hypocrisy is that it throws a tarnish over the

whole career, and prevents the assumption of the high tone of blameless

and unassailable purity.

Nor can we leave unnoticed the weakness of his retort on his assailants,

when he complains so loudly of these old accusations being disturbed

after so long a slumber. He would argue from this that they arise

entirely from party malice. “I ask,” says he, “whether, if I had not

brought forward the present measure, I should have heard a word of all

these accusations?” Very likely not; we quite agree with him that in

that case they would probably have lain dormant without much revival of

notice. But so acute a mind must, one would think, perceive that their

re-appearance at the present moment might reasonably be expected,

independent of all party or unworthy motives. His whole recent conduct

has been extraordinary and unprecedented, and people are naturally

anxious to trace up the hidden springs in which so remarkable a policy

takes its rise. But more than that--it is his recent conduct which more

especially establishes his insincerity; and does he forget that it is on

the suspicion of insincerity, that the culpability of much of his

previous course depends? His career cannot well be judged _a priori_,

but it can be so much better, _a posteriori_. When he refers to the

character given him by Canning, as a testimony of his integrity, does he

think that Canning would have so expressed himself, if he had known at

that time what was to be his future conduct on the Catholic question?

Does he not see that it is his subsequent behaviour which entirely

nullifies all the praises that Canning may have bestowed upon him, even

if it were not futile in every way to refer to such compliments? And

does he not see that his recent conduct in the case of the Corn Laws

aggravates the suspicion of insincerity? It is this which has reasonably

awakened a scrutiny into the previous events of his career; it is this

which has excited that discussion which has fixed for ever an unmusical

dissonance between the names of Canning and of Peel.

For out own part, putting aside his culpability in the matter, we would

look upon his relation with these maligners of Canning, to be not so

much blamable as ominous. However much we may be disposed to acquit him

of any connivance in the matter, yet the mere fact that his power owed

obligation at its outset to so violent an opposition against a man like

Canning--an opposition which so deeply imbittered the career of that

generous and high-minded statesman, this mere fact, I say, is an

unfortunate and untoward fact, one which would stand as no happy augury

at the commencement of the brightest course of pure and irreproachable

patriotism. But when it stands at the commencement of a career like his,

of that long tissue of inconsistent profession, of masked and

disingenuous policy, it is a gloomy and an inauspicious fact, one which

fully justifies the expression of his antagonist, in calling his an

ill-omened and a sinister career.

Whatever view be taken, there is no ground for complaint, if his conduct

be strictly and rigidly scrutinised; for really, all things considered,

he is not a subject who can lay claim to any excessive and scrupulous

delicacy. For our part, when we hear his conduct to Canning censured,

though it may be too severely, we are rather disposed to reserve our

pity for Canning, than to give any portion of our tenderness to the

fragile and sensitive Peel. For is it not precisely one of the

complaints to which he is justly liable, that he was not duly alive to

the evil of such attacks when made against the character of another, and

that he profited by the support of those who made them, without any very

energetic remonstrance? Did he not stand by while the iron was eating

into the soul of his former friend, without any very great and poignant

grief, without any severe disturbance of his equanimity? He appears to

have maintained a magnanimous composure, and philosophically to have

reaped the advantages, unmindful, in his short-sighted views, of what

might happen to himself. “_Eheu! quam temere in nosmet legem sancimus

iniquam!_” Now, when his own conduct is assailed, though on just and

reasonable grounds, while that of Canning was attacked on the most

frivolous and unreasonable, whither has suddenly vanished that stoical

fortitude with which he so firmly bore up against the attacks on his

friend? Now it is his turn to wince and to complain, to protest against

all rancour in politics, to deprecate all asperity of tone, to claim a

mild and courteous mode of discussion. Maxims most good and true in

themselves, but why were they not remembered earlier? Where were they

among his former party? where were they when those unjust attacks were

made, which now form a just subject of attack in their turn? It was not

from him nor his partisans that the voice was raised which stigmatised

those proceedings. No: his present complaints are idle: to be of avail

we ought to have heard of them earlier. His position at present is no

more than the result of that natural and equitable action, by which

injustice, though late, punishes itself. It is a law of nature from

which no man may escape; neither a beggar nor a Premier. One wrong

begets another, of like brood and kind with itself. Τὸ γὰρ

δυσσεβὲς ἔργον μετὰ μὲν πλείονα τίκτει, σφετέρᾳ δ’ εἰκότα γέννᾳ.[24]

The cup which in his youth he tranquilly suffered a nobler soul to drain

to the dregs, how should he refuse in his declining years to put his

lips to the margin? Let him try its taste with the best face he can,

without superfluous whinings or complainings. He need not be

unnecessarily apprehensive of its effect; it will not act on him as it

did on a nobler nature. The chill and callous organisation of the

egotist will receive no more than a beneficial stimulus from the potion

which is death to the generous soul. The darts which would find their

way direct to the frank and open heart, will fall blunt and powerless

long before they reach those hidden and inaccessible recesses of his

own, cased as it is in a triple mail of coldness, secrecy, and

self-delusion. Should a stray one, piercing that elephantine hide,

awaken an unwonted smart, our pity would be steeled by the

reflection,--“_Pallas te hoc vulnere, Pallas immolat_,” and we should

watch the flow of blood, with no apprehension of a serious effect, but

with feelings of pleasure, arising from the sense of a somewhat

satisfied justice.

What, then, is the moral of the whole matter? A short and simple one.

LET NO ONE ASPIRE TO A LEADING PART IN POLITICS, UNLESS HE POSSESS

GENUINE AND EARNEST CONVICTIONS: LET NO ONE WHO HAS NOT SUCH FIRM

PRINCIPLES IN HIS HEART, GIVE UTTERANCE TO ENERGETIC PROFESSIONS WITH

HIS LIPS: LET NO ONE WHO HAS NOT A GREAT SOUL SET UP FOR BEING A GREAT

MAN.

* * * * *

If Sir R. Peel’s career as a public man were over, the reflections

suggested by it, however interesting in a speculative point of view,

would not be of much immediate practical importance. But such is by no

means the case: this mysterious character is still among us, playing his

part upon the stage, and possessed of very extensive influence and

popularity. It is this, indeed, which renders his example more

peculiarly baneful and demoralising, for, owing to the favour he has

gained by his recent measures, the hollowness and insincerity of his

previous career are by many wholly overlooked. The admiration lavished

on such a policy as this, must exercise a most pernicious influence,

injurious to the character of public men, and of the nation at large.

Every thing that can counteract this mistaken tendency, would be a real

benefit; and it is chiefly with this view that we have been induced to

contribute our mite in an otherwise ungenial task. But when we find

skilful insincerity receiving the praises due only to disinterested

virtue, we feel called upon to lift our feeble voice against so fatal a

delusion. The prospect, by no means improbable, of his return to power,

renders such efforts still more important. For such an event is far more

likely than many would be inclined to deem. However deserted he may be

by his old friends, a new and rising party is gathering around him, and

the old champion of the High Tories is become the flower of the Ultra

Radicals. The strongest hopes are entertained by these of his speedy

return to the post of Minister. We are told, as quoted above, that he is

to be triumphantly borne into power on the shoulders of the people, and

in that enviable position to remain as long as he pleases; a sort of

perpetual Grand Vizier. He has made friends, it would appear, with the

Mammon of the Cotton Lords, that when the Landlords failed they might

receive him into everlasting habitations. That he has sufficient

popularity and influence for this purpose is not to be questioned, and

the jealousies of the two great rival parties are likely to be

favourable to his views. If it be true that he has all along been

working to this consummation, that his secret and steady aim has been to

come out as the Popular Minister of the movement, however severely his

previous conduct must be censured, we cannot deny it a certain amount of

skill. We hope, however, that it will meet with the ill success that it

deserves. It is impossible to think that a character like this, however

able, is fitted to govern the nation. That the popular will, whatever it

may be, will be readily executed by him, is perfectly clear; but

something more than this is necessary to constitute a good Minister.

They must indeed be a peculiar kind of Liberals who would gladly ally

themselves with such a leader as this.

“License they mean, when they cry liberty,

For who loves that must first be wise and good.”

Now their chosen master, Sir Robert, has unfortunately placed himself in

such a position, that he cannot be both wise and good. His course must

either have been very much mistaken, or very insincere, so that if he be

wise he cannot be good, and if he be good he cannot be wise. It is

impossible, therefore, that he can be both, though perfectly possible

that he may be neither. We cannot, then, congratulate the Ultra party

upon the acquisition that they have made; and if as friends they find

reason to be satisfied with their new champion, they will be the first

of his friends who have done so.

Surely, however, we are not yet so badly off, but that we may find men

both wiser and better for our Ministers. Let us hope that the new

government, in spite of its very inauspicious commencement, may at

least, by its honesty and sincerity, form a brilliant contrast to its

predecessor. They have a great task before them, one which will test

their worth and their abilities to the utmost, and afford the amplest

scope to their energies; viz. the improvement of the social condition of

the labouring classes. Let them know at once, and let them openly

proclaim it, that this will require far higher and more extensive

principles than those of political economy; that it will not be

accomplished by the “competition” or by the “state of nature” proposed

by an Episcopal economist, nor by the mere process of buying in the

cheapest and selling in the dearest market. Nay, let them be well

assured that it will require an infringement of this sacred principle,

however blasphemous it may sound in the ears of our Liberal

cottonocracy. It will require an interference with the market of labour,

and with the lordly privileges of capital. They must be prepared to

encounter the censure of many a dogmatic economist, the odium of many a

wealthy capitalist, and even the ingratitude of many of the people upon

whom their benefits shall be conferred. The problem is one for which

their predecessor, Sir Robert, was evidently totally unfitted, for it

will require minds above the spirit of the time, Statesmen who must

anticipate, not follow, the reigning popular doctrines. Their present

conduct will show whether they are really Liberals, or merely false and

empty assumers of the name; whether they are in possession of the high

and true principles which conduce to the virtue and happiness of States,

or whether, like the mass, they are principally engrossed in commercial

and industrial doctrines. It cannot be disguised that they have made a

very poor beginning, disgraceful to their name and to their former

achievements; let us hope that shame may serve to stimulate them for the

future to something more glorious and honourable.

Sir Robert Peel’s conduct will serve them in many matters as a useful

example, as a solemn warning, as a practical illustration of the homely

adage, that “honesty is the best policy.” We have seen enough of the

evils entailed by a masked and disingenuous policy, which delights in

allowing people to deceive themselves. Let us now contrast with it the

advantages of a sincere, open, and consistent course. Let us profit by

the late Premier’s career as an example, in which case it will not have

been without its use; and let us, by so doing, avoid the disgrace of

falling again under his power.

_Printed by William Blackwood & Sons, Edinburgh._

FOOTNOTES:

[1] _Dix Ans à la Cour du Roi Louis Philippe, et Souvenirs du Temps de

l’Empire et de la Restauration._ Par B. APPERT, de la Société Royale des

Prisons de France. Berlin and Paris, 1846.

[2] According to old usage, each defunct King of France awaited, at the

entrance of the vault at St. Denis, the body of his successor, and was

not consigned to his final resting-place till its arrival.

[3] Biog. Univ. xiii. 482-491, (Eugene.)

[4] Histoire de mon Tempe par Frederick IV., p. 174.

[5] Viz. Vimiera, the Douro, Talavera, Busaco, Fuentes d’Onoro,

Salamanca, Vittoria, the Pyrenees, the Bidassoa, the Nive, the Nivelle,

Orthes, Toulouse, Quatre Bras, and Waterloo.

[6] _Wanderungen eines alten Soldaten._ Von Wilhelm, Baron von Rahden.

Berlin, 1846.

[7] Even in the House there are some free-traders by no means

irreproachable on this head, gentlemen whose speeches are profuse in

invectives against the whole body of the landlords, and who, when freed

from Parliamentary restraint, denounce them as robbers, and openly

express “their desire of levelling the aristocracy to the dust.” However

sincere these patriots may be, this ungenerous tone does not betoken

that large and comprehensive mind which we look for in a Member of

Parliament; and it is the fortunate possessors of minds like these, who,

in our days, pleasantly style themselves Liberals! _Lucus a non

lucendo._ Where will this abuse of language stop? An American

slave-breeder will be the next claimant of the name, when these

Parliamentary Thersitæ set themselves up as Liberals!

[8] And this for a considerable period of time. In the last case of the

Corn Laws, by his own account, it would seem to have been about _three

years_.

[9] See this point well put in Whewell’s Treatise on Morals--a book

which we strongly recommend to Sir Robert’s perusal, as containing many

interesting views on these topics, and likely to be of peculiar service

to _him_.

[10] _Vide_ again Whewell’s Treatise.

[11] In the matter of the Factory Bill.

[12] Simply in its peculiar naïveté. We do not mean to assimilate the

Irish character with that of Peel.

[13]

“_Cleon._--There, I’m the first, you see, to bring ye a chair.

_Sausage-seller._--But a table--here I’ve brought it, first and

foremost.

_Cleon._--See here this little half meal-cake from Pylos,

Made from the flour of victory and success.

_Sausage-seller._--But here’s a cake! See here! which the heavenly

goddess

Patted and flatted herself, with her ivory hand,

For your own eating.

* * * * *

_Cleon._--This slice of rich sweet-cake, take it from me.

_Sausage-seller._--This whole great rich sweet-cake, take it from me.

_Cleon_ [_to the S. S._]--Ah, but hare-pie--where will you get hare-pie?

_Sausage-seller_ [_aside._]--Hare-pie! What shall I do? Come, now’s

the time,

O mind, invent me now some sneaking trick.

_Cleon._ [_to the S. S. showing the dish which he is going to

present._]--Look there, you poor rapscallion!

_Sausage-seller._ Pshaw, no matter.

I’ve people of my own there in attendance.

They’re coming here.--I see them.

_Cleon._--Who? What are they?

_Sausage-seller._--Envoys with bags of money.

_Cleon._--Where? Where are they?

Where? Where?

_Sausage-seller._--What’s that to you? Can’t ye be civil?

Why don’t you let the foreigners alone?--

[_While Cleon’s attention is absorbed in looking for the

supposed envoys, the Sausage-seller dexterously snatches

the hare-pie out of his hands, and presents it to the

Demus._]

There’s a hare-pie, my dear own little Demus,

A nice hare-pie, I’ve brought ye!--See, look there!

_Cleon_ [_returning._]--By Jove, he’s stolen it, and served it up!

_Sausage-seller._--Just as you did the prisoners at Pylos.

_Demus._--Where did ye get it? How did ye steal it? Tell me.

_Sausage-seller._--The scheme and the suggestion were Divine;

The theft and the execution simply mine.

_Cleon._--I took the trouble.

_Sausage-seller._ But I served it up.

_Demus._--Well, he that brings the thing must get the thanks.

_Cleon_ [_aside._]--Alas, I’m circumvented and undone,

Out-faced and over-impudentified.”

_The Knights_ of Aristophanes, translated by Frere, l. 1164-9,

and 1189-1206.

[14] We would not apply this strong language to all the advocates of the

measure, but only to those who uphold it on principle as an enlightened

and liberal one. If it is honestly put forward on low commercial

grounds, not on high moral ones; if it is frankly confessed that it is

an ignoble and selfish measure, in which our love of sugar and of

revenue prevails over the love of our fellows; if we own that we have

not virtue enough to resist these palpable and material temptations for

the sake of the impalpable and invisible ones of right and

humanity;--let it pass, (sorry though it be;)--our pious and enlightened

nation is already disfigured with too many of these commercial blots, to

make this further additional one matter of much especial censure. We can

only lament that having made some beginning in the true and good line,

we are so easily induced to give it up; that whereas before we could

point to one brilliant exception as a source of light and hope, this is

now to be extinguished, and we are to relapse into total darkness. But

it is the advocacy of this measure on principle, as an eminently liberal

and Christian one, as a triumph of truth, liberty, and reason, which is

so peculiarly disgusting, and argues the corruption of the people. It is

the sneer at every thing like true generous principle, the laugh at the

high moral, the complacency in the low commercial, the assertion of the

paramount importance of mere considerations of lucre over all the laws

of humanity, that forms the bad feature in the case of these holy

Liberals. When we find people, in a tone of profound piety, putting

forth the purely commercial principle of buying in the cheapest and

selling in the dearest market, as an inviolable law of the Great Parent

of the Universe, the infringement of which, even to avert the deepest

suffering from our fellows, is an impious rebellion against His will;

when we are implored not to do evil, that good may come, (the evil being

a want of sweetness in our tea, and the good, the preserving from

slavery and degradation a large number of our race;) when we are

exhorted to deal freely in slave produce, for the sake of promoting

“peace and good-will among all mankind;” then, I say, that this servile

liberality, this Evangelical cupidity, this Christianity of the ’Change,

is beyond all expression detestable, and more worthy of the shafts of

Voltaire’s satire than the Christianity of the Inquisition. The present

measure will probably cause a greater amount of suffering in the course

of a few years, than the Inquisition did during the whole period of its

existence.

[15] The above conversation, though with no pretensions to exact

accuracy in the expressions, is strictly founded on fact.

[16] Hansard’s Debates, vol. xx. New Series, p. 731. The speech is said,

in a note on p. 727, to have been “inserted with the permission and

approbation of Mr. Secretary Peel.”

[17] The expression which was chiefly insisted on in that discussion,

and which he strenuously laboured to disprove, was that in which he was

reported to have said, that in 1825 he gave it as his opinion to Lord

Liverpool that “something ought to be done for the Catholics.” He

strongly denied having ever used those words, and as indeed they are not

found in many of the reports of his speech, there would not appear to be

sufficient evidence that he did so. But it was labour lost to disprove

the point, for this sentence after all was by no means so clear or

explicit as that which stands in his own revised report. He might have

stated that something ought to be done for the Catholics, without its

being thereby evident, that by that something he meant the measure of

Catholic Emancipation. Some other course might have “suggested itself to

his mind,” as a solution of the difficulty. But when he tells us in so

many words, that the course which then suggested itself to his mind was

the very same which he afterwards pursued in proposing the measure of

Catholic Emancipation, no room for question is left; this is a precise

and explicit statement to which we do not see how two meanings can well

be given. When such a statement stands in his own corrected report, it

was worse than idle so strenuously to disclaim the weaker one.

[18] Meng-tseu, Book II. chap. 6, Art. 30. Pauthier’s Translation.

[19] This chronology might seem difficult to conciliate with the life of

an individual, but it must be remembered that the Robert Peel never

dies. There are always in the world not only one, but many

representatives of the character.

[20] Meng-tseu, Book II. chap. 7, Art. 37. Pauthier’s Translation.

[21] Talleyrand is a good example.

[22] Catholic Bill, Factory Bill, Corn Bill.

[23] That this opposition to Canning was characterised by a peculiar

virulence on the part of some of its members, appears to be

indisputable, inasmuch as it seems to be the received opinion of those

best acquainted with Canning, that it had a considerable share in

causing his death. Thus, not to mention other testimonies, his widow,

when Huskisson subsequently joined some of these politicians in office,

writes to him to reproach him with having joined her husband’s

murderers. Peel himself at the time did not escape from severe blame on

account of it, and one of his relatives, Mr Dawson, is mentioned as one

of the most notable of the culprits.

[24] Translated by Shelley:

“Revenge and wrong bring forth their kind:

The foul cubs like the parents are.”

[Transcriber’s Note:

Obvious printer errors corrected silently.

Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation are as in the original.]