.» , ;• ■" .-•■■/■ .•■■'a ■ ' - !■ .,' .«: ■•^(!» ;;^: i.> '•^:' .'j^^; ffi EDMUND B U R K E ; i i.-^'f ' ,!". flu ' ■•'I I ."? ^^ y !^->...... .. >r;^\'>.'. DELIVERED IN DE LA SALLE INSTITUTE, v.?/-!. 1 1 l' N ■%^l' ^. APRIL jotk, i88o,m '. l,!f. )<'• X^^f--F? B Y >••' s 1 f i., V:- ■ ' '^j''?^;'--'. J ,1-. r> xj 3sr 3sr :e; : » AT 'rriJE TRIBUNE OFKICK, ADKLArj>K v^TREET JamV 1880. .^ [• ...^.- — /I . \t .»i5^ *».,. Ji m*niM*Mh.t^. ' %.i ^' ^ ^ mi M ..>f,m>t:mt ■■t W .W . i..*i***.*^ — ■■» — ■»- * •:\ =-,':■ ;^ - , ri, EDMUND BURKE; j^ LECa?XJBE X'.' n^ 1 > - -,-.-ii.*»ii.' DELIVERED IN DE LA SiltE INSTITUTE, ^^A ''•■m- -iv'.'-. ON ■'-■,•-• ,'* 1/ ■ ^ ■ ■■■>,. ^ APRIL 30th, 1880, ' . ■ . ^ '"■■■.'' *' ■ ■■■ ■"' ' ■ • ■■'•.•. J o li isr a? - ID xj 2sr ]sr E PRICE, TWENTYFIVE CENTS, ■:/:* TORONTO: IwmTKn AT THE TBIBUNB OFFICE, ADELAIDE 8TKKKT KA8T, 1880. '^^ • •: ; . . ■> . . .♦ :*??■ '< io • Lin TO REV. BEO. TOBIAS, DIRECTOR OF DE U SAUE INSTITUTE, Ah a slhjkt token (^f mncere esteem for his ftterliny worth, as a Relufiova and a Scholar, this Lecture w ajfcc- tionately dedicated by THE AUTHOR. ...#»? -\^f 'Oi. Aft' ■'' ... fv,l, I? VI , A^ ,/—» .«-,. «r» >» ., •';,,':'^:;:* EDMUND BURKE, 't^^^i ,■■,.'' i . .- it / ,. ' ^'^O ijc-d., ♦- - '.■\-J!' For seven hundred years the story of Ireland may be likened to a hideous apocalypse of misery and unutterable woe. How long has she lain prostrate in the dust, crush- ed by the weight of her cross ! She did not, she coidd not, carry it ; she fell beneath it and lay upon the bloody ground, gasping and faint, " bleeding at every vein." When even a God fell under His cross, how very much more she ? Contemplate this wretched figure all bruised and torn, that once was among the proudest of Europe : gaze upon these emaciated and distorted features that once were the speaking type of beauty : listen to the feeble, broken utterances of this voice that once was more witching than a hundred harps, — then go and wonder at the inscrutable ways of God. For this wretched one has always been very faithful to Him ; has given up at His holy will, her learning, riches, children ; has kept noth- ing, nothing, save the august Faith she received from St. Patrick in happier days. Yet how abandoned she seems, how utterly bereft of every shadow of hope. Even the Master for whom she suffers makes no attempt in this long martyrdom to lighten her weary load. She might have cried out with her Redeemer, " my God, my God» why h^st Thou forsaken me ? " but she had read some- where these words full of deep meaning, '* as the heavens are high ab«ve the earth, so are My thoughts above your- thoughts, and My ways above your ways." Behold how she has no respite in her woe. The Saxon persecutor takes good care that the victim shall drain the overflowing chalice of bitterness and humiliation even ta the very dregs. The sun comes up morning after morning, month after month, year after year, and beholds Saxon England, an unrelenting amazon, faithful to her bloody work : beholds her preparing the pitchcap and the gibbet, yes, and using them with worse than satanic malice : beholds her stripping off even the wretched rags that decency claimed tor her prostrate foe : and worse than all, beholds her trying, oh ! so vainly, to justify her work, and mystify outraged and indignant Europe. In season and out of season, the mother of Elizabeth and Oliver Cromwell is at her post. The whole world can see her there, in storm and sunshine, amidst rain and snow, in heat and cold. Comes January, bleak and biting ; comes March, a blustering boy ; and April, drowned in tears but laughing while they fall ; come gentle May and royal June, with baskets filled with roses ; comes, later on, fierce August, with his sultry stare ; comes pale October, twining white wreaths of daisies to deck her pallid brow withal ; and drear December, moaning for his bitter life and coming death, — come they all for years, and tens of years, and hundreds of years, what do they see, what do they hear ? They see ever the same picture of violence trampling with iron heel on the neck of fallen Erin, and they hear ever the voice of perfidious Albion hissing ser- pent like in her victim's ear, " No rest, no peace, no hope for you ; but blood and blows, stripes and scorn, hatred and horror, contempt and curses, these, oh ! these you shall have without stint and without mercy." "What do they hear the victim say ? Does she cry out, like the wicked friends of holy Job, that God has deceived her 1 does she pray for vengeance ? does she say, " Oh ! break, my heart, break, break, at once, Be thou my God, Despair " ? ^ ' I "i • ' > - Kone of these things. She knows full well thaf God is S(»vereign Justice ; therefore, that there shall come a year and in that year a month , and in that month a day, and iti that day an hour, when the fiat of the Most High shall go forth agaitist England ; when the mistress of so many peoples, the proud spoiler of so many nations, shall be forced to cry aloud, " Pity me, pity me, you at least, my friends, foi the Hand of the Lord hath touched me." And so Ireland only mo-ins wearily and prays for strength, ' V tvith the aspiration celling up from her bleeding heart, " Father, Thy holy will l^ done, not mine." All these things were so on the first of January, 1730, when Edmund Burke opened his eyes on a world which was to be filled with his renown. And on the threshold of his life I pause, filled with wonder and confusion. What qualifications should he not possess, who sets him- self to the ambitious task of lecturing on Edmund Burke ! It would, in fact, require the eloquence of a Cicero to descant upon the merits of his modeim rival, and the golden tongue of a Demosthenes to spteak adequately of the magnificent bursts of oratory that entranced two con- tinents. I can brini; to the subject only a great love for poor Ireland, and a profound reverence for the exalted genius of one of her noblest sons. And an audience like the present will generously attribute to youth and inexpe- rience the numerous defects apparent in my treatment of a theme which could receive but scant justice at far abler hands. On his mother's side, to use a familiar expression, Burke belonged to the Nagles, of Castletown-Kc'che, one <>f the most respectable families in the South of Ireland. Jlence it happened that, while still very young, the future itates- man spent much of his time witn his maternal relatives in that beautiful district rendeied immortal long before his birth. For there, on the banks of the winding Aubeg, where Spencer wrote his ** Faerie Queene," was first en- kindled that splendid genius which was one day to be ** mi&chtier than the sword " in redressing grievances and smiting oppression. In these days there flourished in Ire- land a race of men now totally extinct. A.lack, and well-a-day ! that the genuine Irish schoolmaster, as paint- ed so inimitably by Gerald GriflSin and Tom Hood, should be a creature of the past. One of these worthy men, named O'Halloran, was often heard, with pardonable pride, to boast that he was the very first who put a Latin Grammar into the hands of Edmund Burke. It is pleas- ant to linger at this stage of Burke's life ; to picture the delicate little lad, not a whit dififerent from other boys of his age, roaming in early Spring through the sunny > lanes of his native land, and in the long Summer hours musing in the shade of some hoary castle, whose battered walls spoke fearfully of that *' man of blood," the Lord Protector Cromwell. But life paused not with little Ed- mund more than with boys of ignobler destiny, and so we must bring him from this stage of existence to ai>other, to one, indeed, that had no sm'all share in shaping his early career. When the embryo philosopher was twelve years old we find him placed at a good academy, called Ballytore School, in the County oi Kildare. It was kept by a Quaker, rejoicing in the name of Abraham Shakle- ton, who treated young Burke very kindly. It is pleas- ant to know that the latter never forgot his obligations to this good man, and when he became the ** observed of all observers" did not disdain to maintain a constant correspondence with his old preceptor. At this school Edmund remained about two years, making very good use of his time, and accumulating, for one of his tender years, a large treasure of classical learning. When Burke entered the University of Dublin, more widely known as Trinity College, his friends expected that his would be an unusually brilliant academic career. But in this they were disappointed. Not painfully, how- ever, because the youth's course within Old Trinity was, if not dazzling, at least respectable. We find him even obtaining a scholarship in 1746, when he was only sixteen years old. Emboldened, in all probability, by this suc- cess the scholar, in the same year, made his first public appearance in the literary world, as translator of the second Georgic of Virgil. But the great gain received by Burke from his connection with the Elizabethan founda- tion was the practice afforded him as a debater in the His- torical Society attached to the University. In this mimic arena first appeared those youthful aspirants to political honours who, during the last century, were unusually numerous for a country with the avenues to fame so nar- rowed and blocked up. Bur^e soon acquired, by the bril- liancy of his debating powers and the close logic of his arguments, no small distinction among his fellow-students. Some, more discerning than their neighbours, even then m f*. ■■.•<" pointed him out as the future Cicero ; but it must be ac- knowledged that to the eyes of the great majority of those with whom Edmund Burke «iaily came in contact at this period of his life, no signs of his future greatness were visible. In this respect Burke was wholly difierent from other great men ; in his early life were few, or rather none, of these precocious evidences of towering ability that heralded the fame of a Pitt^ or a Macaulay. In those old times younger sons were not as a class more fortunate than in these our days, and Edmund Burke formed no exception to the creneral rule, so, not beholding very dazzling prospects of advancement in his native land, he betook himself to London in the year 1750, beine;then about twenty years old. In the modern Babylon the young irishman commenced the study of law,entering his name at the Temple as a student for the Bar. But Pro- vidence had far other work for him to do, and destined his eloquence to be displayed on a wider arena and before a vaster auditory than the legal profession could ever fur- nish. The British House of Commons was to be Burke's theatre ; the world, his audience. Fifteen long yearn with all their chances and changes were, however, to roll ' over the future statesman's head, before the commence- mont of such a consummation. It would be impossible within the narrow limits of a lecture, to follow the various events of Burke's life with that minute attention we would love to give them ; yet, although to do this is the work of a biographer, sitmrnct sequar fastigia rerum. During this decade and a half Burke was not idle ; indeed all through his eventful career the man was a hard worker, an abstemious — even austere — liver, a deep thinker. Al- though by no means in a needy state during the early years of his residence in London, his circumstances were far from being affluent ; therefore, partly from the light pressure of quasi-necessity, but much more, we may presume, from inclination, the quondam law student, sought distinction in the crowded field of letters. Sought and earned it. For his '' Essay on the Sublime and Beautiful," is an English clasaic, worthy to grace shelves laden with the choicest productions of Addison, Gold- I smith, and Macaulay. Not even that great critic in all the pride of life-long erudition could point to a more admirable work. " Burke's Essay," to use the words of Johnson, no enthusiastic admirer of men or things, ^' is an example of true criticism." The authorship of this masterly production, stamped Edmund Burke with the stamp of genius. Thenceforth, his greatness takes rise, progresses, culminates. As was said of one widely different, " he woke up one morning to find himself famous." The political life of the young author who was to be an orator,beganupon the soil of his native land; for, during the vice-royalty of Lord Halifax, he was made *' the bonds- man of a slave," or, to speak more literally and less figura- tively, was appointed secretary to the Lord lieutenant's Secretary, Hamilton, of " single speech" notoriety. And now let us profit by this reference to Edmund Burke's brief career in Ireland to make some reflections on him as an Irishman. Men have not been found wanting to as- sert boldly that the man who impeached Warren Hast- ings and hurled anathema at the French Revolution, was an English-Irishman, if I may be pardoned for coining a word of so unnaturtd an import. One of these narrow- minded scribblers goes so far as to ignore completely Burke's connection with the Island of Saints, and winds up a windy article with the impudent assertion that ** he was a patriot and benefactor whose memory England will cherish and be proud to cherish" ! Never, never, was there a more flagrant falsehood than that Edmund Burke was indifferent to his native land. It wm mainly because of his votes on the Irish Commercial question and on Catholic Relief, and of his uncompromising defence of these very votes that the great Tribune was obliged to resign his seat for Bristol in 1780, and to content himself thereafter with the petty representation of Malton. True it is that in his memorable speech before the electors of the former place he used the words " I am an English- man," but, he used them figuratively and somewhat hastily, speaking at the time on Imperial topics. And he nullifies the erroneous impression liable to be produced by this little sentence by saying before the same electors ^ \ :.■*■:•»•.( '.'&■ '.■■\.i ijn'.\ .Wa.-W I lin't -f .J(^,Ui-J.7 :; on the 6th of September, 1780, " I certainly have very- warm good wishes for the place of my birth," and again, '' I was an Irishman in the Irish business, just as much as I was an American, when, on the same principles, I wished you to concede to America, at a time when she prayed concession at our feet." Can language be more conclusive as to Burke's real feelings towarda Ireland ? It seems almost an insult to so intelligent and respectable an audience, to point out that the opinions of the great orator's pro-English admirers, if followed to their legiti- mate conclusion, would establish the fact that Burke was an Englisman, an American, and an Irishman, at one and the same time . .-^^ f^'y:x'> .■jr;./; .•*:' '' .'wfir:.,; '.\i» ?■■ ^.-'.-iiK'?' ,;. I have endeavoured, as far as in me lies, to avoid the furcyr biographicusj and to look at an extraordinary man as he really was, and not as I would wish him to have been. Therefore, it must be said that Burke was not a lover of his native land in the same sense as Robert Emmet, or Theobald Wolfe Tone. It was not in the man to love anything passionately. Cold and austere was he in the very essence of his character ; proud, too, with a certain confidence in his strength that well became him, and added dignity to his great attainments. If, occa- sionally, he burst into passionate expressions of love, or hatred, for any man, or any cause, it was marvellous to note how quickly he could again draw round him the mantle of dignity and lofty composure. It was precisely such a man that the hour needed, and he was equal to the hour. A more vehement advocate would, in the fear- ful bigotry of the English people in those dark years, have only, if that were possible, injured wretched Ireland still more irreparably. But Edmund Burke, '' like some tall cliff that lifts its awful form," in the grandeur of his genius, in the austerity of his life, in his cold, proud devotion to Truth and Justice for their own sake, was a man fitted above all others to plead the cause of his wretched country before the senate of a prejudiced When Burke returned to !E!nglancl he resumed a literary^ life ; and would, perhaps, have pursued, as a man of 10 letters, the '* even tenor of his way," had not an event occurred which changed the whole current of his thoughts. This was an introduction to the Marquis of Rockingham. When that nobleman assumed the reins of Government, he made the distinguished Irish writer his private secre- tary; but it soon appeared manifest that the Ministers would derive immense assistance from the presence, of such a man in the Lower House, and Burke was, there- fore, returned to Parliament, in the year 1765, for the borough of Wendover, in Buckinghamshire. Then, in his thirty-fifth year, Edmund Burke entered the British Legislature with a mind stored to repletion with vast and varied knowledge. It was a time, too, fitting for the entrance of so grand a genius upon so great a theatre. Men's minds were perturbed. In the American colonies was a smouldering fire, ready to burst into the awful flame of civil war. The English Government had gone too far with the people of America, and the loud mur- murings of rebellion were borne over the surly waves of the Atlantic even to the Court of St. James. Still, in 1766, the Ministry of Lord Rockingham, by judicious measures, might have averted that disgraceful war with the American colonies which, with its train of evil consequences, brought the proud British Empire to the verge of ruin. But the men who then ruled England were blindly infatuated with respect to American affairs. The colonists, the mere colonists, forsooth ! What ! They, "the howers of wood and drawers of water," to set them- selves up in opposition to the oligarchy and hierarchy composing the High Court of Parliament ! With senti- ments of profound contempt for America, and with a criminal ignorance of the depth of American liberty- loving sentiment, the English Cabinet blundered from bad to worse, vainly attempte<^ to crush a free nation by a war of coercion, lost a vast territory, and brought the reputation of the English arms to the lowest esti- mation. During the numerous debates in the English House which preceded the outbreak of hostilities in America, Edmund Burke inveighed in the most magnificent Ian- i 11 guage against the mad measures which were goading the colonists into rebellion. He prophesied over and over again what would be the inevitable result^ but his was the fate of Cassandra. His prophecies fell upon unbelieving ears. In the words of the Royal Prophet, the English statesmen of the period " had eyes but they did not see ; ears and they did not hear." They saw only when the En^litih plenipotentiary signed the Independence of the United States; they heard only when the cannon of France and Spain thundered in unison with the angry menaces of awakened Ireland. It is impossible to speak too highly of Burke's eloquence on the subject of America. He seems to '^c.ve surpassed himself in his memorable effort upon Repeal of the Tea Duty^ so odious to the colonists. This gorgeous oration was made on the 19th of April, 1774. No assembly, ancient or modern, has listened to a speech more excel- -. lent, whether we consider the wisdom of its doctrines, or the extreme beauty of the language. Lord John Town- send, a member of the House of Commons, could not re- frain from exclaiming during the delivery of Burke's har- angue, ^' What a man is this ! How could he acquire such transcendent powers ? " This matchless oration is indeed replete with (flowing images and fervid figures : no other man in modern times could have united so much ' philosophy with so much rhetoric in the compass of a single effort. Edmund Burke to be appreciated must be read. He is far above criticism. /On the 22nd of March, 1775, the great tribune laid upon the table of the House of Commons, thirteen reso- lutions ably framed to reconcile the colonists, then on the brink of rebellion, to the Mother Country. It is a matter of history, that these resolutions, fraught with tre- mendous influence for good, were never carried. Burke, at least, had the consolation of knowing that no exertion of his had been spared to avert the desolating war which culminated so gloriously in American independence. In the history of British India, there is a great and in- famous name with which the famous Irishman's renown is inseparably connected. For Edmund Burke's name IV 12 ivili ever appear prominent on the page of history, not as the apologist of American rights, not as the bitter foe of the French Revolution, not as the panegyrist of Marie Antoinette, but as the impeacher of Warren Hastings. It is said that the English language is the most copious in the world, but were it ten times more so, it would be inadequate to a description of the horrors of Indian mis- government. The eloquence of Burke and the well-nigh faultless pen of Macaulay, even these, tell uf» feebly of the desolation wrought by the East India Company. But bad as were the Directors of that colossal corporation, their crimes were those of omission rather than commission, of ignorance and greed of gain rather than malice afore- thought. The great criminal was the Governor-General of India, the man who saw with his own eyes and heard with his own ears, the flagrant oppression and frantic prayers ot an outraged people. A great writer thus speaks of the introduction of Eng- lish jurisprudence among the Hindoos : " All the injus- tice of former oppressors, Asiatic and European, appear- ed as a blessing when compared with the justice of the English Supreme Court." Thus, Thomas Babington Macaulay. Who can call him a partial witness ^ Verily, magna est Veritas et praevalebit. Edmund Burke, ^ith his stern, unwavering rectitude, his noble sentiments of pity for the oppressed, his clear conception of the eternal principles of Justice, could not be a silent witness of the crying horrors of British misrule in Ind^?t. In the im- peachment of Warren Hastings, the great orator glowed with a fire of generous indignation ^haw did him honour. For it was no petty personal spits;/ thrt inflamed the soul of Burke. No : Warren Hastings was, as l> man, nothing to him, but as the incarnation of fiendia^ misrule, the Governor-General of India was the object of the great Irishman's bitter hatred. For Edmund Iturke was tht> sworn foe of tyranny, and who so cynical a type of odious oppression as Warren Hastings 1 The trial of that arch- criminal before the High Court of Parliament it one of the most striking facts in history : the dignity of the accused, the genius of the accuser, the cause, the place. 'Li- ■ ■ -■ 13 ■ ^he audience, all conspire to make the impeachment of Hastings truly memorable. On the third day of the trial, February 15tn, 1788, after the charge and answers of the criminal had been duly read, Burke rose before this august assembly and began his opening speech. This splendid effort occupied four sittings of the Court. The effect was marvellous. Even the iron heart of the culprit was momentarily touched by the thrilling words : ** There- fore, hath it with all contidence been ordered by the Com- mons of Great Britain, that I impeach Warren Hastings of high crimes and misdemeanours. I impeach him in the name of the Commons' House of Parliament, whose trust he has betrayed. I impeach him in the name of the Eng- lish nation, whose ancient honour he has sullied. I im- peach him in the name of the people of India, whose rights he has trodden under toot, and whose country he has turned into a desert. Lastly, in the name of human nature itself, in the name of both sexes, in the^name of every age, in the name of every rank, I impeach the com- mon enemy and oppressor of all ! " The great trial draj^ged its weary length along for sev^en years ; as all the world knows, Hastings was acquitted. But, though not formally condemned by the tribunal before which he was arraigned, the arch-criminal has long since been found guilty before a greater court.. Posterity, with unanimous voice, has reversed the verdict given in the spring of 1795 by the High Court of Parlia- ment. Through the whole course of this long impeach- ment Edmund Burke's conduct appears in the noblest light. To see him devoting time, talents, energy, to the cause of a heathen nation, from which he was separated by thousands of miles, and to which he was allied by no tie save that of common humanity, was to behold a very grand and ennobling spectacle. And although he must have foreseen TT^at would be the result of all his stupend- ous exertions against 'Y^rren Hastings, this very prescience only redounds to Burke's greater honour. It proves plainly his love of justice for justice's sake, his strong, stern ad- herence to the eternal principles of rectitude,- despite all discouragement. And in his pursuit of Warren tir.i?tings. , . 14 as well as in his defence of American rights, the great statesman had the consolation of knowing that he was the champion of liberty, and that as such his name and re- nown would, in the pai^es of history, far, far outshine the temporary popularity which in life was denied him. For Edmund Burke was in his day no idol of a fickle populace. The constitution of his mind was too pure and proud to let him stoop to pander to the petty prejudices of tha people. lie loved the people well, but he loved principle much more. Fear him speaking to his constituents in 1780 : " I would not only consult the interests of the people, but 1 would cheerfully gratify their humours. We are all a sort of children that must be soothed and managed. But I never will act the tyrant for their amusement. If they will mix malice in their sports, I shall never consent to throw any living, sentient creature whatsoever, no, not so much as a kitling, to torment." K;.^«,t* j^ f Again, Burke drew upon himself more than once the displeasure of the Crown by his advocacy of measures which tended to restrict the Sovereign's jurisdiction, and to widen the scope of popular power : as the uncom- promising foe of the East India Company, after their s^ross abuse of authority, he raised up for himself a host of enemies in every corner of Great Britain ; finally, as the inveterate §nemy of the French Revolution, he under- went the charge of inconsistency even from his friends, and snapped rudely asunder the strong ties of affection which many years had strengthened and cemented. In truth, however, if we examine closely the course of action pursued by the orator towards the Revolution we shall find him acting with rigid fidelity to the ideas which were the mainspring of his political existence. The French Revolution had nothing to do with liberty, after the bead of Louis XVI. rolled in the bloody dust by the guillotine. It had everything to do with license and licentiousness and tyranny and every conceivable abomina- tion. And it was just because Burke loved liberty that he resented the excesses perpetrated in that sacred name by monsters who disgraced humanity. No comparison can be instituted between the War of Independence and m the Fronch Revolution. America struggled gallantly for freedom, and having bought it with her bravest blood, set herself nobly to the task of building up her institu- tions. Franca, in a delirious fever, raved and kicked, and having, despite her own mad conduct, obtained true liberty, set herself, with blinded eyes and heart on fire, to the «7ork of pulling down all that wan noble, all that was venerable, all that was worih pveserving in the greatest kingdom of Christendom. Candour, however, compels us to admit that the zeal of Burke carried him beyond the bounds of discretion. The extreme measures which he advocated against the Revolu- tion could only be justified if France were his native land. The French people, in their raging madness, needed violent remedies ; but by what right did England, rotten with moral sores, arrogate to herself the power of pre- scribing for an independent people ? If France elected to go to perdition, if she chose to destroy all that was most dear to her, who called upon Great Britain to be the avenger? There was no power in Europe justified in an armed intervention in the domestic afiairs of a free nation. " Vengeance is Mine," saith the Lord, *' and I will repay. " ,, Whatever may be our opinions respecting Burke's violence towards the ** accursed Revolution," as he him- self calls it, there can be only one opinion respecting his writings thereon. They are sublime. The laiiguage is such as could proceed only from a Burko. No other man then living could have composed the famous panegyric on ill-fated Marie Antoinette. -j^^ The exalted friendship which had subsisted for a quar- ter of a century between Burke and Fox was broken in a quarter of an hour, during a memorable debate which took place in the House of Commons in the early part of 1791. On this historic occasion Fox certainly seems to have acted with moderation, and even whispered to the angry orator, ''There is no breach of friendship," but Burke, yielding, it must be said, to an unusual g.ist of impetuosity, replied, "There is, there is, I know the price of my conduct j our friendship is at an end." Thus was 16 an estrangement effected publicly, with bitter tears and angry words, between these men, whose friendship was a brighter jewel than their genius itself. Three years later, in 1794, Edmund Burke retired from Parliament, but his constituents were not bereft of his name ; for his son Richard, worthy of such a father, suc- ceeded Burke in the representation of Malton. Alas ! that the gifted youth's career should be so short. Alas ! that to him should be applied the wise saying of the Greeks,—" (higar philei TheoSj Apoth'iieskei tuos, — Whom the gods love, die young." Richard Burke's parlia- mentary honours were, indeed, of short duration, for death laid his icy hand upon the youth's warm heart all too soon. The father felt the blow keenly. He loved the young man with the extraordinary depth of love that is given to a beloved object by those who have never lavished their affections indiscriminately. But the man who had braved so many storms with such a strength of will, had fortitude and Christianity enough to bow his head in submission to God's sovereign decree. In a letter to Earl Fitz William, referring with simple pathos to Richard's death, Burke use^t this beautiful language of resignation : "A Disposer whose power we are little able to resist, and whose wisdom it behooves us not at all to dispute, has ordained it in another manner, and (whatever my querulous weakness might suggest) a far better." Deeply imbued with religious sentiment was Edmund Burke, although he had the misfortune to live and die outside the Fold which holds the vast majority of his countrymen. But a mind so ample could not be the mind of a bigot. The mighty tribune was always ready to acknowledge Catholic virtue and Catholic heroism. Does any man doubt it ? Let him read the praises given to the French clergy ; let him read the Bristol speeches ; let him scan the whole life of Edmund Burke. The supporter of the liberty of the press ; the friend of religious toleration ; the champion of the Irish Trade and Parliamentary Freedom ; the essayist who had ex- torted praises from Dugald Stewart and the Abbe Ray- X7 nal ; the powerful apologist of American liberty ; the stem enemy of French license ; the protector of India ; the impeaoher of Warren Hastings ; the orator, states- man, philosopher, — in a word Edmund Burke, retired from the world when he retired from Parliament, and went down to Beaconsfield to die. Beacon sfield ! Bea- consfield ! Qod knows best ; but at this moment there should be a Burke of Beaconsdeld, not a Benjamin Dis- raeli. Heu ! quanta intervaUo ! In that quiet place on the S'lh of July, 1797, in the 68bh year of his age, passed away the spirit of a noble son of Ireland. On that quiet summer evening, ^' nothing in nature's aspect intimated that a great man was deiad." Dead, did I say \ No : not dead. He livep in the lan- guage that he enriched more than orator v)f England ever did. " In amplitude of comprehension and richness of imagination," says Macaulay, '* Burke was superior to every orator, ancient or modern." Dead, did I say ? ^lo : not dead. He lives in the history of three continents, and will so live till " Time shall be no more." The his- torians of Europe, America, and India, can fine no grea- ter name in all their pages. Dead, did I say ? No : not dead. He lives in the hearts of millions of dusky Hindoos, of free- bom Americans, of liberty-loving Irishmen. The palms of India and her waving jungles, her rice- tields, and her huge old trees, ancient when the House of Tamerlane was young, speak eloquently of the man whose burning words could call up so vividly these unfamiliar things in a strange land and before a strange people. The sons of the Great Republic hold in affectionate remembrance the man who, in an aristocratic age, pleaded the cause of their forefathers with a fervour that Demosthenes could not 8urpa8s. And Ireland ? Ah ! what of her % She is his mother, and though he left her very young and lived and died in a land well-nigh in sympathy stranger to her than Siberia, she loves him well. For he was no prodigal son, but true and loyal to his mother, though she was poor and despised by all the world. Ireland is proiwi of Edmund Burke. No other land can point to such a son, towering, in his magnificent oratory, above 18 r... the common race of men— cunctis altior ibat Anch^s, Better than all these things, Edmund Burke was a good man. For great as he was, there is One to whom he, as well as the meanest amongst us, owed evenrthing. Yes, everything. And better, far better than all the praises and applause of a world vain and fickle at the best, was it for the great orator to be able to meet his Judge with the record of a life unstained by wickedness. From the career of Edmund Burke, as from the lives of meaner men, we can learn the same lesson, taught in vain to so many countless millions. It is contained in few words. Live to learn how to die. For truly, in the words of the poet, •• This world is but the rugged road Which leads us to the bright abode Of peace above ; i So let us choose that naiTow way, Which leads no traveller's foot astray From realms of love.' JOHN P. DUNNE. -*» • / IJB ii 'i