things which we are pleased to see, and which we can see nowhere else. They are baubles; but they are made curiosities either by his gro tesque workmanship, or by some association belonging to them. His style is one of those peculiar styles by which everybody is attracted, and which nobody can safely venture to imitate. He is a mannerist whose manner has become perfectly easy to him. His affectation is so habitual, and so universal, that it can hardly be called affectation. The affecta tion is the essence of the man. It pervades

choose to be intimate with Mr. Pitt; and why? | of Florence. Walpole is constantly showing Because Mr. Pitt had been among the perse- us things-not of very great value indeed-yet cutors of his father; or because, as he repeatedly assures us, Mr. Pitt was a disagreeable man in private life? Not at all; but because Mr. Pitt was too fond of war, and was great with too little reluctance. Strange, that an habitual scoffer like Walpole should imagine that this cant could impose on the dullest reader! If Molière had put such a speech into the mouth of Tartuffe, we should have said that the fiction was unskilful, and that Orgon could not have been such a fool as to be taken in by it. Of the twenty-six years during which Walpole sat in Parliament, thir-all his thoughts and all his expressions. If it teen were years of war. Yet he did not, during were taken away, nothing would be left. He all those thirteen years, utter a single word, or coins new words, distorts the senses of old give a single vote, tending to peace. His most words, and twists sentences into forms which intimate friend, the only friend, indeed, to whom make grammarians stare. But all this he he appears to have been sincerely attached, does, not only with an air of ease, but as if he Conway, was a soldier, was fond of his pro- could not help doing it. His wit was, in its fession, and was perpetually entreating Mr. essential properties, of the same kind with that Pitt to give him employment. In this, Wal- of Cowley and Donne. Like theirs, it conpole saw nothing but what was admirable.sisted in an exquisite perception of points of Conway was a hero for soliciting the com- analogy, and points of contrast too subtle for mand of expeditions, which Mr. Pitt was a monster for sending out.

common observation. Like them, Walpole perpetually startles us by the ease with which What then is the charm, the irresistible he yokes together ideas between which there charm of Walpole's writings? It consists, would seem, at first sight, to be no connection. we think, in the art of amusing without ex- But he did not, like them, affect the gravity of citing. He never convinces the reason, nor a lecture, and draw his illustrations from the fills the imagination, nor touches the heart; laboratory and from the schools. His tone but he keeps the mind of the reader constantly was light and fleering; his topics were the attentive and constantly entertained. He had topics of the club and the ball-room. And a strange ingenuity peculiarly his own, an therefore his strange combinations and faringenuity which appeared in all that he did, fetched allusions, though very closely resem in his building, in his gardening, in his up-bling those which tire us to death in the poems holstery, in the matter and in the manner of of the time of Charles the First, are read with his writings. If we were to adopt the classi-pleasure constantly new. fication-not a very accurate classification- No man who has written so much is so seldom which Akenside has given of the pleasures of tiresome. In his books there are scarcely any the Imagination, we should say that with the of those passages which, in our school days, Sublime and the Beautiful Walpole had no- we used to call skip. Yet he often wrote on thing to do, but that the third province, the subjects which are generally considered as Odd, was his peculiar domain. The motto dull; on subjects which men of great talents which he prefixed to his "Catalogue of Royal have in vain endeavoured to render popular. and Noble Authors," might have been in- When we compare the "Historic Doubts" scribed with perfect propriety over the door about Richard the Third with Whitaker's and of every room in his house, and on the title- Chalmer's book on a far more interesting page of every one of his books. "Dove dia- question, the character of Mary Queen of volo, Messer Ludovico, avete pigliate tante Scots; when we compare the "Anecdotes of coglionerie?" In his villa, every apartment Painting" with Nichols's "Anecdotes," or even is a museum, every piece of furniture is a cu- with Mr. D'Israeli's "Quarrels of Authors," riosity; there is something strange in the form and "Calamities of Authors," we at once see of the shovel; there is a long story belonging Walpole's superiority, not in industry, not in to the bell-rope. We wander among a profu- learning, not in accuracy, not in logical power, sion of rarities, of trifling intrinsic value, but but in the art of writing what people will like so quaint in fashion, or connected with such to read. He rejects all but the attractive parts remarkable names and events, that they may of his subject. He keeps only what is in itself well detain our attention for a moment. A amusing, or what can be made so by the artimoment is enough. Some new relic, some fice of his diction. The coarser morsels of new unique, some new carved work, some antiquarian learning he abandons to others: new enamel, is forthcoming in an instant. and sets out an entertainment worthy of a One cabinet of trinkets is no sooner closed Roman epicure, an entertainment consisting than another is opened. It is the same with of nothing but delicacies-the brains of singWalpole's writings. It is not in their utility, ing birds, the roe of mullets, the sunny halves it is not in their beauty, that their attraction of peaches. This, we think, is the great merit lies. They are to the works of great histori- of his "Romance." There is little skill in the ans and poets, what Strawberry Hill is to the delineation of the characters. Manfred is as museum of Sir Hans Sloane, or to the Gallery commonplace a tyrant, Jerome as commonplace

a confessor, Theodore as commonplace a young gentleman, Isabella and Matilda as commonplace a pair of young ladies, as are to be found in any of the thousand Italian castles in which condottieri have revelled, or in which imprisoned duchesses have pined. We cannot say that we much admire the big man whose sword is dug up in one quarter of the globe, whose helmet drops from the clouds in another, and who, after clattering and rustling for some days, ends by kicking the house down. But the story, whatever its value may be, never flags for a single moment. There are no digressions, or unseasonable descriptions, or long speeches. Every sentence carries the action forward. The excitement is constantly renewed. Absurd as is the machinery, and insipid as are the human actors, no reader probably ever thought the book dull.

Walpole's "Letters" are generally consider ed as his best performances, and we think with reason. His faults are far less offensive to us in his correspondence than in his books. His wild, absurd, and ever-changing opinions about men and things are easily pardoned in familiar letters. His bitter, scoffing, depreciating disposition, does not show itself in so unmitigated a manner as in his "Memoirs." A writer of letters must be civil and friendly to his correspondent at least, if to no other per

son.

The earlier letters contain the most lively and interesting account which we possess of that "great Walpolean battle," to use the words of Junius, which terminated in the retirement of Sir Robert. Horace Walpole entered the House of Commons just in time to witness the last desperate struggle which his father, surrounded by enemies and traitors, maintained, with a spirit as brave as that of the column at Fontenoy, first for victory, and then for honourable retreat. Horace was, of course, on the side of his family. Lord Dover seems to have been enthusiastic on the same side, and goes so far as to call Sir Robert "the glory of the Whigs."

Sir Robert deserved this high eulogium, we think, as little as he deserved the abusive epithets which have often been coupled with his name. A fair character of him still remains to be drawn; and, whenever it shall be drawn it will be equally unlike the portrait by Coxe and the portrait by Smollett.

He had, undoubtedly, great talents and great virtues. He was not, indeed, like the leaders of the party which opposed his government, a brilliant orator. He was not a profound scholar, like Carteret, or a wit and a fine gentleman, like Chesterfield. In all these respects, his deficiencies were remarkable. His literature consisted of a scrap or two of Horace, and an anecdote or two from the end of the He loved letter-writing, and had evidently Dictionary. His knowledge of history was so studied it as an art. It was, in truth, the very limited, that, in the great debate on the Excise kind of writing for such a man; for a man Bill, he was forced to ask Attorney-General very ambitious to rank among wits, yet ner-Yorke who Empson and Dudley were. His vously afraid that, while obtaining the reputa- manners were a little too coarse and boistetion of a wit, he might lose caste as a gentle-rous even for the age of Westerns and Topman. There was nothing vulgar in writing a halls. When he ceased to talk of politics, he letter. Not even Ensign Northerton, not even could talk of nothing but women; and he dithe captain described in Hamilton's Baron-lated on his favourite theme with a freedom and Walpole, though the author of many quartos, had some feelings in common with those gallant officers-would have denied that a gentleman might sometimes correspond with a friend. Whether Walpole bestowed much labour on the composition of his letters, it is impossible to judge from internal evidence. There are passages which seem perfectly unstudied. But the appearance of ease may be the effect of labour. There are passages'which have a very artificial air. But they may have been produced without effort by a mind of which the natural ingenuity had been improved into morbid quickness by constant exercise. We are never sure that we see him as he was. We are never sure that what appears to be nature is not an effect of art. We are never sure that what appears to be art is not merely habit which has become second

nature.

In wit and animation the present collection is not superior to those which have preceded it. But it has one great advantage over them all. It forms a connected whole-a regular journal of what appeared to Walpole the most important transactions of the last twenty years of George the Second's reign. It contains much new information concerning the history of that time, the portion of English history of which common readers know the least.

VOL. II.-28

which shocked even that plain-spoken generation, and which was quite unsuited to his age and station. The noisy revelry of his summer festivities at Houghton gave much scandal to grave people, and annually drove his kinsman and colleague, Lord Townshend, from the neighbouring mansion of Rainham.

But, however ignorant he might be of general history and of general literature, he was better acquainted than any man of his day with what it concerned him most to know, mankind, the English nation, the court, the House of Commons, and his own office. Of foreign affairs he knew little; but his judgment was so good, that his little knowledge went very far. He was an excellent parliamentary debater, an excellent parliamentary tactician, an excellent man of business. No man ever brought more industry or more method to the transacting of affairs. No minister in his time did so much; yet no minister had so much leisure.

He was a good-natured man, who had for thirty years seen nothing but the worst parts of human nature in other men. He was fami liar with the malice of kind people, and the perfidy of honourable people. Proud men had licked the dust before him Patriots had beg ged him to come up to the price of their puffed and advertised integrity. He said, after his

T

fall, that it was a dangerous thing to be a minis- | people. Its constitution was oligarchical. Its ter; that there were few minds which would deliberations were secret. Its power in the not be injured by the constant spectacle of meanness and depravity. To his honour, it must be confessed, that few minds have come out of such a trial so little damaged in the most important parts. He retired, after more than twenty years of power, with a temper not soured, with a heart not hardened, with simple tastes, with frank manners, and with a capacity for friendship. No stain of treachery, of ingratitude, or of cruelty rests on his memory. Factious hatred, while flinging on his name every other foul aspersion, was compelled to own that he was not a man of blood. This would scarcely seem a high eulogium on a statesman of our times. It was then a rare and honourable distinction. The contest of parties in England had long been carried on with a ferocity unworthy of a civilized people. Sir Robert Walpole was the minister who gave to our government that character of lenity which it has since generally preserved. It was perfectly known to him that many of his opponents had dealings with the Pretender. The lives of some were at his mercy. He wanted neither Whig nor Tory precedents for using his advantage unsparingly. But, with a clemency to which posterity has never done justice, he suffered himself to be thwarted, vilified, and at last overthrown, by a party which included many men whose necks were in his power.

state was immense. The government had every conceivable motive to offer bribes. Many of the members, if they were not men of strict honour and probity, had no conceivable motive to refuse what the government offered. In the reign of Charles the Second, accordingly, the practice of buying votes in the House of Commons was commenced by the daring Clifford, and carried to a great extent by the crafty and shameless Danby. The Revolution, great and manifold as were the blessings of which it was directly or remotely the cause, at first aggravated this evil. The importance of the House of Commons was now greater than ever. The prerogatives of the crown were more strictly limited than ever, and those associations in which, more than in its legal prerogatives, its power had consisted, were completely broken. No prince was ever in so helpless, so distressing a situation as William the Third. The party which defended his title was, on general grounds, disposed to curtail his prerogative. The party which was, on general grounds, friendly to the prerogative, was adverse to his title. There was no quarter in which both his office and his person could find favour. But while the influence of the House of Commons in the government was becoming paramount, the influence of the people over the House of Commons was declining. It mattered little in the time of Charles the First, whether that House were or were not That he practised corruption on a large chosen by the people, it was certain to act for scale is, we think, indisputable. But whether the people; because it would have been at he deserved all the invectives which have been the mercy of the court, but for the support of uttered against him on that account, may be the people. Now that the court was at the questioned. No man ought to be severely cen- mercy of the House of Commons, that large sured for not being beyond his age in virtue. body of members who were not returned by To buy the votes of constituents is as im- popular election had nobody to please but moral as to buy the votes of representatives. themselves. Even those who were returned The candidate who gives five guineas to the by popular election did not live, as now, under freeman is as culpable as the man who gives a constant sense of responsibility. The conthree hundred guineas to the member. Yet stituents were not, as now, daily apprized of we know that, in our own time, no man is the votes and speeches of their representatives. thought wicked or dishonourable, no man is The privileges which had, in old times, been cut, no man is black-balled, because, under indispensably necessary to the security and the old system of election, he was returned, in efficiency of Parliaments, were now superfluthe only way in which he could be returned, for ous. But they were still carefully maintained; East Retford, for Liverpool, or for Stafford. by honest legislators, from superstitious veneWalpole governed by corruption, because, in ration; by dishonest legislators, for their own his time, it was impossible to govern other-selfish ends. They had been a useful defence wise. Corruption was unnecessary to the Tudors for their Parliaments were feeble. The publicity which has of late years been given to parliamentary proceedings has raised the standard of morality among public men. The power of public opinion is so great, that, ever before the reform of the representation, a faint suspicion that a minister had given pecuniary gratifications to members of Parliament in return for their votes, would have been enough to ruin him. But, during the rentury which followed the restoration, the House of Commons was in that situation in which assemblies must be managed by corruption, or cannot be managed at all. It was not held in awe, as in the sixteenth century, by the throne. It was not held in awe, as in the nineteenth century, by the opinion of the

to the Commons during a long and doubtful conflict with powerful sovereigns. They were now no longer necessary for that purpose; and they became a defence to the members against their constituents. That secresy which had been absolutely necessary in times when the Privy Council was in the habit of sending the leaders of opposition to the Tower, was preserved in times when a vote of the House of Commons was sufficient to hurl the most powerful minister from his post.

The government could not go on unless the Parliament could be kept in order. And how was the Parliament to be kept in order? Three hundred years ago it would have been enough for a statesman to have the support of the crown. It would now, we hope and believe, be enough for him to enjoy the confidence

WALPOLE'S LETTERS TO SIR HORACE MANN.

and approbation of the great body of the mid-
dle class. A hundred years ago it would not
have been enough to have both crown and
people on his side. The Parliament had shak-
en off the control of the royal prerogative. It
had not yet fallen under the control of public
opinion. A large proportion of the members
had absolutely no motive to support any admi-
nistration except their own interest, and in the
lowest sense of the word. Under these cir-
cumstances, the country could be governed
only by corruption. Bolingbroke, who was the
ablest and the most vehement of those who
raised the cry of corruption, had no better re-
medy to propose than that the royal prero-
gative should be strengthened. The remedy
would no doubt have been efficient. The only
question is, whether it would not have been
worse than the disease. The fault was in the
constitution of the legislature; and to blame
those ministers who managed the legislature in
the only way in which it could be managed, is
gross injustice. They submitted to extortion
because they could not help themselves. We
might as well accuse the poor Lowland farmers
who paid "black mail" to Rob Roy, of cor-
rupting the virtue of the Highlanders, as Sir |
Robert Walpole of corrupting the virtue of
Parliament. His crime was merely this;
that he employed his money more dexterously,
and got more support in return for it, than any
of those who preceded or followed him.

He was himself incorruptible by money. His dominant passion was the love of power; and the heaviest charge which can be brought against him is, that to this passion he never scrupled to sacrifice the interests of his country.

One of the maxims which, as his son tells
us, he was most in the habit of repeating was,
quieta non movere. It was indeed the maxim by
which he generally regulated his public conduct.
It is the maxim of a man more solicitous to hold
power long than to use it well. It is remark-
able that, though he was at the head of affairs
during more than twenty years, not one great
measure, not one important change for the bet-
ter or for the worse in any part of our institu-
tions, marks the period of his supremacy. Nor
was this because he did not clearly see that
many changes were very desirable. He had
been brought up in the school of toleration at
the feet of Somers and of Burnet. He disliked
the shameful laws against Dissenters. But he
never could be induced to bring forward a
proposition for repealing them. The sufferers
represented to him the injustice with which
they were treated, boasted of their firm attach-
ment to the house of Brunswick and to the
Whig party, and reminded him of his own re-
peated declarations of good-will to their cause.
He listened, assented, promised, and did no-
thing. At length the question was brought
forward by others; and the minister, after a
hesitating and evasive speech, voted against it.
The truth was, that he remembered to the latest
day of his life that terrible explosion of high-
church feeling which the foolish prosecution
of a foolish parson had occasioned in the days
of Queen Anne. If the Dissenters had been

turbulent, he would probably have relieved
them; but while he apprehended no danger
from them, he would not run the slightest risk
for their sake. He acted in the same manner
with respect to other questions. He knew the
state of the Scotch Highlands. He was con-
stantly predicting another insurrection in that
part of the empire. Yet during his long tenure
of power, he never attempted to perform what
was then the most obvious and pressing duty
of a British statesman-to break the power of
the chiefs, and to establish the authority of law
through the farthest corners of the island. No-
body knew better than he that, if this were not
done, great mischiefs would follow. But the
Highlands were tolerably quiet at this time.
He was content to meet daily emergencies by
They had to conquer the High
daily expedients; and he left the rest to his
successors.
lands in the midst of a war with France and
Spain, because he had not regulated the High-
lands in a time of profound peace.

Sometimes, in spite of all his caution, he
found that measures, which he had hoped to
carry through quietly, had caused great agita-
tion. When this was the case, he generally
modified or withdrew them. It wa: thus that
he cancelled Wood's patent in compliance with
the absurd outcry of the Irish. It was thus
that he frittered away the Porteous Bill to no-
was thus that he abandoned the Excise Bili, as
thing, for fear of exasperating the Scotch. It
soon as he found that it was offensive to all the
great towns of England. The language which
he held about that measure in a subsequent
session is eminently characteristic. Pulteney
brought forward. "As to the wicked scheme,"
had insinuated that the scheme would be again
said Walpole, "as the gentleman is pleased to
call it, which he would persuade gentlemen is
not yet laid aside, I, for my part, assure this
House, I am not so mad as ever again to en-
gage in any thing that looks like an excise;
though, in my private opinion, I still think it
was a scheme that would have tended very
much to the interest of the nation."

The conduct of Walpole with regard to the Spanish War is the great blemish of his public life. Archdeacon Coxe imagined that he had discovered one grand principle of action to which the whole public conduct of his hero ought to be referred. "Did the administration of Walpole," says the biographer, "present any uniform principle which may be traced in every part, and which gave combination and consistency to the whole? Yes, and that principle was, THE LOVE OF PEACE." It would be difficult, we think, to bestow a higher eulogium on any statesman. But the eulogium is far too high for the merits of Walpole. The great ruling principle of his public conduct was indeed a love of peace, but not in the sense in which Archdeacon Coxe uses the phrase. The peace which Walpole sought was not the peace of the country, but the peace of his own administration. During the greater part of his public life, indeed, the two objects were inseparably connected. At length he was reduced to the necessity of choosing between them-of plunging the state into hostilities for which