The ministers occupied an intermediate position; they proposed to declare that the legislative authority of the British Parliament over the whole Empire was in all cases supreme; and they proposed, at the same time, to repeal the Stamp Act. To the former measure Pitt objected; but it was carried with scarcely a dissentient voice. The repeal of the Stamp Act Pitt strongly supported; but against the government was arrayed a formidable assemblage of opponents. Grenville and the Bedfords were furious. Temple, who had now allied himself closely with his brother, and separated himself from Pitt, was no despicable enemy. This, however, was not the worst. The ministry was without its natural strength. It had to struggle, not only against its avowed enemies, but against the insidious hostility of the King, and of a set of persons who, about this time, began to be designated as the King's friends.

The character of this faction has been drawn by Burke with even more than his usual force and vivacity. Those who know how strongly, through his whole life, his judgment was biassed by his passions, may not unnaturally suspect that he has left us rather a caricature than a likeness; and yet there is scarcely, in the whole portrait, a single touch of which the fidelity is not proved by facts of unquestionable authenticity.

The public generally regarded the King's friends as a body of which Bute was the directing soul. It was to no purpose that the Earl professed to have done with politics, that he absented himself year after year from the levee and the drawing-room, that he went to the north, that he went to Rome. The notion that, in some inexplicable manner, he dictated all the measures of the court was fixed in the minds, not only of the multitude, but of some who had good opportunities of obtaining information, and who ought to have been superior to vulgar prejudices. Our own belief is that these suspicions were unfounded, and that he ceased to have any communication with the King on political matters some time before the dismissal of George Grenville. The supposition of Bute's influence is, indeed, by no means necessary to explain the phenomena. The King, in 1765, was no longer the ignorant and inexperienced boy who had, in 1760, been managed by his mother and his Groom of the Stole. He had, during several years, observed the struggles of parties, and conferred daily on high questions of state with able and experienced politicians. His way of life had developed his understanding and character. He was now no longer a puppet, but had very decided opinions both of men and things. Nothing could be more natural than that he should have high notions of his own prerogatives, should be impatient of opposition, and should wish all public men to be detached from each other and dependent on himself alone; nor could anything be more natural than that, in the state in which the political world then was, he should find instruments fit for his purposes.

Thus sprang into existence and into note a reptile species of politicians never before and never since known in our country. These men disclaimed all political ties, except those which bound them to the throne. They were willing to coalesce with any party, to abandon any party, to undermine any party, to assault any party, at a moment's notice. To them all administrations, and all oppositions were the same. They regarded Bute, Grenville, Rockingham, Pitt, without one sentiment either of predilection or of aversion. They were the King's friends. It is to be observed that this friendship implied no personal intimacy. These people had never lived with their master, as Dodington at one time lived with his father, or as Sheridan afterwards lived with his son. They never hunted with him in the morning, or played cards with him in the evening, never shared his mutton or walked with him among his turnips. Only one or two of them ever saw his face except on public days. The whole band, however, always had early and accurate information as to his personal inclinations. These people were never high in the administration. They were generally to be found in places of much emolument, little labor, and no responsibility; and these places they continued to occupy securely while the cabinet was six or seven times reconstructed. Their peculiar business was not to support the ministry against the opposition, but to support the King against the ministry. Whenever his Majesty was induced to give a reluctant assent to the introduction of some bill which his constitutional advisers regarded as necessary, his friends in the House of Commons were sure to speak against it, to vote against it, to throw in its way every obstruction compatible with the forms of Parliament. If his Majesty found it necessary to admit into his closet a Secretary of State or a First Lord of the Treasury whom he disliked, his friends were sure to miss no opportunity of thwarting and humbling the obnoxious minister. In return for these services, the King covered them with his protection. It was to no purpose that his responsible servants complained to him that they were daily betrayed and impeded by men who were eating the bread of the government. He sometimes justified the offenders, sometimes excused them, sometimes owned that they were to blame, but said that he must take time to consider whether he could part with them. He never would turn them out; and, while everything else in the state was constantly changing, these sycophants seemed to have a life estate in their offices.

It was well known to the King's friends that, though his Majesty had consented to the repeal of the Stamp Act, he had consented with a very bad grace, and that, though he had eagerly welcomed the Whigs, when, in his extreme need and at his earnest entreaty, they had undertaken to free him from an insupportable yoke, he had by no means got over his early prejudices against his deliverers. The ministers soon found that, while they were encountered in front by the whole force of a strong opposition, their rear was assailed by a large body of those whom they had regarded as auxiliaries.

Nevertheless, Lord Rockingham and his adherents went on resolutely with the bill for repealing the Stamp Act. They had on their side all the manufacturing and commercial interests of the realm. In the debates the government was powerfully supported. Two great orators and statesmen, belonging to two different generations, repeatedly put forth all their powers in defence of the bill. The House of Commons heard Pitt for the last time, and Burke for the first time, and was in doubt to which of them the palm of eloquence should be assigned. It was indeed a splendid sunset and a splendid dawn.

For a time the event seemed doubtful. In several divisions the ministers were hard pressed. On one occasion not less than twelve of the King's friends, all men in office, voted against the government. It was to no purpose that Lord Rockingham remonstrated with the King. His Majesty confessed that there was ground for complaint, but hoped that gentle means would bring the mutineers to a better mind. If they persisted in their misconduct, he would dismiss them.

At length the decisive day arrived. The gallery, the lobby, the Court of Requests, the staircases, were crowded with merchants from all the great ports of the island. The debate lasted till long after midnight. On the division, the ministers had a great majority. The dread of civil war, and the outcry of all the trading towns of the kingdom, had been too strong for the combined strength of the court and the opposition.

It was in the first dim twilight of a February morning that the doors were thrown open, and that the chiefs of the hostile parties showed themselves to the multitude. Conway was received with loud applause. But, when Pitt appeared, all eyes were fixed on him alone. All hats were in the air. Loud and long huzzas accompanied him to his chair, and a train of admirers escorted him all the way to his home. Then came forth Grenville. As soon as he was recognized, a storm of hisses and curses broke forth. He turned fiercely on the crowd, and caught one man by the throat. The bystanders were in great alarm. If a scuffle began, none could say how it might end. Fortunately the person who had been collared only said, "If I may not hiss, sir, I hope I may laugh," and laughed in Grenville's face.

The majority had been so decisive that all the opponents of the ministry, save one, were disposed to let the bill pass without any further contention. But solicitation and expostulation were thrown away on Grenville. His indomitable spirit rose up stronger and stronger under the load of public hatred. He fought out the battle obstinately to the end. On the last reading he had a sharp altercation with his brother-in-law, the last of their many sharp altercations. Pitt thundered in his loftiest tones against the man who had wished to dip the ermine of a British King in the blood of the British people. Grenville replied with his wonted intrepidity and asperity. "If the tax," he said, "were still to be laid on, I would lay it on. For the evils which it may produce my accuser is answerable. His profusion made it necessary. His declarations against the constitutional powers of King, Lords, and Commons, have made it doubly necessary. I do not envy him the huzza. I glory in the hiss. If it were to be done again, I would do it."

The repeal of the Stamp Act was the chief measure of Lord Rockingham's government. But that government is entitled to the praise of having put a stop to two oppressive practices, which, in Wilkes's case, had attracted the notice and excited the just indignation of the public. The House of Commons was induced by the ministers to pass a resolution condemning the use of general warrants, and another resolution condemning the seizure of papers in cases of libel.

It must be added, to the lasting honor of Lord Rockingham, that his administration was the first which, during a long course of years, had the courage and the virtue to refrain from bribing members of Parliament. His enemies accused him and his friends of weakness, of haughtiness, of party spirit; but calumny itself never dared to couple his name with corruption.

Unhappily his government, though one of the best that has ever existed in our country, was also one of the weakest. The King's friends assailed and obstructed the ministers at every turn. To appeal to the King was only to draw forth new promises and new evasions. His Majesty was sure that there must be some misunderstanding. Lord Rockingham had better speak to the gentlemen. They should be dismissed on the next fault. The next fault was soon committed, and his Majesty still continued to shuffle. It was too bad. It was quite abominable; but it mattered less as the prorogation was at hand. He would give the delinquents one more chance. If they did not alter their conduct next session, he should not have one word to say for them. He had already resolved that, long before the commencement of the next session, Lord Rockingham should cease to be minister.

We have now come to a part of our story which, admiring as we do the genius and the many noble qualities of Pitt, we cannot relate without much pain. We believe that, at this conjuncture, he had it in his power to give the victory either to the Whigs or to the King's friends. If he had allied himself closely with Lord Rockingham, what could the court have done? There would have been only one alternative, the Whigs or Grenville; and there could be no doubt what the King's choice would be. He still remembered, as well he might, with the utmost bitterness, the thraldom from which his uncle had freed him, and said about this time, with great vehemence, that he would sooner see the Devil come into his closet than Grenville.

And what was there to prevent Pitt from allying himself with Lord Rockingham? On all the most important questions their views were the same. They had agreed in condemning the peace, the Stamp Act, the general warrants, the seizure of papers. The points on which they differed were few and unimportant. In integrity, in disinterestedness, in hatred of corruption, they resembled each other. Their personal interests could not clash. They sat in different Houses, and Pitt had always declared that nothing should induce him to be First Lord of the Treasury.

If the opportunity of forming a coalition beneficial to the state, and honorable to all concerned, was suffered to escape, the fault was not with the Whig ministers. They behaved towards Pitt with an obsequiousness which, had it not been the effect of sincere admiration and of anxiety for the public interests, might have been justly called servile. They repeatedly gave him to understand that, if he chose to join their ranks, they were ready to receive him, not as an associate, but as a leader. They had proved their respect for him by bestowing a peerage on the person who, at that time, enjoyed the largest share of his confidence, Chief Justice Pratt. What then was there to divide Pitt from the Whigs? What, on the other hand, was there in common between him and the King's friends, that he should lend himself to their purposes, he who had never owed anything to flattery or intrigue, he whose eloquence and independent spirit had overawed two generations of slaves and jobbers, he who had twice been forced by the enthusiasm of an admiring nation on a reluctant Prince?

Unhappily the court had gained Pitt, not, it is true, by those ignoble means which were employed when such men as Rigby and Wedderburn were to be won, but by allurements suited to a nature noble even in its aberrations. The King set himself to seduce the one man who could turn the Whigs out without letting Grenville in. Praise, caresses, promises, were lavished on the idol of the nation. He, and he alone, could put an end to faction, could bid defiance to all the powerful connections in the land united, Whigs and Tories, Rockinghams, Bedfords, and Grenvilles. These blandishments produced a great effect. For though Pitt's spirit was high and manly, though his eloquence was often exerted with formidable effect against the court, and though his theory of government had been learned in the school of Locke and Sidney, he had always regarded the person of the sovereign with profound veneration. As soon as he was brought face to face with royalty, his imagination and sensibility were too strong for his principles. His Whiggism thawed and disappeared; and he became, for the time, a Tory of the old Ormond pattern. Nor was he by any means unwilling to assist in the work of dissolving all political connections. His own weight in the state was wholly independent of such connections. He was therefore inclined to look on them with dislike, and made far too little distinction between gangs of knaves associated for the mere purpose of robbing the public, and confederacies of honorable men for the promotion of great public objects. Nor had he the sagacity to perceive that the strenuous efforts which he made to annihilate all parties tended only to establish the ascendency of one party, and that the basest and most hateful of all.

It may be doubted whether he would have been thus misled, if his mind had been in full health and rigor. But the truth is that he had for some time been in an unnatural state of excitement. No suspicion of this sort had yet got abroad. His eloquence had never shone with more splendor than during the recent debates. But people afterwards called to mind many things which ought to have roused their apprehensions. His habits were gradually becoming more and more eccentric. A horror of all loud sounds, such as is said to have been one of the many oddities of Wallenstein, grew upon him. Though the most affectionate of fathers, he could not at this time bear to hear the voices of his own children, and laid out great sums at Hayes in buying up houses contiguous to his own, merely that he might have no neighbors to disturb him with their noise. He then sold Hayes, and took possession of a villa at Hampstead, where he again began to purchase houses to right and left. In expense, indeed, he vied, during this part of his life, with the wealthiest of the conquerors of Bengal and Tanjore. At Burton Pynsent, he ordered a great extent of ground to be planted with cedars. Cedars enough for the purpose were not to be found in Somersetshire. They were therefore collected in London, and sent down by land carriage. Relays of laborers were hired; and the work went on all night by torchlight. No man could be more abstemious than Pitt; yet the profusion of his kitchen was a wonder even to epicures. Several dinners were always dressing; for his appetite was capricious and fanciful; and at whatever moment he felt inclined to eat, he expected a meal to be instantly on the table. Other circumstances might be mentioned, such as separately are of little moment, but such as, when taken together, and when viewed in connection with the strange events which followed, justify us in believing that his mind was already in a morbid state.

Soon after the close of the session of Parliament, Lord Rockingham received his dismissal. He retired, accompanied by a firm body of friends, whose consistency and uprightness enmity itself was forced to admit. None of them had asked or obtained any pension or any sinecure, either in possession or in reversion. Such disinterestedness was then rare among politicians. Their chief, though not a man of brilliant talents, had won for himself an honorable fame, which he kept pure to the last. He had, in spite of difficulties which seemed almost insurmountable, removed great abuses and averted a civil war. Sixteen years later, in a dark and terrible day, he was again called upon to save the state, brought to the very brink of ruin by the same perfidy and obstinacy which had embarrassed, and at length overthrown, his first administration.

Pitt was planting in Somersetshire when he was summoned to court by a letter written by the royal hand. He instantly hastened to London. The irritability of his mind and body were increased by the rapidity with which he travelled; and when he reached his journey's end he was suffering from fever. Ill as he was, he saw the King at Richmond, and undertook to form an administration.

Pitt was scarcely in the state in which a man should be who has to conduct delicate and arduous negotiations. In his letters to his wife, he complained that the conferences in which it was necessary for him to bear a part heated his blood and accelerated his pulse. From other sources of information we learn that his language, even to those whose cooperation he wished to engage, was strangely peremptory and despotic. Some of his notes written at this time have been preserved, and are in a style which Louis the Fourteenth would have been too well bred to employ in addressing any French gentleman.

In the attempt to dissolve all parties, Pitt met with some difficulties. Some Whigs, whom the court would gladly have detached from Lord Rockingham, rejected all offers. The Bedfords were perfectly willing to break with Grenville; but Pitt would not come up to their terms. Temple, whom Pitt at first meant to place at the head of the treasury, proved intractable. A coldness indeed had, during some months, been fast growing between the brothers-in-law, so long and so closely allied in politics. Pitt was angry with Temple for opposing the repeal of the Stamp Act. Temple was angry with Pitt for refusing to accede to that family league which was now the favorite plan at Stowe. At length the Earl proposed an equal partition of power and patronage, and offered, on this condition, to give up his brother George. Pitt thought the demand exorbitant, and positively refused compliance. A bitter quarrel followed. Each of the kinsmen was true to his character. Temple's soul festered with spite, and Pitt's swelled into contempt. Temple represented Pitt as the most odious of hypocrites and traitors. Pitt held a different, and perhaps a more provoking tone. Temple was a good sort of man enough, whose single title to distinction was, that he had a large garden, with a large piece of water, and a great many pavilions and summer-houses. To his fortunate connection with a great orator and statesman he was indebted for an importance in the state which his own talents could never have gained for him. That importance had turned his head. He had begun to fancy that he could form administrations, and govern empires. It was piteous to see a well-meaning man under such a delusion.

In spite of all these difficulties, a ministry was made such as the King wished to see,—a ministry in which all his Majesty's friends were comfortably accommodated, and which, with the exception of his Majesty's friends, contained no four persons who had ever in their lives been in the habit of acting together. Men who had never concurred in a single vote found themselves seated at the same board. The office of paymaster was divided between two persons who had never exchanged a word. Most of the chief posts were filled either by personal adherents of Pitt, or by members of the late ministry, who had been induced to remain in place after the dismissal of Lord Rockingham. To the former class belonged Pratt, now Lord Camden, who accepted the Great Seal, and Lord Shelburne, who was made one of the Secretaries of State. To the latter class belonged the Duke of Grafton, who became First Lord of the Treasury, and Conway, who kept his old position both in the government and in the House of Commons. Charles Townshend, who had belonged to every party, and cared for none, was Chancellor of the Exchequer. Pitt himself was declared prime minister, but refused to take any laborious office. He was created Earl of Chatham, and the privy seal was delivered to him.

It is scarcely necessary to say that the failure, the complete and disgraceful failure, of this arrangement is not to be ascribed to any want of capacity in the persons whom we have named. None of them was deficient in abilities; and four of them, Pitt himself, Shelburne, Camden, and Townshend, were men of high intellectual eminence. The fault was not in the materials, but in the principle on which the materials were put together. Pitt had mixed up these conflicting elements, in the full confidence that he should be able to keep them all in perfect subordination to himself, and in perfect harmony with each other. We shall soon see how the experiment succeeded.

On the very day on which the new prime minister kissed hands, three fourths of that popularity which he had long enjoyed without a rival, and to which he owed the greater part of his authority, departed from him. A violent outcry was raised, not against that part of his conduct which really deserved severe condemnation, but against a step in which we can see nothing to censure. His acceptance of a peerage produced a general burst of indignation. Yet surely no peerage had ever been better earned; nor was there ever a statesman who more needed the repose of the Upper House. Pitt was now growing old. He was much older in constitution than in years. It was with imminent risk to his life that he had, on some important occasions, attended his duty in Parliament. During the session of 1764, he had not been able to take part in a single debate. It was impossible that he should go through the nightly labor of conducting the business of the government in the House of Commons. His wish to be transferred, under such circumstances, to a less busy and a less turbulent assembly, was natural and reasonable. The nation, however, overlooked all these considerations. Those who had most loved and honored the Great Commoner were loudest in invective against the new-made lord. London had hitherto been true to him through every vicissitude. When the citizens learned that he had been sent for from Somersetshire, that he had been closeted with the King at Richmond, and that he was to be first minister, they had been in transports of joy. Preparations were made for a grand entertainment and for a general illumination. The lamps had actually been placed round the Monument, when the Gazette announced that the object of all this enthusiasm was an Earl. Instantly the feast was countermanded. The lamps were taken down. The newspapers raised the roar of obloquy. Pamphlets, made up of calumny and scurrility, filled the shops of all the booksellers; and of those pamphlets, the most galling were written under the direction of the malignant Temple. It was now the fashion to compare the two Williams, William Pulteney and William Pitt. Both, it was said, had, by eloquence and simulated patriotism, acquired a great ascendency in the House of Commons and in the country. Both had been entrusted with the office of reforming the government. Both had, when at the height of power and popularity, been seduced by the splendor of the coronet. Both had been made earls, and both had at once become objects of aversion and scorn to the nation which a few hours before had regarded them with affection and veneration.

The clamor against Pitt appears to have had a serious effect on the foreign relations of the country. His name had till now acted like a spell at Versailles and St. Ildefonso. English travellers on the Continent had remarked that nothing more was necessary to silence a whole room full of boasting Frenchmen than to drop a hint of the probability that Mr. Pitt would return to power. In an instant there was deep silence, all shoulders rose, and all faces were lengthened. Now, unhappily, every foreign court, in learning that he was recalled to office, learned also that he no longer possessed the hearts of his countrymen. Ceasing to be loved at home, he ceased to be feared abroad. The name of Pitt had been a charmed name. Our envoys tried in vain to conjure with the name of Chatham.

The difficulties which beset Chatham were daily increased by the despotic manner in which he treated all around him. Lord Rockingham had, at the time of the change of ministry, acted with great moderation, had expressed a hope that the new government would act on the principles of the late government, and had even interfered to prevent many of his friends from quitting office. Thus Saunders and Keppel, two naval commanders of great eminence, had been induced to remain at the Admiralty, where their services were much needed. The Duke of Portland was still Lord Chamberlain, and Lord Besborough Postmaster. But within a quarter of a year, Lord Chatham had so deeply affronted these men that they all retired in disgust. In truth, his tone, submissive in the closet, was at this time insupportably tyrannical in the cabinet. His colleagues were merely his clerks for naval, financial, and diplomatic business. Conway, meek as he was, was on one occasion provoked into declaring that such language as Lord Chatham's had never been heard west of Constantinople, and was with difficulty prevented by Horace Walpole from resigning, and rejoining the standard of Lord Rockingham.

The breach which had been made in the government by the defection of so many of the Rockinghams, Chatham hoped to supply by the help of the Bedfords. But with the Bedfords he could not deal as he had dealt with other parties. It was to no purpose that he bade high for one or two members of the faction, in the hope of detaching them from the rest. They were to be had; but they were to be had only in the lot. There was indeed for a moment some wavering and some disputing among them. But at length the counsels of the shrewd and resolute Rigby prevailed. They determined to stand firmly together, and plainly intimated to Chatham that he must take them all, or that he should get none of them. The event proved that they were wiser in their generation than any other connection in the state. In a few months they were able to dictate their own terms.

The most important public measure of Lord Chatham's administration was his celebrated interference with the corn trade. The harvest had been bad; the price of food was high; and he thought it necessary to take on himself the responsibility of laying an embargo on the exportation of grain. When Parliament met, this proceeding was attacked by the opposition as unconstitutional, and defended by the ministers as indispensably necessary. At last an act was passed to indemnify all who had been concerned in the embargo.

The first words uttered by Chatham, in the House of Lords, were in defence of his conduct on this occasion. He spoke with a calmness, sobriety, and dignity well suited to the audience which he was addressing. A subsequent speech which he made on the same subject was less successful. He bade defiance to aristocratical connections, with a superciliousness to which the Peers were not accustomed, and with tones and gestures better suited to a large and stormy assembly than to the body of which he was now a member. A short altercation followed, and he was told very plainly that he should not be suffered to browbeat the old nobility of England.

It gradually became clearer and clearer that he was in a distempered state of mind. His attention had been drawn to the territorial acquisitions of the East India Company, and he determined to bring the whole of that great subject before Parliament. He would not, however, confer on the subject with any of his colleagues. It was in vain that Conway, who was charged with the conduct of business in the House of Commons, and Charles Townshend, who was responsible for the direction of the finances, begged for some glimpse of light as to what was in contemplation. Chatham's answers were sullen and mysterious. He must decline any discussion with them; he did not want their assistance; he had fixed on a person to take charge of his measure in the House of Commons. This person was a member who was not connected with the government, and who neither had, nor deserved to have, the ear of the House, a noisy, purse-proud, illiterate demagogue, whose Cockney English and scraps of mispronounced Latin were the jest of the newspapers, Alderman Beckford. It may well be supposed that these strange proceedings produced a ferment through the whole political world. The city was in commotion. The East India Company invoked the faith of charters. Burke thundered against the ministers. The ministers looked at each other and knew not what to say. In the midst of the confusion, Lord Chatham proclaimed himself gouty, and retired to Bath. It was announced, after some time, that he was better, that he would shortly return, that he would soon put everything in order. A day was fixed for his arrival in London. But when he reached the Castle Inn at Marlborough, he stopped, shut himself up in his room, and remained there some weeks. Everybody who travelled that road was amazed by the number of his attendants. Footmen and grooms, dressed in his family livery, filled the whole inn, though one of the largest in England, and swarmed in the streets of the little town. The truth was that the invalid had insisted that, during his stay, all the waiters and stable-boys of the Castle should wear his livery.

His colleagues were in despair. The Duke of Grafton proposed to go down to Marlborough in order to consult the oracle. But he was informed that Lord Chatham must decline all conversation on business. In the meantime, all the parties which were out of office, Bedfords, Grenvilles, and Rockinghams, joined to oppose the distracted government on the vote for the land tax. They were reinforced by almost all the county members, and had a considerable majority. This was the first time that a ministry had been beaten on an important division in the House of Commons since the fall of Sir Robert Walpole. The administration, thus furiously assailed from without, was torn by internal dissensions. It had been formed on no principle whatever. From the very first, nothing but Chatham's authority had prevented the hostile contingents which made up his ranks from going to blows with each other. That authority was now withdrawn, and everything was in commotion. Conway, a brave soldier, but in civil affairs the most timid and irresolute of men, afraid of disobliging the King, afraid of being abused in the newspapers, afraid of being thought factious if he went out, afraid of being thought interested if he stayed in, afraid of everything, and afraid of being known to be afraid of anything, was beaten backwards and forwards like a shuttlecock between Horace Walpole, who wished to make him prime minister, and Lord John Cavendish, who wished to draw him into opposition. Charles Townshend, a man of splendid eloquence, of lax principles, and of boundless vanity and presumption, would submit to no control. The full extent of his parts, of his ambition, and of his arrogance, had not yet been made manifest; for he had always quailed before the genius and the lofty character of Pitt. But now that Pitt had quitted the House of Commons, and seemed to have abdicated the part of chief minister, Townshend broke loose from all restraint.

While things were in this state, Chatham at length returned to London. He might as well have remained at Marlborough. He would see nobody. He would give no opinion on any public matter. The Duke of Grafton begged piteously for an interview, for an hour, for half an hour, for five minutes. The answer was, that it was impossible. The King himself repeatedly condescended to expostulate and implore. "Your duty," he wrote, "your own honor, require you to make an effort." The answers to these appeals were commonly written in Lady Chatham's hand, from her lord's dictation; for he had not energy even to use a pen. He flings himself at the King's feet. He is penetrated by the royal goodness, so signally shown to the most unhappy of men. He implores a little more indulgence. He cannot as yet transact business. He cannot see his colleagues. Least of all can he bear the excitement of an interview with majesty.

Some were half inclined to suspect that he was, to use a military phrase, malingering. He had made, they said, a great blunder, and had found it out. His immense popularity, his high reputation for statesmanship, were gone forever. Intoxicated by pride, he had undertaken a task beyond his abilities. He now saw nothing before him but distresses and humiliations; and he had therefore simulated illness, in order to escape from vexations which he had not fortitude to meet. This suspicion, though it derived some color from that weakness which was the most striking blemish of his character, was certainly unfounded. His mind, before he became first minister, had been, as we have said, in an unsound state; and physical and moral causes now concurred to make the derangement of his faculties complete. The gout, which had been the torment of his whole life, had been suppressed by strong remedies. For the first time since he was a boy at Oxford, he had passed several months without a twinge. But his hand and foot had been relieved at the expense of his nerves. He became melancholy, fanciful, irritable. The embarrassing state of public affairs, the grave responsibility which lay on him, the consciousness of his errors, the disputes of his colleagues, the savage clamors raised by his detractors, bewildered his enfeebled mind. One thing alone, he said, could save him. He must repurchase Hayes. The unwilling consent of the new occupant was extorted by Lady Chatham's entreaties and tears; and her lord was somewhat easier. But if business were mentioned to him, he, once the proudest and boldest of mankind, behaved like a hysterical girl, trembled from head to foot, and burst into a flood of tears.

His colleagues for a time continued to entertain the expectation that his health would soon be restored, and that he would emerge from his retirement. But month followed month, and still he remained hidden in mysterious seclusion, and sunk, as far as they could learn, in the deepest dejection of spirits. They at length ceased to hope or to fear anything from him; and, though he was still nominally Prime Minister, took without scruple steps which they knew to be diametrically opposed to all his opinions and feelings, allied themselves with those whom he had proscribed, disgraced those whom he most esteemed, and laid taxes on the colonies, in the face of the strong declarations which he had recently made.

When he had passed about a year and three quarters in gloomy privacy, the King received a few lines in Lady Chatham's hand. They contained a request, dictated by her lord, that he might be permitted to resign the Privy Seal. After some civil show of reluctance, the resignation was accepted. Indeed Chatham was, by this time, almost as much forgotten as if he had already been lying in Westminster Abbey.

At length the clouds which had gathered over his mind broke and passed away. His gout returned, and freed him from a more cruel malady. His nerves were newly braced. His spirits became buoyant. He woke as from a sickly dream. It was a strange recovery. Men had been in the habit of talking of him as of one dead, and, when he first showed himself at the King's levee, started as if they had seen a ghost. It was more than two years and a half since he had appeared in public.

He, too, had cause for wonder. The world which he now entered was not the world which he had quitted. The administration which he had formed had never been, at any one moment, entirely changed. But there had been so many losses and so many accessions, that he could scarcely recognize his own work. Charles Townshend was dead. Lord Shelburne had been dismissed. Conway had sunk into utter insignificance. The Duke of Grafton had fallen into the hands of the Bedfords. The Bedfords had deserted Grenville, had made their peace with the King and the King's friends, and had been admitted to office. Lord North was Chancellor of the Exchequer, and was rising fast in importance. Corsica had been given up to France without a struggle. The disputes with the American colonies had been revived. A general election had taken place. Wilkes had returned from exile, and, outlaw as he was, had been chosen knight of the shire for Middlesex. The multitude was on his side. The court was obstinately bent on ruining him, and was prepared to shake the very foundations of the constitution for the sake of a paltry revenge. The House of Commons, assuming to itself an authority which of right belongs only to the whole legislature, had declared Wilkes incapable of sitting in Parliament. Nor had it been thought sufficient to keep him out. Another must be brought in. Since the freeholders of Middlesex had obstinately refused to choose a member acceptable to the Court, the House had chosen a member for them. This was not the only instance, perhaps not the most disgraceful instance, of the inveterate malignity of the Court. Exasperated by the steady opposition of the Rockingham party, the King's friends had tried to rob a distinguished Whig nobleman of his private estate, and had persisted in their mean wickedness till their own servile majority had revolted from mere disgust and shame. Discontent had spread throughout the nation, and was kept up by stimulants such as had rarely been applied to the public mind. Junius had taken the field, had trampled Sir William Draper in the dust, had well-nigh broken the heart of Blackstone, and had so mangled the reputation of the Duke of Grafton that his Grace had become sick of office, and was beginning to look wistfully towards the shades of Euston. Every principle of foreign, domestic, and colonial policy which was dear to the heart of Chatham had, during the eclipse of his genius, been violated by the government which he had formed.

The remaining years of his life were spent in vainly struggling against that fatal policy which, at the moment when he might have given it a deathblow, he had been induced to take under his protection. His exertions redeemed his own fame, but they effected little for his country.

He found two parties arrayed against the government, the party of his own brothers-in-law, the Grenvilles, and the party of Lord Rockingham. On the question of the Middlesex Election these parties were agreed. But on many other important questions they differed widely; and they were, in truth, not less hostile to each other than to the court. The Grenvilles had, during several years, annoyed the Rockinghams with a succession of acrimonious pamphlets. It was long before the Rockinghams could be induced to retaliate. But an ill-natured tract, written under Grenville's direction, and entitled a State of the Nation, was too much for their patience. Burke undertook to defend and avenge his friends, and executed the task with admirable skill and vigor. On every point he was victorious, and nowhere more completely victorious than when he joined issue on those dry and minute questions of statistical and financial detail in which the main strength of Grenville lay. The official drudge, even on his own chosen ground, was utterly unable to maintain the fight against the great orator and philosopher. When Chatham reappeared, Grenville was still writhing with the recent shame and smart of this well-merited chastisement. Cordial cooperation between the two sections of the opposition was impossible. Nor could Chatham easily connect himself with either. His feelings, in spite of many affronts given and received, drew him towards the Grenvilles. For he had strong domestic affections; and his nature, which, though haughty, was by no means obdurate, had been softened by affliction. But from his kinsmen he was separated by a wide difference of opinion on the question of colonial taxation. A reconciliation, however, took place. He visited Stowe; he shook hands with George Grenville; and the Whig freeholders of Buckinghamshire, at their public dinners, drank many bumpers to the union of the three brothers.

In opinions, Chatham was much nearer to the Rockinghams than to his own relatives. But between him and the Rockinghams there was a gulf not easily to be passed. He had deeply injured them, and in injuring them had deeply injured his country. When the balance was trembling between them and the Court, he had thrown the whole weight of his genius, of his renown, of his popularity, into the scale of misgovernment. It must be added, that many eminent members of the party still retained a bitter recollection of the asperity and disdain with which they had been treated by him at the time when he assumed the direction of affairs. It is clear from Burke's pamphlets and speeches, and still more clear from his private letters, and from the language which he held in conversation, that he regarded Chatham with a feeling not far removed from dislike. Chatham was undoubtedly conscious of his error, and desirous to atone for it. But his overtures of friendship, though made with earnestness, and even with unwonted humility, were at first received by Lord Rockingham with cold and austere reserve. Gradually the intercourse of the two statesmen became courteous and even amicable. But the past was never wholly forgotten.

Chatham did not, however, stand alone. Round him gathered a party, small in number, but strong in great and various talents. Lord Camden, Lord Shelburne, Colonel Barre, and Dunning, afterwards Lord Ashburton, were the principal members of this connection.

There is no reason to believe that, from this time till within a few weeks of Chatham's death, his intellect suffered any decay. His eloquence was almost to the last heard with delight. But it was not exactly the eloquence of the House of Lords. That lofty and passionate, but somewhat desultory declamation, in which he excelled all men, and which was set off by looks, tones, and gestures, worthy of Garrick or Talma, was out of place in a small apartment where the audience often consisted of three or four drowsy prelates, three or four old judges, accustomed during many years to disregard rhetoric, and to look only at facts and arguments, and three or four listless and supercilious men of fashion, whom anything like enthusiasm moved to a sneer. In the House of Commons, a flash of his eye, a wave of his arm, had sometimes cowed Murray. But, in the House of Peers, his utmost vehemence and pathos produced less effect than the moderation, the reasonableness, the luminous order, and the serene dignity, which characterized the speeches of Lord Mansfield.

On the question of the Middlesex Election, all the three divisions of the opposition acted in concert. No orator in either House defended what is now universally admitted to have been the constitutional cause with more ardor or eloquence than Chatham. Before this subject had ceased to occupy the public mind, George Grenville died. His party rapidly melted away; and in a short time most of his adherents appeared on the ministerial benches.

Had George Grenville lived many months longer, the friendly ties which, after years of estrangement and hostility, had been renewed between him and his brother-in-law would, in all probability, have been a second time violently dissolved. For now the quarrel between England and the North American colonies took a gloomy and terrible aspect. Oppression provoked resistance; resistance was made the pretext for fresh oppression. The warnings of all the greatest statesmen of the age were lost on an imperious court and a deluded nation. Soon a colonial senate confronted the British Parliament. Then the colonial militia crossed bayonets with the British regiments. At length the commonwealth was torn asunder. Two millions of Englishmen who, fifteen years before, had been as loyal to their prince and as proud of their country as the people of Kent or Yorkshire, separated themselves by a solemn act from the Empire. For a time it seemed that the insurgents would struggle to small purpose against the vast financial and military means of the mother country. But disasters, following one another in rapid succession, rapidly dispelled the illusions of national vanity. At length a great British force, exhausted, famished, harassed on every side by a hostile peasantry, was compelled to deliver up its arms. Those governments which England had, in the late war, so signally humbled, and which had during many years been sullenly brooding over the recollections of Quebec, of Minden, and of the Moro, now saw with exultation that the day of revenge was at hand. France recognized the independence of the United States; and there could be little doubt that the example would soon be followed by Spain.

Chatham and Rockingham had cordially concurred in opposing every part of the fatal policy which had brought the state into this dangerous situation. But their paths now diverged. Lord Rockingham thought, and, as the event proved, thought most justly, that the revolted colonies were separated from the Empire forever, and that the only effect of prolonging the war on the American continent would be to divide resources which it was desirable to concentrate. If the hopeless attempt to subjugate Pennsylvania and Virginia were abandoned war against the House of Bourbon might possibly be avoided, or, if inevitable, might be carried on with success and glory. We might even indemnify ourselves for part of what we had lost, at the expense of those foreign enemies who had hoped to profit by our domestic dissensions. Lord Rockingham, therefore, and those who acted with him, conceived that the wisest course now open to England was to acknowledge the independence of the United States, and to turn her whole force against her European enemies.

Chatham, it should seem, ought to have taken the same side. Before France had taken any part in our quarrel with the colonies, he had repeatedly, and with great energy of language, declared that it was impossible to conquer America; and he could not without absurdity maintain that it was easier to conquer France and America together than America alone. But his passions overpowered his judgment, and made him blind to his own inconsistency. The very circumstances which made the separation of the colonies inevitable made it to him altogether insupportable. The dismemberment of the Empire seemed to him less ruinous and humiliating, when produced by domestic dissensions, than when produced by foreign interference. His blood boiled at the degradation of his country. Whatever lowered her among the nations of the earth, he felt as a personal outrage to himself. And the feeling was natural. He had made her so great. He had been so proud of her; and she had been so proud of him. He remembered how, more than twenty years before, in a day of gloom and dismay, when her possessions were torn from her, when her flag was dishonored, she had called on him to save her. He remembered the sudden and glorious change which his energy had wrought, the long series of triumphs, the days of thanksgiving, the nights of illumination. Fired by such recollections, he determined to separate himself from those who advised that the independence of the colonies should be acknowledged. That he was in error will scarcely, we think, be disputed by his warmest admirers. Indeed, the treaty by which, a few years later, the republic of the United States was recognized was the work of his most attached adherents and of his favorite son.

The Duke of Richmond had given notice of an address to the throne, against the further prosecution of hostilities with America. Chatham had, during some time, absented himself from Parliament, in consequence of his growing infirmities. He determined to appear in his place on this occasion, and to declare that his opinions were decidedly at variance with those of the Rockingham party. He was in a state of great excitement. His medical attendants were uneasy, and strongly advised him to calm himself, and to remain at home. But he was not to be controlled. His son William, and his son-in-law Lord Mahon, accompanied him to Westminster. He rested himself in the Chancellor's room till the debate commenced, and then, leaning on his two young relations, limped to his seat. The slightest particulars of that day were remembered, and have been carefully recorded. He bowed, it was remarked, with great courtliness to those peers who rose to make way for him and his supporters. His crutch was in his hand. He wore, as was his fashion, a rich velvet coat. His legs were swathed in flannel. His wig was so large, and his face so emaciated, that none of his features could be discerned except the high curve of his nose, and his eyes, which still retained a gleam of the old fire.

When the Duke of Richmond had spoken, Chatham rose. For some time his voice was inaudible. At length his tones became distinct and his action animated. Here and there his hearers caught a thought or an expression which reminded them of William Pitt. But it was clear that he was not himself. He lost the thread of his discourse, hesitated, repeated the same words several times, and was so confused that, in speaking of the Act of Settlement, he could not recall the name of the Electress Sophia. The House listened in solemn silence, and with the aspect of profound respect and compassion. The stillness was so deep that the dropping of a handkerchief would have been heard. The Duke of Richmond replied with great tenderness and courtesy; but, while he spoke, the old man was observed to be restless and irritable. The Duke sat down. Chatham stood up again, pressed his hand on his breast, and sank down in an apoplectic fit. Three or four lords who sat near him caught him in his fall. The House broke up in confusion. The dying man was carried to the residence of one of the officers of Parliament, and was so far restored as to be able to bear a journey to Hayes. At Hayes, after lingering a few weeks, he expired in his seventieth year. His bed was watched to the last, with anxious tenderness, by his wife and children; and he well deserved their care. Too often haughty and wayward to others, to them he had been almost effeminately kind. He had through life been dreaded by his political opponents, and regarded with more awe than love even by his political associates. But no fear seems to have mingled with the affection which his fondness, constantly overflowing in a thousand endearing forms, had inspired in the little circle at Hayes.

Chatham, at the time of his decease, had not, in both Houses of Parliament, ten personal adherents. Half the public men of the age had been estranged from him by his errors, and the other half by the exertions which he had made to repair his errors. His last speech had been an attack at once on the policy pursued by the government, and on the policy recommended by the opposition. But death restored him to his old place in the affection of his country. Who could hear unmoved of the fall of that which had been so great, and which had stood so long? The circumstances, too, seemed rather to belong to the tragic stage than to real life. A great statesman, full of years and honors, led forth to the Senate House by a son of rare hopes, and stricken down in full council while straining his feeble voice to rouse the drooping spirit of his country, could not but be remembered with peculiar veneration and tenderness. The few detractors who ventured to murmur were silenced by the indignant clamors of a nation which remembered only the lofty genius, the unsullied probity, the undisputed services, of him who was no more. For once, the chiefs of all parties were agreed. A public funeral, a public monument, were eagerly voted. The debts of the deceased were paid. A provision was made for his family. The City of London requested that the remains of the great man whom she had so long loved and honored might rest under the dome of her magnificent cathedral. But the petition came too late. Everything was already prepared for the interment in Westminster Abbey.

Though men of all parties had concurred in decreeing posthumous honors to Chatham, his corpse was attended to the grave almost exclusively by opponents of the government. The banner of the lordship of Chatham was borne by Colonel Barre, attended by the Duke of Richmond and Lord Rockingham. Burke, Savile, and Dunning upheld the pall. Lord Camden was conspicuous in the procession. The chief mourner was young William Pitt. After the lapse of more than twenty-seven years, in a season as dark and perilous, his own shattered frame and broken heart were laid, with the same pomp, in the same consecrated mould.

Chatham sleeps near the northern door of the Church, in a spot which has ever since been appropriated to statesmen, as the other end of the same transept has long been to poets; Mansfield rests there, and the second William Pitt, and Fox, and Grattan, and Canning, and Wilberforce. In no other cemetery do so many great citizens lie within so narrow a space. High over those venerable graves towers the stately monument of Chatham, and from above, his effigy, graven by a cunning hand, seems still, with eagle face and outstretched arm, to bid England be of good cheer, and to hurl defiance at her foes. The generation which reared that memorial of him has disappeared. The time has come when the rash and indiscriminate judgments which his contemporaries passed on his character may be calmly revised by history. And History, while, for the warning of vehement, high, and daring natures, she notes his many errors, will yet deliberately pronounce that, among the eminent men whose bones lie near his, scarcely one has left a more stainless, and none a more splendid name.

FOOTNOTES:

[21]

1. Correspondence of William Pitt, Earl of Chatham. 4 vols. 8vo. London: 1840.

2. Letters of Horace Walpole, Earl of Orford, to Sir Horace Mann. 4 vols. 8vo. London: 1843-4.

[22] In the reign of Anne, the House of Lords had resolved that, under the 23rd article of Union, no Scotch peer could he created a peer of Great Britain. This resolution was not annulled till the year 1782.

END OF THE CRITICAL AND HISTORICAL ESSAYS



INDEX TO THE ESSAYS

A priori reasoning, defects of, i. 385. Absolute uselessness of in political science, 394.

Abbe and Abbot, difference between, ii. 129.

Absalom and Achitophel, Dryden's, i. 231.

Academy, the, character of its doctrines, ii. 450.

Addison, Joseph, birth and education, iii. 400. Life at Magdalen College, 401. Knowledge of the Latin poets, 402. Poems of, 406. Complimented by Dryden, 408. Drawn into political life by Charles Montague, 409. Pensioned and sent abroad to study, 411. Introduced to Boileau, 413. Travels in Italy, 416. Loses his pension, 422. Returns to England through Germany, 423. Writes The Campaign, 426. Publishes his Narrative of Travels in Italy, 430. Opera of Rosamond, 431. Not fitted for prominence in Parliament, 433. Conversational gifts, 436. His timidity, 437. His friends, 438. Goes to Ireland as Chief Secretary, 441. Contributes to the Tatler, 443. His humor compared to that of Swift and Voltaire, 445. Value of his essays in elevating literary taste, 447. Dismissed from office, 450. Enters Parliament again, 451. His Spectator papers, 454. Contributes to the Guardian; his tragedy of Cato, 457. Again Chief Secretary of Ireland, 465. Friendship with Swift, 466. His comedy The Drummer played; starts the Freeholder, 467. His quarrel with Pope, 469. Accused of retaliating on Pope, 474. Marries the Dowager Countess of Warwick, 476. Becomes Secretary of State, 477. His troubles with Steele, 479. Answers Steele's arguments against the bill for limiting the number of the Peers, 481. Dedicates his works to Craggs, 482. His piety, 483. Death, 484. His services to literature, 486.

Addison, Rev. Lancelot, life, iii. 399.

Adiaphorists, the, ii. 68.

Aeschylus, Quintilian's opinion of, i. 42. His use of the supernatural, 106.

Afghanistan, monarchy of, analogous to that of England in the sixteenth century, ii. 80.

Aikin, Lucy, her life of Addison reviewed, iii. 396.

Aix, island of, captured, ii. 276.

Aix-la-Chapelle, treaty of, iii. 270.

Akenside, his Epistle to Curio, ii. 222.

Albigensian Crusade, iii. 9-11.

Alexander the Great, compared with Clive, ii. 760.

Alfieri, Vittorio, first to appreciate Dante, i. 6. Influenced by the school of Plutarch, 256. Comparable to Cowper, 591.

Alphabetical writing, the greatest of human inventions, ii. 460. Comparative views of its value by Plato and Bacon, 460, 461.

Anabaptists, their origin, ii. 72.

Anacharsis, reputed contriver of the potter's wheel, ii. 447.

Anaverdy Khan, governor of the Carnatic, ii. 685.

Angria, his fortress of Gheriah, reduced by Clive, ii. 700.

Anne, Queen, her political and religious inclinations as Queen, ii. 176. Changes in her government in 1710, 177. Relative estimation by the Whigs and the Tories of her reign, 178-186.

Annus Mirabilis, Dryden's, i. 215.

Anytus, first briber of Athenian judges, ii. 431.

Apostolical succession, claimed by Mr. Gladstone for the Church of England, ii. 645.

Aquinas, Thomas, ii. 482.

Archimedes, his slight estimate of his inventions, ii. 457.

Archytas, rebuked by Plato, ii. 457.

Arcot; Nabob of, his relations with England, ii. 685-692. His claims recognized by the English, 687.

Argyle, Duke of, secedes from Walpole's administration, ii. 241.

Ariosto, rises above Petrarch's influence, i. 5.

Aristotle, his unrivalled excellence in analysis and combination, i. 40. Value of his general propositions, 41. His enlightened and profound criticism, 41. His authority impaired by the Reformation, ii. 454.

Arithmetic, comparative estimate of, by Plato and by Bacon, ii. 456.

Arlington, Henry Bennet, Lord, his character, ii. 523. His coldness for the Triple Alliance, 530. His impeachment, 546.

Arragon and Castile, their old institutions favorable to public liberty, ii. 137.

Arrian, authenticity his only merit as an historian, i. 251.

Art, rise of, in Italy, i. 148. Need of skill for perfection in, 200.

Art of War, Machiavelli's, i. 175.

Arundel, Earl of, ii. 443.

Asaph-ul-Dowlah, prince of Oude, taxed by Hastings, iii. 188. Agrees to plunder the Begums, 189. Method used, 191.

Assemblies, deliberative, ii. 273.

Astronomy, comparative estimate of, by Socrates and by Bacon, ii. 459.

Athenian Orators, On the, i. 40-55.

Athenians, oratory unequalled, i. 45. Their taste and knowledge, 46. Method of education, 47.

Athens, eloquence at, i. 51. Progress of her oratory kept pace with her decay, 52. Ostracism at, 64. Her freedom and happiness, 68. Cruelty excusable, 69. Evil of slavery, 71. Permanent effect of her intellectual power, 80.

Attainder, act of, ii. 39, 40.

Aubrey, charges Bacon with corruption, ii. 425. Bacon's decision against him after his present, 440.

Aurungzebe, his policy, iii. 680.

Baber, founder of the Mogul Empire, iii. 679.

Bacon, Lady, mother of Francis Bacon, ii. 368.

Bacon, Francis, review of Basil Montagu's new edition of his works, ii. 357-497. His father, 362-368. His mother distinguished as a linguist, 368. His early years, 371-374. His services refused by Government, 374, 375. His admission at Gray's Inn, 375. His legal attainments, 375, 376. Sat in Parliament in 1593, 377. Part he took in politics, 378. His friendship with the Earl of Essex, 382-389. Examination of his conduct to Essex, 390-397. Influence of King James on his fortunes, 399. His servility to Lord Southampton, 400. Influence his talents had with the public, 400. His distinction in Parliament and in the courts of law, 402. His literary and philosophical works, 402. His "Novum Organum," and the admiration it excited, 403. His work of reducing and recompiling the laws of England, 403. His tampering with the judges on the trial of Peacham, 404-408. Attaches himself to Buckingham, 410. His appointment as Lord Keeper, 413. His share in the vices of the administration, 414. His animosity towards Sir Edward Coke, 419. His town and country residences, 420, 421. His titles of Baron Verulam and Viscount St. Albans, 421, 422. Report against him of the Committee on the Courts of Justice, 424. Nature of the charges, 425. Overwhelming evidence to them, 426, 427. His admission of his guilt, 427. His sentence, 428. Examination of Mr. Montagu's arguments in his defence, 429-440. Mode in which he spent the last years of his life, 441, 442. His death, 443. Chief peculiarity of his philosophy, 444-455. His views compared with those of Plato, 456-465. To what his wide and durable fame is chiefly owing, 469. His frequent treatment of moral subjects, 472. His views as a theologian, 474. Vulgar notion of him as inventor of the inductive method, 475. Estimate of his analysis of that method, 475-484. Union of audacity and sobriety in his temper, 484. His amplitude of comprehension, 485. His freedom from the spirit of controversy, 487. His eloquence, wit, and similitudes, 487, 488. His disciplined imagination, 490. His boldness and originality, 491. Unusual order in the development of his faculties, 492. Specimens of his two styles, 493. Value of his Essays, 494. His greatest performance the first book of the Novum Organum, 495. Contemplation of his life, 496, 497.

Bacon, Sir Nicholas, ii. 362-368. Character of the class of statesmen to which he belonged, 363. Classical acquirements of his wife, 368.

Baconian philosophy, its chief peculiarity, ii. 444. Its essential spirit, 448. Its method and object, 455, 456. Comparative views of Bacon and Plato, 456-465. Its beneficent spirit, 462, 465, 468, 469. Its value compared with ancient philosophy, 465-478.

Banim, Mr., defends James II. as a supporter of toleration, ii. 330.

Barcelona, captured by Peterborough, ii. 161-164.

Barere, Bertrand, Memoires de, reviewed, iii. 487-590. Approached nearest to the idea of universal depravity, 489. His natural disposition, 490. Greatest liar known, 493. His false account of Marie Antoinette's death, 494. Of the proceedings against the Girondists, 497. Birth and education, 499. Marriage, 500. First visit to Paris, 501. Elected to the States General, 502. Position there, 503. Becomes a justice, 507. Chosen to the second convention, 510. At first a Girondist, 515. Accused of royalist sympathies, 518. A federalist, 520. Opposes the Jacobins, 521. On the Committee of Public Safety, 522. Supports the Girondists against the Paris authorities, 523. Feeling of parties toward, 526. Goes over to the Jacobins and accuses the prominent Girondists, 527. Raves against Marie Antoinette, 528. Style of oratory, 529. His bloodthirsty ferocity, 539. Sensual excesses, 541. His delight in murder, 543. Urges war without quarter, 546. Admitted to the Jacobin club, 547. Urges the strengthening of the Revolutionary Tribunal, 553. Deserts Robespierre, 554. Attacked in the convention, 559. Arrested, 561. Enmity shown him on his way to the prison at Oleron, 563. Escapes, 564. The Council of Five Hundred refuses to seat him, 565. Scorned but employed by Bonaparte, 568. Perhaps employed as a censor, 571. His role of spy, 573. Reports on public opinion, 575. His newspaper, 576. His reports refused a reading, 579. His double treason, 580. Becomes a royalist in 1814, 580. Exiled, 582. Turns Jacobin under Louis Philippe, 583. His ignorance and hatred of the English, 587. His professions of Christianity, 589.

Barillon, M., French ambassador, his opinion of the council proposed by Sir William Temple, ii. 556, 564.

Barwell, Mr., made councillor in India, iii. 144. Supports Hastings, 148.

Baxter, Richard, his testimony to the excellence of Hampden, ii. 4.

Beatrice, Dante's devotion to, i. 11.

Beaumarchais, his suit before the Parliament of Paris, ii. 440, 441.

Bedford, Duke of, head of a Whig faction, iii. 600. Opposed to Pitt's war policy, 613. His party compared to Rockingham's, 654.

Bedford, Earl of, invited by Charles I. to form an administration, ii. 40.

Bellasys, General, ii. 156.

Belphegor, Machiavelli's, i. 168.

Benares, its wealth, iii. 178, 179. Relation of the English to, 180. Revolution in, on the arrest of Cheyte Sing, 185. Conquered and added to British dominion, 187.

Benevolences, Oliver St. John's opposition to, and Bacon's support of, ii. 403.

Bengal, its resources, ii. 700, 701. Internal government of, iii. 127-129. Competition for minister-ship, 129. Character of its people, 130. Hastings gains control of, 134.

Bentham, Jeremy, his character, i. 424. His defence of James Mill, 425. His argument over despotism, 426. Refuted, 427. His condemnation of the theory of saturation met, 430. His evasion of the power of public opinion displayed, 432. Charges the "Edinburgh Review" with evasion, 435. On Woman Suffrage, 438. On the poor plundering the rich, 439. Defence of a theory of government founded on certain propensities of human nature, 442. Refutation of the same, 445. His "greatest happiness principle," 448. His authorship of the defence of Mill denied, 458. His greatness; his literary partnership with Dumont, ii. 96-98. On the French Revolution, 294.

Bentinck, Lord William, his memory cherished by the Hindoos, ii. 762.

Bentivoglio, Cardinal, on the state of religion in England in the sixteenth century, ii. 84.

Bentley, Richard, his quarrel with Boyle, and remarks on Temple's Essay on the Letters of Phalaris, ii. 593-595.

Berwick, Duke of, checks the allies, ii. 158. His retreat before Galway, 166.

Bible, the English, its excellence, i. 210.

Bishops, claims of those of the Church of England to apostolical succession, ii. 246.

Black Hole of Calcutta, described, ii. 704. Retribution of the English for its horrors, 706, 710, 712-715.

Blackstone, Sir William, ii. 356.

Bodley, Sir Thomas, ii. 403, 443.

Boileau, Nicolas, introduced to Addison, iii. 413. His contempt for modern Latin poetry, 414.

Bolingbroke, Lord, proposes to strengthen the royal prerogative, ii. 211. His method of reform, iii. 610.

Bonaparte, Napoleon, becomes first consol, iii. 566. His scorn of Barere, 568. Employs Barere as a writer and a spy, 569. His opinion of Barere as a writer, 577. Refuses to accept his reports, 579.

Book of the Church, Southey's, i. 500.

Borgia, Caesar, his triumph and failure, i. 170.

Boroughs, rotten, abolition of, ii. 220.

Boswell, James, his life of Johnson, ii. 691. His work expurgated by Croker, 707. And interpolated with extracts from other authors, 708. His mean character, 711. Lack of talent, 714. Not ill-natured, 716.

Bourbon, House of, its vicissitudes in Spain, ii. 148-175.

Boyle, Charles, nominal editor of the Letters of Phalaris, ii. 236, 237. "Boys," the, oppose Sir R. Walpole, ii. 216, 252.

Brahmin, fable of a pious, i. 546.

Breda, treaty of, ii. 527.

Brihuega, siege of, ii. 174.

"Broad Bottom Administration, The," ii. 255.

Brown's Estimate, ii. 266.

Brussels, seat of a viceregal court, ii. 526.

Buchanan, character of his writings, ii. 455.

Buckingham, Duke of, the "Steenie" of James I., ii. 14. Bacon's early discernment of his influence, 410. His expedition to Spain, 411. His return for Bacon's patronage, 412. His corruption, 415. His character and position, 415, 420. His marriage, 423, 424. His visit to Bacon, and report of his condition, 426.

Budgell, Eustace, a relation of Addison, iii. 458.

Bunyan, John, Southey's life reviewed, i. 743-758. His Pilgrim's Progress, 745-749. An excitable man in an age of excitement, 751. Not vicious, 752. His internal conflicts, 753. Style delightful. 757.

Burgoyne, General, chairman of the committee of inquiry on Lord Clive, ii. 756.

Burgundy, Louis, Duke of, ii. 116, 117.

Burke, Edmund, his imagination and sensibility, i. 497. His opinion on the war with Spain, ii. 252. Development of his mental powers, 492. Effect of his speeches on the House of Commons, 601. Investigates Indian affairs, iii. 194. His vehemence against Hastings, 210. Knowledge of India, 211. Begins the impeachment of Hastings, 214. Chairman of the impeachment committee, 221. His opening speech at the trial, 227. Attempts to force him to relinquish the prosecution, 231.

Burleigh, William Cecil, Lord, review of Rev. Dr. Nares's memoirs of, ii. 63-94. His early life and character, 65-70. His death, 70. Importance of the times in which he lived, 71. The great stain on his character, 89. His conduct towards Bacon, 374-376, 383. His apology for having resorted to torture, 407. Bacon's letter to him upon the department of knowledge he had chosen, 486.

Burnet, Bishop, on Sir William Temple, ii. 597.

Burney, Dr. Charles, parentage, iii. 334. Society in his home, 337. Urges his daughter to accept the Queen's offer, 361. Consents at last to her retirement, 374.

Burney, Fanny. See D'Arblay, Madame.

Bussy, his conduct in India, ii. 695.

Bute, Earl of, influence over George III., iii. 606. Character, 607. His kind of Toryism, 608. Brought into the government, 611. Becomes Secretary of State, 618. Error of dismissing Newcastle, 621. Detested on several grounds, 626. Resigns, 635. His career, 636.

Byng, Admiral, was he a martyr to political party? i. 696. His failure at Minorca, ii. 266. His trial, 269. Opinion of his conduct, 269. Chatham's defence of, 270.

Byron, Lord, Moore's Life of, i. 569. His character and surroundings unfortunate, 571. Petted and persecuted, 572. Condemned unheard, 575. His excesses in Italy, 577. Goes to Greece and dies, 579. Lot cast in a literary revolution, 580. Largely contributed to the emancipation of literature, though naturally a reactionary, 594. A creature of his age, 596. The reverse of a great dramatist, 597. Lacked diversity in characterization, 600. Tendency to soliloquy, 600. Lack of dramatic effect, 601. Excelled in description, 602. His morbidness, 603. Influence largely due to his egotism, 605. His popularity among young readers, 605.

Byron, Lady, quarrel with her husband, i. 573.

Cabal, the, its designs, ii. 538, 544, 548, 549.

Cadiz, exploit of Essex at the siege of, ii. 156, 385. Pillaged by the British, 157.

Caesar, Claudius, resemblance of James I. to, ii. 12.

Caesars, the, parallel between them and the Tudors, not applicable, ii. 81.

Caesar's Commentaries, i. 259. Calcutta, its position on the Hoogley, ii. 702. Scene of the Black Hole of, 704. Resentment of the English at its fall, 766. Again threatened by Surajah Dowlah, 709. Revival of its prosperity, 720. Its sufferings during the famine, 750.

Cambridge, University of, superior to Oxford in intellectual activity, ii. 364. Disturbed by the Civil War. 510.

Cambyses, punishes a corrupt judge, ii. 434.

Campaign, The, Addison's, iii. 426-430.

Canada, subjugated by the British, ii. 277.

Cape Breton, reduction of, ii. 276.

Carlisle, Lady, warns Pym, ii. 46.

Carnatic, the, resources of, ii. 685.

Carnot, Hippolyte, editor of Barere's Memoirs, iii. 487. Blamable for misstatements in the Memoirs, 494. Finds two virtues in Barere, 586.

Carteret, Lord (afterwards Earl Granville), his ascendency after the fall of Walpole, ii. 223. Sir Horace Walpole's stories about him, 226. His defection from Sir Robert Walpole, 239. Succeeds Walpole, 254. Created Earl Granville, 255.

Carthagena, surrender of the arsenal and ships of, to the Allies, ii. 167.

Cary, Rev. Henry Francis, translator of Dante, i. 12. 22.

Casti, his Animali Parlanti characterized, i. 6.

Castile, Admiral of, ii. 157.

Castile and Arragon, their old institutions favorable to public liberty, ii. 137.

Castilians, their character in the sixteenth century, ii. 133. Their conduct in the War of the Succession, 168.

Castracani, Castruccio, Machiavelli's life of, i. 183.

Catholics, persecution of, under Elizabeth, unjustifiable, i. 291. Not necessarily opposed to her, 293. Southey's hostility towards, 530. Former treatment of, compared with present condition of Jews, 651. Their earnestness against Protestantism, iii. 27. See also Rome, Church of.

Catiline, his plot unwarrantably condemned, i. 260.

Cato. Addison's, iii. 457.

Cavendish, Lord, in the new council of Sir William Temple, ii. 567. Retires, 581.

Cecil, Robert, rival of Francis Bacon, ii. 374, 375, 383. Fear and envy of Essex, 380. Increase of his dislike for Bacon, 382. Conversation with Essex, 383. His interference to obtain knighthood for Bacon, 399.

Cecilia, Fanny Burney's, iii. 355. Change of style apparent in, 388.

Censorship, ii. 351.

Cervantes, i. 193; ii. 134, 359.

Chalmers, Dr., his defence of the Church, ii. 605.

Champion, Colonel, sent to help Sujah Dowlah against the Rohillas, iii. 141.

Chandernagore, French settlement on the Hoogley, ii. 701. Captured by the English, 709, 710.

Charles, Archduke, his claim to the Spanish crown, ii. 140. Takes the field in support of it, 158. Accompanies Peterborough in his expedition, 161. His success in the northeast of Spain, 165. Is proclaimed king at Madrid, 167. His reverses and retreat, 170. His reentry into Madrid, 173. Concludes a peace, 177. Forms an alliance with Philip of Spain, 183.

Charles I., justification of the Great Rebellion against, i. 112 et seq. Charges against him upheld, 117. His execution an error, 122, 341. His conduct toward Strafford, 315. His early mistakes, 317. Attempts to seize the five members, 318. His deceit toward the Commons, 320. Uses force unsuccessfully, 321. Loses the loyalty of his people, 322. Attempted absolute monarchy, 327. Clings to the control of the army, 333. Falls into the hands of the army, 340. Inconsistent attitude toward the Established Church, 344. Hampden's opposition to him and its consequences, ii. 16, 27-20. Resistance of the Scots to him, 30. His increasing difficulties, 35. His conduct, towards the House of Commons, 44-49. His flight, 50. Review of his conduct and treatment, 51-55. Reaction in his favor during the Long Parliament, 326. Cause of his political blunders, 422. Effect of the victory over him on the national character, 503, 504.

Charles II., his unfitness for the English throne, i. 211. Disgrace of his reign, 353. Licentiousness of his court, 358. Pecuniary transactions in a measure excusable, 363. Lack of national feeling under, 365. His situation in 1660 contrasted with that of Louis XVIII., ii. 310, 311. His character, 317-319, 524, 538, 568. His position towards the king of France, 322. Consequences of his levity and apathy, 325. His court compared with that of his father, 523. His extravagance, 526. His subserviency to France, 530, 535, 536. His renunciation of the dispensing power, 547. His relations with Temple, 548-553, 583. His system of bribery of the Commons, 559. His dislike of Halifax, 576. His dismissal of Temple, 586.

Charles II. of Spain, unhappy condition of, ii. 139, 144-148. His difficulties in respect to the succession, 139-143.

Charles VIII. of France, ii. 487.

Charles XII. of Sweden, compared to Clive, ii. 760.

Chatham, William Pitt, Earl of, character of his public life, ii. 234, 235. His early life and travels, 236. Enters the army, 237. Obtains a seat in Parliament, 237. Attaches himself to the Whigs in Opposition, 243. His qualities as an orator, 246-250. Is made Groom of the Bedchamber to the Prince of Wales, 251. Declaims against the ministers, 253. His opposition to Carteret, 254. Legacy left him by the Duchess of Marlborough, 254. Supports the Pelham ministry, 255. Appointed Vice-Treasurer of Ireland, 256. Averse to subsidizing foreign powers, 264. Overtures made to him by Newcastle, 264, 267. Made Secretary of State, 268. Defends Admiral Byng, 270. Coalesces with the Duke of Newcastle, 273. Success of his administration, 275-281. His appreciation of Clive, 728, 753. Breach between him and the great Whig connection, 752. Review of his correspondence, iii. 591-687. Forms a coalition with Newcastle, 596. His war policy attacked, 612. Resigns, 616. Rewarded for his services, 617. Speech against the French treaty, 633. Invited to succeed Grenville, 640. His legacy from Pynsent, 645. Refuses to take the ministry without Grenville, 650. Supports the repeal of the Stamp Act, 658. His position toward Rockingham's ministry, 664. Attempts to form a ministry, 668. Loss of popularity on accepting a peerage, 670. Errors in policy, 672. Taken ill, 674. His recovery, 677. His relations with Rockingham and Grenville, 680. Attitude on the American Revolution, 683. Final speech in the House of Lords, 684. Death, 685. Public funeral, 686.

Cherbourg, guns taken from, ii. 276.

Cheyte Sing, Prince of Benares, iii. 179. Hastings demands money from, 183. Arrested, 184.

Chillingworth, William, on apostolical succession, ii. 650.

Chinsurah, Dutch settlement on the Hoogley, ii. 701. Its siege by the English and capitulation, 727.

Christchurch, Oxford, its repute after the Revolution, ii. 592. Issues a new edition of the Letters of Phalaris, 592, 593.

Chunar, treaty of, iii. 189.

Church of England, moderation and loyalty, i. 303. Its sophisms at the time of the Revolution, 368. Mr. Gladstone's work in defence of it, ii. 600. His arguments for its being the pure Catholic Church of Christ, 641. Its claims to apostolical succession discussed, 645-655. Views respecting its alliance with the state, 659-668. Its rejection of enthusiasts, iii. 31.

Churchill, John, Duke of Marlborough, his rise the result of conditions, i. 360. His infamous treason, 369. Converted to Whiggism, ii. 176. Addison's mention of, in The Campaign, iii. 429.

Cicero, partiality of Dr. Middleton towards, ii. 360. The most eloquent and skilful of advocates, 361. His epistles in his banishment, 379. His opinion of the study of rhetoric, 477.

Clarendon, Edward Hyde, Earl of, defects in his History, i. 277. Too good for his age, 361. His virtues and faults, 362. His testimony in regard to Hampden, ii. 5, 6, 19, 21, 26-28, 37, 41, 56, 59, 61. His literary merit, 358. His position at the head of affairs, 522-530. His faulty style, 541. His opposition to the growing power of the Commons, 561. His temper, 562.

Classical literature, indiscriminate praise of, i. 44. Should be justly estimated, 45.

Clavering, General, made Councillor for India, iii. 144. Opposes Hastings, 148. Dies, 163.

Clement VII., Pope, i. 184.

Clifford, Lord, his character, ii. 538, 539. His retirement, 545. His talent for debate, 561.

Clive, Lord, review of Sir John Malcolm's Life of, ii. 670-762. His family and boyhood, 672, 673. His shipment to India, 673. His arrival at Madras, and position there, 675. Obtains an ensign's commission in the Company's service, 678. His attack, capture, and defence of Arcot, 688-692. His subsequent proceedings, 693-696. His marriage and return to England, 696. His reception, 697. Elected to Parliament, 698. Returns to India, 700. His subsequent proceedings, 700, 706-708. His conduct towards Omichund, 709-719. His transactions with Meer Jaffier, 711-713, 715, 716, 723. His pecuniary acquisitions, 720. Appointed Governor of the Company's possessions in Bengal, 723. His dispersion of Shah Alum's army, 725. Responsibility of his position, 727. His return to England, 728. His reception, 728. His proceedings at the India House, 731, 732, 736. Nominated Governor of the British possessions in Bengal, 736. His arrival at Calcutta, 737. Suppresses a conspiracy, 741, 742. Success of his foreign policy, 742. His return to England, 745. His unpopularity and its causes, 745-750. His speech in his defence, and its consequence, 753, 757. Invested with the Grand Cross of the Bath, 756. His life in retirement, 758. Failing of his mind, and death by his own hand, 758-760. Reflections on his career, 760. Notices Warren Hastings, iii. 120.

Clodius, bribery at the trial of, ii. 432.

Cobham, Lord, his malignity toward Essex, ii. 397.

Coke, Sir E., his conduct towards Bacon, ii. 376, 418. His opposition to Bacon in Peacham's case, 404, 405. His experience in conducting state prosecutions, 406. His removal from the Bench, 418. His reconciliation with Buckingham, and agreement to marry his daughter to Buckingham's brother, 419. His reconciliation with Bacon, 420. His behavior to Bacon at his trial, 437.

Coleridge, S. T., Byron's attitude towards, i. 594.

Collier, Jeremy, character, iii. 85. Outlawed for absolving traitors, 87. Attacks the immorality of the stage, 88. Replies to Congreve, 93.

Colloquies on Society, Southey's, reviewed, i. 496-545. Plan of, 505. Absurdity of, 507.

Comic Dramatists of the Restoration, Leigh Hunt's, iii. 47-100.

Comines, Philip de, testimony to the good government of England, ii. 7.

Commons, House of, commencement of the practice of buying of votes in, ii. 209. Corruption in, not necessary to the Tudors, 209. Increase of its influence after the Revolution, 210. How kept in order, 211. Increased in power by the Revolution, 348.

Comus, modelled on the Italian Masque, i. 97.

Conde, Marshal, compared with Clive, ii. 761.

Conflans, Admiral, defeated by Hawke, ii. 277.

Congreve, William, birth and education, iii. 80. His literary work, 81-84. Attempts to answer Jeremy Collier, 91. Produces The Way of the World, 94. Political impartiality, 95. Place among literary men, 96. Friendship with the Duchess of Marlborough, 98. Death, 99. Compared to Wycherley, 100.

Constitutional government, in England and on the Continent, i. 323. Conversion of, into despotism, on the Continent, 326. Dangers to, in England, 327.

Cooke, Sir Anthony, his learning, ii. 368.

Coote, Sir Eyre, sent to India, iii. 166. His military reputation, 167.

Correctness, as a canon in art, i. 581. Folly of, 587.

Council of York, abolished, ii. 38.

Country Wife, Wycherley's, iii. 70, 77.

Courtenay, Rt. Hon. T. P., review of his Memoirs of Sir William Temple, ii. 498-599. His concessions to Dr. Lingard in regard to the Triple Alliance, 533. His opinion of Temple's proposed council, 554, 556. His error as to Temple's residence, 585 note.

Covenant, the Scotch, ii. 30.

Covenanters, the Scotch, their treaty with Charles I., ii. 30, 31.

Cowley, Abraham, his wit, ii. 204. Admired Bacon, 495.

Cowper, William, forerunner of literary revival in England, i. 591. Schoolmate of Warren Hastings, iii. 117.

Coxe, Archdeacon, eulogizes Sir R. Walpole, ii. 214.

Craggs, Secretary, ii. 238, 261.

Cranmer, Archbishop, his time-serving character, i. 299.

Crebillon, the younger, ii. 198.

Crisp, Samuel, iii. 340. His dramatic aspirations, 343. Failure and retirement, 345.

Criticism, cannot exist in perfection with the creative faculty, i. 190. Effect on critical poetry, 202.

Croker, John Wilson, his edition of Boswell's Johnson reviewed, i. 691-742. Misstatements in the notes, 691. Classical errors, 700. Want of perspicacity, 704. Triviality of his comments, 705. His style, 706. Omissions, 707. Additions, 708.

Cromwell, Henry, ii. 512.

Cromwell, Oliver, wisdom of his government, i. 124. His great opportunity, 345. Compared with Napoleon, 347. His service to justice, 348. His army, 348. His administration, 349. His foreign policy, 351. Weakness of his son, 352. Compared with Charles II., 353. His qualities, ii. 29, 61. His administration, 313, 319. His abilities displayed in Ireland, 519-521.

Crown, the, ii. 75. Curtailment of its prerogatives, 210, 211. Its power predominant at the beginning of the 17th century, 557. Decline of its power during the Pensionary Parliament, 560. Its long contest with the Parliament put an end to by the Revolution, 566. See Prerogative.

Culpeper, Mr., a leader of the Constitutional Royalists, ii. 43.

Cumberland, Duke of, single victory of, ii. 729. Hated by Scots, iii. 628. Opposes the French treaty, 630. His character, 649. Tries to induce Pitt to succeed Grenville, 650. Advises a Whig ministry without Pitt, 653. Death, 656.

D'Adda, quoted, ii. 333.

Danby, Earl of, ii. 210. His connection with Sir William Temple, 547. Unjust charges against, 551. Impeached and sent to the Tower, 553. Owed his dukedom to his talent in debate, 561.

Dante, criticism on, i. 1. His first adventure in the popular tongue, 2. Influences of the times in which he lived upon his works, 3, 4. His love of Beatrice, 11. His despair of happiness on earth, 12. Close connection between his intellectual and moral character, 12. Compared with Milton, 13, 99-101. His metaphors and comparisons, 15, 16. Little impression made by the forms of the external world upon him, 16, 19. Fascination revolting and nauseous images had for his mind, 18. His use of ancient mythology in his poems, 19. His idolatry of Virgil, 20. Excellence of his style, 20, 21. Remarks upon the translations of the Divine Comedy, 21, 22. His use of the supernatural, 105. His character as expressed in his poetry, 107. His veneration for lesser writers, 194.

D'Arblay, M., a French refugee, marries Fanny Burney, iii. 378.

D'Arblay, Madame, Diary and Letters reviewed, iii. 331-395. Family, 333. Education, 335. Shyness, 339. Writes Evelina, 347. Its success, 349. Johnson's affection for, 351. Writes a poor play, 353. Publishes Cecilia, 354. Loss of friends, 355. Meets the king, 357. Invited to be a keeper of the Queen's robes, 358. Drawbacks to the position, 359. Accepts it, 361. Slavery of the service, 362. Visits Oxford, 364. Attends the trial of Warren Hastings, 366. Her prejudice against his accusers, 367. Feeling on the king's illness, 369. Respect for the queen, 371. Leaves the court on account of ill-health, 375. Recovers, 377. Marries, 378. Lives in Paris, 379. Her character-drawing, 385. Her style, 387. Quotations to illustrate the changes in her style, 390-392. Her real service to English literature, 394.

D'Argens, Marquess, iii. 280.

Daun, an Austrian general, defeats Frederic the Great at Kolin, iii. 306. At Hochkirchen, 319. Driven from before Dresden, 320. Defeated at Buckersdorf, 327.

David, M., editor of Barere's Memoires, iii. 487.

Davila, one of Hampden's favorite authors, ii. 22.

De Augmentis Scientiarum, Bacon's, ii. 402, 443.

Declaration of Right, ii. 341.

Defensio Populi, i. 85.

Delhi, splendor of, ii. 679.

Democracy, the ideal government, i. 62. Requires an educated constituency, 63. Reaction induced by the violence of its advocates, ii. 72.

Democritus, reputed inventor of the arch, ii. 365. Bacon's estimate of, 448.

Demosthenes, transcribes Thucydides six times, i. 47. Falsely described by Mitford, 73.

Denham, Sir John, satire on Hampden, ii. 58.

Despotism, Mill's condemnation of, i. 388. The Westminster Reviewer's defence of Mill's position on, 426.

Devonshire, Duke of, forms an administration after the resignation of Newcastle, ii. 268. Lord Chamberlain under Bute, iii. 623. Opposes the treaty with France, 630.

Dionysius, his critical ability, i. 41. Confines himself strictly to things Grecian, 267.

Diplomacy, requirements of, in the Italian service, i. 169.

Discourses on Livy, Machiavelli's, i. 176.

Dissenters, exclusion of, from civil offices, ii. 624.

Divine Comedy, Dante's, its reality, i. 12. Translations of, 21, 22. Literalness of the descriptions, 99. Comparable to Gulliver's Travels, 101. Character of the spirits in, 105.

Division of labor, necessity of, ii. 606.

Donne, John, his wit compared with Horace Walpole's, ii. 204.

Dorset, Lord, his poetical ability, i. 212.

Double Dealer, Congreve's, iii. 82.

Dover, Lord, review of his edition of Horace Walpole's Letters to Sir Horace Mann, ii. 181-231.

Drama, real object of, i. 163. Delightful character of the old English, 207. Unnaturalness of the French, 207. Affected by the closing of the theatres, 209. Rhyme introduced into, 212. Folly of the preservation of the unities, 583. Immorality of the English, at the Restoration, iii. 48.

"Drunken Administration, The," ii. 225.

Dryden, John, essay on, i. 187-234. His rank among poets, 187. Affected by circumstances, 187. Greatest of the critical poets, 214. His Annus Mirabilis, 215. His plays, 217. Unnaturalness of his characters, 220. Tendency to rant, 222. The improvement of his work in later life, 225. Founds the critical school of poetry, 227. His power of reasoning in verse, 228. His use of the flattery of dedication, 229. His characteristics, 230. Satirical works, 231. A connecting link between two literary periods, 597. Admits the justice of Jeremy Collier's attack, iii. 91.

Dumont, M., review of his Souvenirs sur Mirabeau, ii. 95-127. Services rendered by him to society, 96. The interpreter of Bentham, 96-98. His view of the French Revolution, 98-103, 294. His opinion that Burke's work on the Revolution had saved Europe, 101, 294. His efforts to instruct the French in political knowledge, 103. His pen-portrait of Mirabeau, 125. His revelation of his own character, 127.

Dundas, Henry, investigates Indian affairs, iii. 194. Sides with Hastings, 208. Defends him on the first charge, 215. Follows Pitt on the second, 219.

Dupleix, governor of Pondicherry, his gigantic schemes for establishing French influence in India, ii. 677, 683, 685, 693, 695, 700. His death, 700, 758.

East India Company, the, its absolute authority in India, ii. 277. Its condition when Clive first went to India, 674, 675. Its war with the French East India Company, 677. Increase of its power, 693. Its factories in Bengal, 702. Fortunes made by its servants in Bengal, 733, 734.

Ecclesiastical Commission, the, of Queen Elizabeth's time, ii. 76.

Ecclesiastics, fondness of the old dramatists for the character of, ii. 88.

Education, in England in the 16th century, ii. 373. Duty of the government in promoting it, 661.

Egerton, brings charge of corruption against Bacon, ii. 425. Bacon's decision against him, after receiving his present, 440.

Egotism in conversation and literature considered, i. 23, 24.

Elephants, use of, in war in India, ii. 691.

Eliot, Sir John, ii. 18-20. His Treatise on Government, 21. A martyr to liberty, 22.

Elizabeth, Queen, her unjustifiable persecution of non-conformists, i. 291. Her use of the church to increase her power, 303. Condition of the working classes in her reign, 534. Her rapid advancement of Cecil, ii. 69, 70. Character of her government, 76, 77, 80, 90. A persecutor, though herself indifferent, 89, 90. Her early notice of Lord Bacon, 372. Her favor toward Essex, 379. Factions at the close of her reign, 380, 381, 398. Her pride and temper, 387, 398. Her death, 398.

Elphinstone, Lord, ii. 761.

England, under Elizabeth, i. 291. Reformation in, a political move, 297. Under Henry VIII., 302. In 1640, 306. Under Charles I., 317. Change of feeling in, after the attempt on the Five Members, 319. Representative government in, preserved, 327. Disgraceful condition of, under Charles II., 354. Decay of statesmanship, 355. Corruption of the bar, 360. National feeling displaced by party loyalty, 364. Fortunate that the Revolution was effected by men of small calibre, 367. Perfidy of William III.'s statesmen, 368. Review of constitutional history of, from Henry VII., 371. Condition of the common people in, at various periods, 534. Prophecy of its future prosperity, 543. Her periodic fits of morality, 573. Theories deduced from her population, 617 et seq. Fecundity of the nobility, 632. Disability of Jews in, 646. Her physical and moral condition in the 15th century, ii. 7. Never so rich and powerful as since the loss of her American colonies, 135. Her conduct in reference to the Spanish succession, 152, 153. Successive steps of her progress, 307-310. Influence of her Revolution on the human race, 309, 344. Her situation at the Restoration compared with that of France at the restoration of the Bourbons, 311, 312. Her situation in 1678, 317, 319-327. Character of her public men in the latter part of the 17th century, 507. Difference in her situation under Charles II. and under the Protectorate, 525. Restoration immorality the reaction from Puritanism, iii. 58. Diminished prestige of, in 1785, 195. Upholds Prussia against all Europe, 302. Subsidies paid, 318. Withdraws her aid from Prussia, 326. State of parties in, 592. Factions sink into repose, 595. Corruption in the House of Commons, 609. Terminates her continental alliances, 623. War with America, 682.