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Frei

'"gt * fflo.'s €noH«h §fhool Slaeoits. /^^^ -

SELECTIONS FROM COLERIDGE'S POEMS

AND

MAGAULAY'S ESSAY ON WARREN HASTINGS

Prescribed for Matrlctdation into the University of Toronto,
and for Teachers' Examinations, 18«a.

ANNOTATED BT

GEO. A. CHASE, B.A.,

HKAD MA8TKR HIGH SCHOOL, ttluai/fOWN.

TORONTO :

W. J. GAGE & COMPANY.

1885.

PREFACE.

In the notes appended to Coleridge's poems, the anno-
tator has had in view only the poems themselves, for he
considers that the aim of the study of literature will be
missed if extraneous matter is introduced any farther
than is absolutely required for the full understanding of
the work in hand. The introductory remarks are different
in character from the explanatory notes, and arise from a
Btudy of the poem as a whole ; they should be taken up
only after the poem has been gone over carefully.

Some critical remarks have been added along with a
sketch of the author's life ; but the best criticism will be
found in a study of the author's works. A sketch of
literary history is inserted, not because the annotator
thinks such history is of value in education, but because
the departmental examinations seem to require it. Such
a study is almost worthless when unaccompanied with a
personal knowledge of the works of the authors referred
to.

The notes to '* Warren Hasting, » are mainly literaiy

iy •

-calling repeated attention to peculiarities in the au-
thor's style. This has been done on the ground that
students are to draw themes from this essay. Extraneous
matter has been excluded for reasons referred to above.
It is ta be hoped that no student mil strive to imitate in
Macaulay's writings anything but his clearneaa 'and
vigor of expression.

INTRODUCTION,

I.— Life of Colbridob.

mKmTdflh^^^^^^^^^^^ the student Bhould

thor wrote them with nSif ' ^^f t^° ^^^^"^ »« tli« au-

tory notes^ Other' oTthe authoK'n"""^ reference to the explaua-
the remarka oXs life cham^^^^^^^ "^""^ ^^'°> read while

Kubla Khan, Franoerarode Od« fn V^ n^'"^ « u^i^d-such ag
at Midnight, Pains of SleeDHvmnL^ ^^^'^^^^^S Year, Frost
tion witfi the remarks on th^^'^L^fr ?"S"«^- I" ^onneo-
worth's poems should beTead-such as T^nt^n 't?^ °' Words-

of Poor §u8an, Lucy, Yarrow Unvisited-llo ^}'^^^' ^«^«"^
inferior work, Alice Fell iinS r^^A i^^' °'^^^i ^^ illustrating his

Pope's Rape oilLV looiZiE^^^^^^^ ^^ile

Cowper'8 Table Talk, should be reftd«ll? ^/.^"tl^not, and also
the eighteenth century In connec?k>nw^fH'I!*\^^^."*^^^^^« «"
read also WordswortJ. n^Ti:^^^:^:^^''^^^^^^^^^

on ?p?et etc^.'^y t'nothii^^^^^^^ t^e criticism'

and c^arefully stiid^Tng ti,e w "rk^iS Tm^K ^^^Z °^ ^««^^"g
can be accomplished is a mire meS^^inl f '" '^u^^V^' *" t^^«t
having no educational^alue. g^fn" nrlr°/^?^^ ^
student, producing no advance fnlrn.?, i f^''^*'',*'^^ '« *he
Criticism, taken in connecSorwith an atZo^'"' °i iterature.
value; but till the work itsdf^s maste ^^^^^^^^
of tt.n injurious. Ward's " British p^^Lm'-^ .P"*'°»«"^ '« useless,
student can have. It is a ^Scon^afnl '' *^^ 7-"^^ ^''^ ^^^^ a
characteristic of the writerrand in nn^ f.^. selections eminently

Se?^ consulted, and ''al^r^t^^l^^ri Jol^ x^^eSl.

O LIFE OF CWLBRIDOB.

him that clearly shows "the boy is father of tne man.
''Come back," savs Lamb in "Elia," "like as thou wert in
the day-spring of thy fancies, with hope like a fiery column
before thee— the dark pillar not yet turned— Samuel Taylor
Coleridge— logician, metaphysician, bard. How have I seen
the casual passer through the cloisters stand still entranced
with admiration (while he weighed the disproportion between
the speech and the garb of the young Miiandula) to hear thee
unfold, in thy deep and sweet intonations, the mysteries of
Jambhchus or Plotinus (for even in such years thou waxedat
not pale at such philosophic draughts), or reciting Homer in
Greek, or Pindar— while the walls of the old Grey Friars re-
echoed to the accents of the inspired charity boy !"

In 1791 Coleridge went to Cambridge, and was as noted
there as at school for the rapidity and accuracy with which
he mastered books, even being able after one reading to repeat
whole pages verbatim. Along with other enthusiastic young
students he warmly supported the principles of the French
Revolutionists, and regarded France as the regenerator and
saviour of the world, praying for the defeat of the coalition
against her, although his native country was one of its
members.

Cambridge having become distasteful to him, he left (1794)
without taking a degree. Soon after we find him, along with
the young poet Southey and a few others, planning the forma-
tion of a community on the banks of the Susquehanna, in
which all should be equal and all dwell in perfect brotherly
harmony. The scheme came to nothing. Meanwhile Cole-
ridge began a course of lectures in Bristol, chiefly upon politi-
cal and religious questions. Next year (1795) he married, and
lived first at Clevedon, on the Bristol Channel, and then at
Nether Stowey, near the Quantock Hills, in Somersetshire.
An effort at journalism in 1796 failed : the Watchman ceased
after the publication of the tenth number. His first volume
of poems appeared in April, 1797. Later in the same year he
met with Wordsworth and his sister, and an intimacy sprang
up that lasted for life, and that has coupled their names ever
since. Together the two poets walked and talked, discussed
the theory of poetry, planned and executed the "Lyrical
Ballads," and finally started together in 1798 for Germany.
They soon parted, however, Coleridge going to GSttingen to

UFB OP OOLBRIDGa 7

attend lecture* and to learn German. Here he entered deen

nto German literature and philogophy, and acJ^i^anT/
timate knowledge of the German iSngiage, w2?ch showed

iAal^ ^^% meantime, in both politics and religion, Coleridge's

fch P^Tf* * '^*"^^' '^^^^ g^"^'-^"^ impulses orthe
French Revolution at its outset had degenerated into a lonirin^
for power, and France fell under the dominbn of ambZus

sTiblaS' S^^h'-^^K^V^^^^^ *^^ L^eYomt^o
afT/f,t5 * Fl"^"" ^^'!?J2 *^« ^^"«^ assailant of Pitt for his
attitude toward France, dSleridge became his warm supported
decknng that when the country was threatened f^om^Kd
a^l questions of political reform should be kept in abeyance
He became a Tory, but not of the bigoted type We ai
tt C'in'tr'^ Unitarianismfand. o^n^the f^u : S
fh!f ^k ^?'- ^'^1.®''®" preached; but the same causes
that changed his political views changed his religi^s Wews

Church. "''° ^"""^^ "^ *'^^"* supporter of the^EstabUshed
After his return from Germany he led a desultory life- Hp
was in London, Malta. Rome ; at the Cumberland la7es where
Wordswor h and Southey now lived ; somSes Sr
sometimes lecturing, but always unsettled, and alwaysToiS
plans for literary work, never to be carried out UnhSv
Coleridge had in early manhood made use of opium to S
reief from pain; the practice grew to a haW^ which^ h^
struggled m vain to overcome, Ind his failure cave ris« tn
melancholy and dejection. At last he resolved ?o^puth?msel?
of Mr Cir^ of a physician, and entered, in 1816rthe Tomo

wh^re he waT'tn ^''^^f^'lu ^^^">^^ '«"< ^^^ ^emaS
wnere he was tiU his death, editing his works writinir

reading, but above all. talking, especially on m^tanhvS?-
and poetry, filling with enthusiafm those who Hste^edTLC
and only to the jealous or cynical seeming to S'' s^ra^e
things, uncertain whether oracles or jargon " "range

The character of Coleridge was peculiar: his mind was
active, powerful, many-sided; in politics, relicion mrtT
physics, poetry, and literary criticism he troS deTplt'
and few spoke more wisely ; but of all he thought and of^aH
he uttered only fragments remain. He was naturally of a

LIFE OP OOLEaiDOB.

dreamy diapositioii ; and a feeble will, accompanied, or rather
cauged, by a diseased sUte of body, left all he planned either
incomplete or untouched. Tlie conaciouhneHs of thia weakness
and hiH failure to overcome! it often produced deep despond •
ency and gloom, only too evident in many of his poems.

In metaphysics, as in most other subjects, Coleridge's
views were largely original, though ho is regarded as the
follower of the German metaphysicians and the expounder in
England of thoir doctrines. In poetical criticism he had no
superior. His exposition in the "iiiographia Literaria" of
the nature and principles of poetry, his discriminating defence
of Wordsworth in the application of those principles, and his
criticism on particular poems of Wordsworth, are worth far
more than "all the reviews that have been written in English
on poets and their works from Addison to the present hour."

Coleridge's command of language was marvellous; he
" could talk on forever, and you wished him to talk." In his
prose writings ho is never at a loss for the right word ; he ex-
presses his meaning accurately and clearly; his style is
flowing and warm; refined, but free from the cold polish
which characterizes intellect unattended by feeling.

As a poet Coleridge ranks among the highest. He is un-
surpassed for melody and richness of verse, for vivid and terse
expression, for exquisitely selected word and moulded phrase,
and for extraordinary imagination- -an imagination that con-
jures up scenes, and persons, and actions, and, while compel-
ling us to look upon them as real, makes us feel that the reality
belongs to another world rather than to ours. His close
observation of nature, even in minute features, is abundantly
illustrated in his poems, often, indeed, with startling effect.

Chief Worka.— Juvenile Poems (1796), Ancient Manner
(1797), Christahel (1797-lSOO), Kuhla Khan (1797)— a mere
fragment, regarded as the most exquisitely melodious poem
in the language, and the most faultless in metrical form. It
is as gorgeous and wild in fancy as it is musical in language.
The poet had been unwell, and just after reading a passage
in a book of travels briefly descriptive of a city built by Kubla
Khan, had fallen asleep in his chair .: while asleep this poem
was composed. On awakening he began to write down the
poem as he dreamed it ; unfortunately he was interrupted be-

UFB OF OOLKHIDOB.

f.»ro fini8h,ng it. and when after the lapse of an hour or so he
resume. I In. peu tUo words and the viLn had vaui hed from
h ts memory Love. (l797)-the introductory part of "T e
Dark Ladie." a poem planned but never written; it is re
^'H. ( ed by many aa t»ie .nost exquisitely tender love-ballad in

rTi/r^r^V tT''-' r^"^' (1797)-In this the poot de
scribes the high hopes ho once had formed of the French

«iX F^err onlr ''''-''' '' -^' '^--^' -<! thatt

"The guide of homoJoss winds, and playmate ol the wavea "
Iro3t at Midniqht (1798). The other leading poems are •_

ijae Ode to the Departing Year; Youth and A fie ■ Ode to

Naples Ihese and many others were first published in 1817

under the name of Syhilline Leaves. ^ ^

Coleridge translated Schiller's Wallen stein ; wrote two

V r a-re.— Conao7i6.9 and Poputum, a collection of lecturea
delivered at Bristol (1795-6); T^Ae Friend, a coUectTon of
essays origmally published as a magazine anc^eSgonlv
to twenty-seven numbers; two Lai/ Sermons ( 181^817 i^
Btoijraphva LUeraria-~m planned, w^ to contain an account
of his mental development and his Literary Lif. and OpTn ions*
but, as with nearly all his works, it is a fragment cSn'
mg however, literary criticism of the highest value 7ir?!^^
S*iJtf '"'■ "^^A^ (Constitution o/ChurcZndsLtT^^^^^
Lectures on Shakespeare and his Contemporaries-vuhnBhed
after the author's death in "Literary Remains '^thp^.^T •
some of thevery beat of Shakespear'^fn TrSsm. fe^ wdS

faid'do^"" T'h.*'.?> "*^""^'^«'.^ ^^'^"^ -^^* ColerTdge ha"
laut down. The Literary Remains, " besides the lectures on

ture^'of''''-?"^ ^'' contemporaries, contain notes and i^^^^

■%■:■ <•!

LIFE OF OOLBRIDQE.

faculty ; the old iniaginat'on. tha poatical fe:rvor, is gone.
wo fi'^AT fX^""'^ l\abit was at last cured or greatly checked,
we find that the poet had sunk into the metaphysician.

Coleridge Wordsworth, and Soutliey were called in de-
nsion the "Lake Poets" by Lord Jeffrey, a noted critical
writer in the '♦Edinburgh Review," because -they haunted
the lakes of Cumberland/' Jeffrey vehemently attacked the
doctrine of poetry as laid down by Wordsworth in an intro-
r«no ^Vi? *h,^«««o°d edition of the "Lyrical Ballads" in
ISO J. The statements chiefly ar.sailed were :—'♦ There is no
difference between the language of poetry and common life ";
vf f «J^,^J^°*« of poetry should be taken from low and rustic
lite ; thfje IS no essential difference between the language
of prose and that of metrical composition." A long and some-
what bitter dispute followed, which Wordsworth was bv
nature unfitted to conduct successfully. Coleridge, in the
Biographia Literaria," took up his friend's cause, and, while
mamtaimng the soundness on the whole of the theory put
forth, he demonstrate, by an exhaustive criticism of Words-
worths own writings that the theory is not held in the
absolute sense which two or three of the poems might seem to
indicate-poems confessedly very inferior, and apparently
written as a defiance to the supporters of the prevailing
theory. Wordsworth, he thinks, disgusted with the stilted
u- -English character of the language then deemed essentia
m poetry, had gone to the opposite extreme ; and that while
his language la totally different from the so-called "poetical
diction of the time, it was also very different from the
language of common life"— a term Coleridge considers quit-
-nhappily chosen. On the same principle, his disgust at the
artificialness, the insincerity, and unbelief of a town society
types of which were seen in such men as Chesterfield and
Horace Wal^ole, made him turn from the town and the unner

inwiT t^??.^,^^?/^^^}.'"^^ ^" *h^ country and.among the
lowly. But Coleridge shows that where Wordsworth intrr-
duces subjects from "low and rustic life," either their joys
and sorrows, love, hopes, and feara are such as are common to
mankind m every condition of life, or the peison^ges intro-
duced are men altogether different from the ignorant boor-
men such as the contemplation of nature, thought, and the
great questions of life, death, and eternity would make them

'.A-

tilPB O? OOLERlDOa

This was Wordsworth's ideal man, such as he was himself.

He forgot, however, that there are other types of man as high,

or even higher. As to the third point in dispute Coleridge

says:— "The true question must be, whether there are not

modes of expression, a construction and an order of sentences,

which are in their fit and natural place in a serious prose

composition, but would be disproportionate and heterogeneous

in metrical poetry ; and vice versa, whether in the language

of a serious poem there may not be an arrangement both of

words and sentences, and a use and selection of (what are

called) figures of speech, both as to their kind, their frequency,

and their occasions, which on a subject of equal weight would

be vicious and alien in correct and manly prose. I contend

that in both cases this unfitness of each for the place of the

other frequently will and ought to exist. "

In only one short passage, however, of Wordsworth's then
published poetry does Coleridge find the language not essen-
tially different from that of prose.

The chief characteristics of the poets of the "Lake school'
are contemplation and reflection, a habit of introspection
and of watching the operations of the mind and of th« emo-
tional faculties ; "subjective" or 'philosophical" we call such
poets now. Coleridge is regarded as belonging to these only
through his chance association with Wordsworth, and through
a few months' residence in the lake country. But a careful
study of his poetry, apart altogether from the fact of his being
a profound metaphysician, will show a closer connection than
this, as Coleridge himself intimates (See his introduction to
' * Ancient Mariner "). Another leading feature of this * * Lake
school" was the altogether peculiar view entertained of
Nature and Nature's connection with man. (See below.)
Coleridge was in full accord with this highly philosophical
view ; and through and beneath all his poetry, however
romantic the exterior form may be, is seen this philosophy of
Nature, either as Nature realljr exists or in imagination is
conceived to exist. Remove this idea regarding Nature from
the Ancient Mariner and Christabel and nothing is left but
the magic charm of language. A comparison instituted be-
tween Scott's poems— The Lady of the Lake, for instance—
and Coleridge's ao-called romantic poems, will clearly indicate
the difference between the pure romance and the philosophical

EIGHTEENTH OENTURY.

poem m romance form. The same thing, though not so
inarJtedly and in a diflurent way, will be shown by comparing
Byron s early romances— such as the Bride of Abydos and
the Giaour— with his subsequent Childe Harold's Pilgrimage
oj Don Juan. What Wordsworth saya directly, or puts into
yf "i°V*^-^^ ^^^ characters, regarding the great questions of
life, Coleridge works out in his great poems by representing
man m conflict with supernatural powers: in the Ancient
jVIariner, a guilty man in conflict with the avenging spirits;
in Christabel, a pure woman in conflict with an evil spirit in
lovely form. Such a method of treating the subject har-
monized with the wholly imaginative character of Coleridge's
genius. ^

n.— The Eighteenth Centuet.

In order to understand the great change that passed over
poetical literature about the beginning of the present cen-
tury, one feature of which Coleridge so brilliantly represents,
It 18 necessary to have some knowledge of the condition of
the preceding century 4^nd of the influences that brought
about the change. ^

It is a well-established fact that no great outburst of
literature has ever taken place without some remarkable
national movement and a special preparation having preceded
It. It IS also true that the literature of an age reflects the
character of that age, whatever it may be. The age of
Charles II. was characterized by licentiousness and irrelii-ion
lu private life, and by recklessness, faithlessness, and treachery
in public life ; the literature is so vile or so worthless to us
that, excepting the poetry of Dryden, very little of it is
republished at the present day. Poetry, the highest form
that literature can take, is represented chiefly by satire. Such
may excite the admiration of posterity by its keenness or by
the force of the language in which it is couched, but nothing
higher. Ihe party strife and hatred and vindictiveness of
the period following is a^ain fully displayed in its abundant
literature. Poetry, when not enlisted on the side of party
was gay, sportive, witty, often licentious, or coldly didactic ;
but when supporting party it was satirical in the extreme

EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.

rendered all the more effective when in the hands of such a
master of language and versification as Pope. We cannot but
admire in Pope the sm«5othness and harmony of the verse, the
brilliancy and force of expression, and the keenness of the
satire. But the satire was intended to serve no useful pur-
pose ; it was the offspring of party hatred and personal
malignity, and our admiration for the ability displ.yed is
mingled with indignation at the author for thus prostituting
his powers to such base ends.

With Pope a new feature was established in poetry. The
versification became exact ; the words must flow smoothly
and regularly ; the position of the accent must not vary ; the
lines must rhyme in couplets and be of the same length ; no
matter how expressive a word might be, unless it sounded
smoothly it would be rejected. Versification thus became
purely mechanical and wholly divorced from the influence of
the emotional faculties. The genius, or cleverness, of Pope
prevents this defect from being noticed to any extent in his
own works, but in the writings of his followers and imitators
it becomes intolerable monotony. Besides this mechanical
versification, the idea arose that poetry must have a language
or diction peculiar to itself, and that unless such a diction
were employed there could be no poetry. Plain, simple,
straightforward language was discarded for a strained, stilted,
unnatural form. A woman was a ••fair"ora **nymph"; a
man was a "swain" or a "shepherd"; the sun was "Ihcebus"
and the moon was " Luna"; persons, imaginary or real, were
referred to by names borrowed from Greek or Latin writers,
or made up of Greek or Latin words to suit the occasion ;
Roman and Greek history, never English, furnished all tLe
personal illustrations. Even Gray in his "Elegy " first wrote
Brutus, Tully, and Gcesar where Hampden, Milton, and Crom-
well now stand. The language of poetry soon became as
stereotyped as the versification. With writers of such poetry,
as Cowper says,

" Manner is all in ail, whate'er is writ,

The substitute for genius, sense, and wit."

As in style, so in matter — everything was imitation ;

natural feeling, as well as natural expression, was dead. There

was a great deal of " good " writing ; " sentimental writers "

were abundant. Mournful elegies, moral fables, reflections

BIGHT i-BNTH OBNTURY,

on the vanities of life, the very hest of "sentiment," were
numerous— but lieartless and Boulles-s as were the services of
the Church. The feeling expressed did not spring from the
heart then, and hence cannot speak to our heart now. Both
style and sentiment were "put on"; they were artiJiciaL not
natural.

The only theme of the poets was society such as they saw
around them ; nature, mankind at large, did not concern them.
Society was polished, witty, heartless, artificial; devoid of
everything that was noble, it could offer no noble subject for
poetry ; as was the society, bo was the poetry. But yet there
was some genuine poetry, though often marred by the vicious
tashion of the time. Thompson's Seasons, much of the writings
of Colhns, Gray's Elegt/, and Goldsmith's Deserted Village at
least, are full of true, deep human feelings, and at the same
time are polished and harmonious. The first, however, that
openly proclaimed his dislike for the verse that

" Without a creamy smoothness has no charms,"
was Cowper. Declaring that Pope had

" Made poetry a mere mpchanic art,
And every warbler had his tune by heart,"
he states his own creed in the well-known lines :
♦* Give me the line that ploughs its stately course
Like a proud swan, conquering the stream by force,
That, like some cottage beauty, strikes the heart
All unindebted to the tricks of art."

though, unfortunately, "force" is too often wanting, and
the tricks of art" are not always absent from his writings
But Cowper's taste was not his alone; it was the definite
statement of what many really felt. A liking for the poetry
of an earl, r age began to arise. This was further increased
by the appearance of a remarkable book, the influence of
which m bringing a,bout a great reform in poetry, both in
style and m matter, can scarcely be overrated.

In 1765 Bishop Percy published the " iieliques of Ancient
Poetry, a collection of ballads for the most part by unknown
authors. They contain, in simple, straightforward style the
expression of the true, natural feeling of an age before thit of
over-refinement. The purely imaginative and romantic ele-
ment, so characteristic of Coleridge, exists very largely in

BIGflTEENTH CENTURY.

these ballads, alongside of, and often in union with, tales of
woe find love, adventure and battle. Burns, who in Scotland
fr,ad felt the new impulse, himself says that he was

" Fired by the simple, art).eHs lava
Of other times. '
Following these "Keliques" came a crowd of imitations, among
which those of Chatterton contain mnch real poetry. The
great actor, Garrick, had again brought the plays of Shake-
speare on the stage ; they kept their place, and different
editions of the works of the great dramatist prove that once
more a taste for the natural was rising. A "History of
English Poetry," by Thomas Wharton, gave to most, for the
first time, a knowledge that poetry had existed before their
day and Pope's. . The specimens of poetry quoted in this
book were like a revelation to Englislnnen.

But the spirit of these was not now to Cowper. Almost
the whole of his poetry is instinct with natural feeling. His
«« Lines to my Mother's Picture" caimot be read without tears ;
we feel that all comes directly from the heart, and that any
language other than the simplest and most direct would be
unsuitable and make us suspect that the feeling expressed
was not real.

In Gowper also we have the strong love of nature and
natural scenery for itself. It is the subject of almost the
whole of *'The Task." He loves scenery and to reflect upon
it; he sympathizes with the animal world from the lowest
forms of animal life to the highest ; he loves not only English-
men, but all mankind ; and though he satirizes society around
him, and society in general, it is with the desire to better it.
His love of freedom and righteousness, his pity for the poor
and down-trodden, and his hatred of tyranny and wrong and
hypocrisy reach as near to a passion as such a nature as his
would permit.

These facts and many others indicate a decided change in
taste ; but there were still other causes at work to produce
the marked change that passed over poetry. The spirit of
deep earnestness and of sympathy with the suffering, so char-
acteristic of the poetry of the early part of this century, had
its origin in the great religious movement headed by White-
field and the Wesleys, and in the philanthropic labors of
Howard and others, Indeed, the two went hand in hand ;

EIGHTEENTH OBNTURT.

ro^l^toTr!n by hoi, mg up the boundless love and mercy oi
God to fahen and guilty man, appealed to the noblest feeli...^
we pnsseas-love and gratitude. The teaching of the New

n^dv"'R«n nr.r^'l"'" l^'-^^ ^^ ^«^^^« love towards th^
needy Hence the interest in prison reform inaugurated by
Howard and continued by others; hence, too, the^movement

the abolition of slavery itself. The insane were put under

ZnVnlT/'^nT.*"'^".*' '*^"°''"«^ criminal laws, so bitterly
denounced by Goldsmith, were greatly mitigated ; and warm^
hearted Christian men left home and friendt to teach he^S

TtTn*^!.''^^^^^" ''^^' ^^^y t'^-'H^elves loved so deeply
The philanthropic movement did not confine itself to prisons
and to slaves ; ,t aimed at bettering the condition ^of ?he

wu* ""'^^ socially and politically
f^ S'^\u^^^^ changes were in progress and were beginning
U.Zh themselves felt, the French Revolution broke out^

new order T.v ^* ''^^T J^ ^^^ ^^^•^^- ^here was to be a
w!-« fn!f ""^'.Jh^^S^^ ''Liberty, equality, and fraternity"
h^^JZ ^''T'^ everywhere ; tyrants and oppressors were to
be destroyed, and mankind was to go on to perfection and
aappiness; France wa. to be not onl/the great ttcher" bu^
the defender and deliverer of down-trodden peoples. .

Ihe young and enthusiastic entertained high hopes from

nLn^'f^f'^.'S^'t^ ^°'^- ?""• imagination revelled n th^
prospect of the happiness that was in store for man. None re
joiced more than young Coleridge, the fullness of whose bitter
disappointment, when France became the conqueror and
oppressor of other nations and sank under the splendid
de^spot^m of Bonaparte, is poured forth in his - France? an

* O France, that mockest Heaven, adulterous, blind.

And patriot only in pernicious toils,
Are these thy boasts, Champion of human kind ?
lo mix with kings in the low lust of sway,
Yell m the hunt and share the murderous prey;

lo insult the shrine of Liberty with spoils
From^ freemen torn; to tempt and to betray?
^. T, , * * * and wear the name
Ui Freedom, graven on a heavier chain ! "

The French Revolution certainly stirred Europe to its

BiaHTBENTH OENTUBY.

depths, but it alone was not the sole or even the chief cause
of the marked change that passed over literature at the time.
In the political and social v/orld it checked reform. To litera-
ture it doubtless added an important element— enthuHiasm,
fervor, vivid imagination— which showed itself in other direc-
tions when admiration for France had passed away.

The number of great poets at the beginning of the century
is surprisingly large. Each illustrates a particular phase of
the change from tlie preceding age, while all love nature en-
thusiastically and reject the pedantic and conventional. In
VVordsworth there is the deep, fervid earnestness which never
rises into an uncontrolled passion ; in Shelley there is even
deeper earnestness, but passionate and despairing- -a longing
for something better than what he sees around him— united
with almost miraculous power over language, and with a
splendor of imagery unequalled except by Coleridge; in Scott
. the joyous love of outdoor life in contact with nature in all its
freshness as a thing for enjoyment, not as an instructress or a
theme for moralizing on, is united with the romantic love of
the antique, semi- historical, legendary, or wholly imaginative*
Coleridge gives us romance of the purest imagination, the
creature of his dreamy fancy, but involving the peculiar doc-
trine of the mutual relation of man and nature so definitely
taught by Wordsworth. Byron is the French Revolution
personified— romantic, wild, lawless, at war with everything
and everybody ; capricious, yet full of power and splendor •
not lackmg in mtense, though too often short-lived, feeling'
Keats is all beauty ; with him "a thing of beauty is a joy for
ever," whether it be of nature around him in flower, plant
insect, or season, in the myths of Greece or the legends of the
Middle Ages, or in the lusciousness

" Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd,
With jellies soother than the creamy curd,
And lucent syrups, tinct with cinnamon;
Manna and dates, in argosy transferred •

From Fez, and spiced dainties, every one
From silken Samarkand to cedar'd Lebanon."
Thus, in poetical literature, the two periods were in marked
contrast. In the first the chief, if no^the only, aim in verse
was smoothness and harmony ; the language was stereotyped
strained, and Unnatural j satirical or spoi-tive descriptions of

BiaUTEBNTH OUNTURT.

persons and aociety, superficial or cold moralizing, or "aonti-
ment," and dull losson-giving, were the chief themes of its
poets. Tho past had no charm for these writers ; if dealt
with at all, it had to be dressed up in tlie fashion of the day ;
nature and the love of nature in its fullest sense seemed almost
unkjjown. In the second period, while harmony and melody
of verse were for the most part carefully studied, worth of
matter and force and vigor of expression were chiefly sought.
The language was fresh, direct, and natural; the themes of
the poets were the deepest questions that concern iran every-
where—his struggles, his triuniplis, liis hopes and his fears —
narrated and dwelt upon with the fervor of an intense per-
sonal interest, and pervaded by the subtle vitalizing power of
imagination; the past had all the charm of romance, the
imagination revelled in it, and the writers endeavored to pre-
sent it as it really was ; and lastly, nature was the noblest of
themes, passionately loved, not only for itself, but for the ,
communion it holds with the soul of man.

Cowper, though belonging to the last century, ie the first
poet in whom this change is seen. Lacking the fervor and
the imaginative power of his successors, his feeling is as fine
as theirs, his pathos as true, his love of nature in every sense
as genuine, and his loiigiug for a higher life as earnest.

THE ANCIENT MARINER.

INTROUUCTOUY.

Coleridge, in Chapter XIV. of the Biographla TAtf.raria,
thus spcciks of the "occasion of the Lyrical Balhids": —

^ '• During the first year that Mr. Wordsworth and I were
neighbors our conversation turned frequently on the two car-
dnial points of poetry, the power of exciting the sympatliy of
the reader by a faithful adherence to the truth of nature and
the power of giving the interest of novelty by the modifyiiii,'
colors of imagination. The sudden charm which accidents of
light and shade, which moonlight or sunset ditFusod over a
known and familiar landscape, appeared to represent the
practicability of combining both. These are the poetry of
nature. The thought suggested itself (to which of us I do
not recollect) that a series of poems might be composed of two
sorts. In the one the incidents and agents were to be, in part
at least, supernatural; and the excellence aimed at was to
consist in the interesting of the affections by the dramatic
truth of such emotions as would naturally accompany such
emotions supposing they were real. And real in this sense
they have been to every human being who, from whatever
source of delusion, has at any time believed himself under
supernatural agency. For the second class subjects were to
be chosen from ordinary life; the characters and incidents
were to be such as will be found in every village and its
vicinity, where there is a meditative and feeling mind to seek
after them or to notice them when they present themselves.
"In this idea originated the plan of the Lyrical Ballads,
in which it was agreed that my endeavors should be directed
to persons and characters supernatural, or at least romantic,
yet so as to transfer from our inward nature a human interest
and a semblance of truth sufficient to procure for these
shadows of imagination that willing suspension of disbelief
for the moment which constitutes poetic faith. Mr. Words-
worth, on the other hand, was to propose to himself as his
object to give the charm of novelty to things of every day,
and to excite a feeling analogous to the supf^rnatural by

ANCIENT MARINER.

awakening the mind's attention to the lethargy of cuatom.
and directing it to the loveliness and the wonders of the
world before us— an inexhaustible treasure, but for which in
consequence of the film of familiarity and selfish solicitude
we have eyes yet see not, ears that hear not, and hearts that
neither feel nor understand.

"With this view I wrote The Ancient Mariner, and was
preparing, among other poems. The Dark Ladie and the
Chrzstabel. * * • But Mr. Wordsworth's industry had
proved so much more successful, and the number of his poems
so much greater, that my compositions, instead of forminl; a
matter^'" ^P^^""^^ '^^^^^'^ *" interpolation of heterogeneous

The following is Wordsworth's account of the poem:—
In the autumn of 1797 he (Coleridge), my sister, and my-
self started froin Alfoxden pretty latetn the afternoon Wh
a view to visit Linton and the Valley of Stones near to it ;
and as our united funds were very small, we agreed to defray
tZnT'^fu "^Ir*^^ ^P"" ^y ^"*^^« * PO^"^' *« be sent to the

^^ZflT^^^T''''' r* "P '^y Pb^l"P«' th« bookseller, and
edited by Dr. Aikcn Accordingly we set off, and proceeded
along the Quantock Hills towards Watchet, aid in the course
of this walk was planned the poem of the ' Ancient Mariner '
founded on a dream, as Mr. Coleridge said, of his friend Mr
Cruikshank. Much the greatest ptrt of the story ^s Mr.'
Coleridge s invention; but certain parts I suggested : for ex-
ample some crime was to be committed which should bring
upon the Old Navigator, as Coleridge afterwards delighted to
cail him, the spectral persecution as a consequence of that
crime and his own wanderings. I had been reading in
Sholvocke s Voyages a day or two before that while doubling
Lape Horn they frequently saw albatrosses in that latitude!
the largest sort of sea fowl, some extending their wings twelve
or thirteen feet. * Suppose,' said I, 'you represent him Is
having killed one of these birds on entering the South Sea,
and that the tutelary spirits of these regions take upon them
to avenge the crime. " The incident was thought fit for the
purpose and adopted accordingly. I also suggested the navi-
gation of the ship by the dead men, but do not recollect that
I had anything more to do with the scheme of the poem
The gloss with which it was subsequently accompanied wa^

ANOIBNT MAUlNlSa

not thought of by either of us at the time, at least not a hint
of it waa given to me, and I have no doubt it was a gratuitous
afterthought. We began the composition together on that to
me memorable evening. I furnished two or three lines at th«
beginning of the poem, in particular:

' And listened like a three years' child,
The Mariner hath his will.'
" As we endeavored to proceed conjointly (I speak of the
same evening) our respective manners proved so widely dif-
ferent that it would have been quite presumptuous in me to do
anything but separate from an undertaking upon which I
could only have been a clog. * * The ' Ancient Mariner '
grew and grew till it became too important for our first ob-
ject, which was limited to our expectation of five pounds;
and we began to think of a volume which was to consist, as
Mr. Coleridge has told the world, of poems chiefly on super-
natural subjects, taken from common life, but looked at, as
much "as might be, through an imaginative medium."

Such was the occasion of the writing of the ** Ancient
Mariner." The plan proposed was one that carried out the
theory of poetry entertained by the two friends, and more
fully elaborated by Wordsworth subsequently. To them
Nature apart from man was no lifeless, inert object, pleasing
indeed at times to the eye, but nothing more. It was instinct
witn a life of its own ; it held communication with the soul of
man, taught him deep truths, sympathized in his sorrows and
in his joys, and in some way punished him for crimes against
herself. The "happy living things" of animal life, "so
beautiful" and so harmless in their own sphere, and the dumb
though conscious benefactors of man, were under the special
protection, not precisely of the Creator, but of Nature ; and
wrong done to these was an offence to the moral world, and
was punished in such a way and to such an extent as Nature
saw fit, since Nature alone was able to judge of the extent of
the guilt and of the amount of punishment deserved.

Wordsworth, in "Hart-Leap Well," works out the same
idea, though in a different form, as Coleridge does in the
"Ancient Mariner." The Hart, after a terrible race, in the
agony of death makes three fearful leaps and falls dead by the
side of a spring, the waters of which are ruffled by the last
gasp of the dying brute. The noble hunter, in admiration for

ANOIBNT MARtNEB.

the Hart, vows buildings and pleasure grounds around th«
place to coiiiinomorato its wonderful leap. In after years the
poet-pilgrim finds the buildings and trees gone and the whole
plac« barren.

"But now here's neither grass nor pleasant shade*
The sun on drearier hollow never shone ;
So will it be, as I have often said,
lill trees and stones and fountain are all gone.**

Thus speaks the *' grey-neaded shepherd," who is the pil-
giim's guide, and who further supposes that the Hart with
true human feeling sought this spot to die because his earliest
and tenderest associations may have been connected with it.
Then the pilgrim answers :

'• This beaat not unohaerved of Nature fell ;
Ilia death was mourned by sympathy divine.**

" The Being that is in the clouds and air,

That is in the green leaves among the groves,
Maintains a deep avl reverential care
For the unoffending creatures whom ha loveg,"

The lesson to be drawn is:

" Never to blend our pleasure or our pride
With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels."

In this case Nature herself in revenge curses the spot
where the Hart was so wantonly "done to death"; but we see
only the result, not the process, nor is the reason definitely
stated. In the "Ancient Mariner," on the other hand, a
similarly wanton act is committed, but in circumstances in
which gratitude should have prevailed. The punishment is
iiiilicted and the reasons pointedly stated ; but the punish-
ment is inflicted, in part at least, through the instrumentality
of supernatural beings who sympathize with Nature, or who
are the special guardians or ministers of Nature.

Coleridge prefixes t^o the "Ancient Mariner" by way of
introduction a quotation from a work in Latin that, after
stating the writer's belief in the existence of more invisible
than visible natures in the universe, asks, "Who can te*.
their ranks, relationship, difference, and functions, what they
do and where they dwell?" The poet accepts the belief, a^u
answers some of the questions. He thinks that there are
spirits of different kinds. "The spirit that dwelleth by him-

ANOIBNT MARINBR

re, or who

J*!

self"! the ""brother" apirita, from whom came tlie ''two voices
in the air, ' and one of whom seems righteously indk/nant at
the Marmer, but ^^ e>

" The other was a softer voice,
As soft as honey dewt"
and the two monsters in the skeleton ship, to say nothing of
the "troop of spirits blest." The poet also tells what the
spirits do They do the wiU of a higher power, as the
spirits blest did caring for a man's welfare; they sym-
pathize wich wronged Nature, and become her instruments of
punishment; because, being higher natures than ours, they
see moi . clearly the moral guilt of a crime that may indeed
appear to us very trivial, but that is in reality an enormity

Honce the objection made against the "Ancient Mariner"
th<i V ''there is no proportion between the crime and the
punishment is without force. The poet takes the decision
as to the moral guilt of the act out of the hands of man and
puts :t into those of higher and clearer-sighted beings. Their
decision must be submitted to; indeed, this is the very prin-
ciple involved in the superstition of sailors regarding the
kilhng of sea birds— unseen powers will avenge the death of
tlie birds. The poet also tells where the spirits dwell.

A writer has pointed out that no better place than the sea
could have been selected as the scene of the Mariner's crime
and of the more terrible part of his punishment. There the
imagination may roam at will. The vast solitude, the end-
less expanse of sky and water, the utter absence of any
tamiliar object— man or beast— leaves the fancy to fill the void
with beings of its own creation. In all our " supernatural"
literature these beings, the "creatures of the fancy," are
found only m solitary places, or at the dead of night, and
appear only to those who are personally interested in the
measage they bring.

It would be possible to turn the poem into an allegorv
but in so doing half of its charm would be lost. Colendge
certainly intended no allegory, otherwise the " moral" could
net bplp showing at times its unsightly form. No moral ever
appears from the opening till the time the Mariner gave his
solemn warning to the "wedding guest ' and "is gone."

The power of the poet's imagination is displayed, 'not in
the conception of the existence of a race of supernatural

ANOIBNT MARINBR.

^iAuga closely interested in our natural world and in human
actions, but it is displayed in the conception of a man being
placed by his rwn crime within the grasp and at the meicv
of these supernatural beings, until divine compassion, upon his
spontaneous though unwitting repentance when he blessed the
happy living things," gently interfered and slowly worked
out a release ; and also in so presenting ordinary physical
phenomei a of our earth that they no longer appear the same,
but seem actuated by supernatural impulses, uniting with the
spirits against the man, or helping him when **at length the
spell was snapt." The.unnamed harbor, the "storm blast."
the laud of yiist and snow," the albatross, like a messenger
from heaven; the ''good south wind," driving him on to his
fate; the dead calm, the "charmed water" that "burnt a
deep and awful red," the "slimy things" and "elfish light,''
the thunderstorm, and that magnificent conception, the
oceans "broad, bright eye"—in short, every object mentioned,
are all natural phenomena, and yet are so infused with the
divme power of imagination that they seem to belong, not to
our world, but to a world the proper inhabitants and rulers
of which are spirits, and into which mortals have rashly in-
truded—so complete is the consistency throughout, and so
thoroughly has the poet succeeded in "throwing around
natural objects the charm of the supernatural." The spirits
do not seem to intrude into our natural Torld . there they
would be out of place; but they appear to us as natural, as
much at home in the world that has been erected for them by
the poet's;;imagination, as we are in our every-day world— as
ScotVs clansmen are amid the wild, picturesque scenery of
the Hiffhiandt. Wf^ look for something beyond the ordinary •
we may be surprised at the form the supernatural takes, but
we are not offended by it; we feel the consistency We feel,
too, that the Mariner must be guided home by some agency
other than natural, and also that he cannot then be left to
pursue any ordinary life; in some way he must bear a peculiar
"mark upon his forehead" and have a weighty duty to fulfil.
Hence the Mariner must " pass like night from lan<i to land "
and " have strange powers of speech. " Call it by what name
we please— poetic truth or dramatic truth— the feelings are
such as naturally arise within us under the circumstances that
the poet brings before us. The supernatural has been made
the natural.

ANCIENT MARINER.

The •* Ancient Mariner" is a complete poem, an unusual
thing for Coleridge. The author follows up his story closely
from ,tl|3 beginning to the end j there is no pause or break ; i /
is wonderfully sustained, the interest flags not from first to
last ; only once are there a few words of reflection ; the
Mariner seems to hurry on with his tale ; everything that is
said or done is closely connected with the story ; there is a
decided unity throughout. The language, simple and direct,
is full of exceedingly happy expressions. No words arc
wasted. The terseness is often as remarkable as the vividness
produced by it. Language seems to shape itself at the will
of the poet. The versification shows the power of harmonious
expression, of which Coleridge was justly proud. Rhyme is
used with a freedom and an effect that is often quite startling.
The imagery is of almost unequalled splendor. A few words,
or even one word, often produce the most marvellous effect.
Within the range of English literature nothing more splendid
,is found conjured up by a word than

*' And when they reared the elfish light
Fell off in hoary flakes."

" The moonlight steeped in ailentness

The steady weathercock."
" His great, bright eye most silently

Up to the moon is cast,"

For quaintness of expression, depending almost wholly upon
one word, the following ia unrivalled : —

" He hath a cushion plump,
It is the moss that wholly hides
The rotted old oak stump."

Weirdness is in every line of the poem. It is felt from the
very first, and is continued to the last. Only when the
Mariner "is gone" do we feel in our own world again.

The poem is in the ballad form, simple in versification and
direct in language ; but such a subject in the hands of a poet
with such an imagination as Coleridge's couiv^ not preserve
the severe simplicity of the old ballad ; splendor of imagery,
or even imagery at all, being quite foreign to compositions
that depend for their effect upon interest of story and vivid
realization through terse and fitting language.

THE RIME OP THE ANCIENT MARINER.

IN SEVEN TAllTS.

Facile credo, plures esse Naturas invisibles qnam vlsihlea
in rerum universitate. Sed horum omnium familiam quis nobis
euarrabit, ot gradus et cognationes et discrimiua et singulorum
muiiera? Quid aguut? quae loca habitant? Harum rerum
uotitiam semper ambivit ingeniura humanum, nuiiquam attigit.
Juvat, mterea, nou diffiteor, quandoque in anirao, tanquam in
tabula, majoris et molioris raundi imaginem contemplari • ne
mens assuefacta hodJoriiis vitas minutiis se contrahat nimis, et
tota subsidat in pusiilas cogitationes. Sed veritati interea in-
vigilai.dum est, modusque servandus, ut certa ab incertia. diem
a nocte, distiuguamus."— T. Burnet.

An andeni
Mariner
niocfcoth
three {jfal-
laiits l)i(ldcn
toaweduing
feast, and
dutaiiietb
one.

The Wed-

diiii;- Guest Is
sj)eil-l)ouiKl
by the eye of
the old sea-
faring^ nian,
and con-
strained to
hear his tale.

It is an ancient Mariner,
And he stoppeth one of three.
"By thy long greybeard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me ?

The bridegroom's doors are opened wide,
And I am next of kin ;
The guests are met, the feast is set :
May'st hear the merry din. "

8. He holds him with his skinny hand,
"There was a ship," quoth he.
'*Hold off ! unhand mo, grey-beard loon I "
Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

4. He holds him with his glittering eyo—
Tlio Wedding- Guest stood still,
And listens like a three years' child i
The Mariner hath his will.

THE RIME OF THE ANOIliNT MARINEXI.

5. The Wedding- Guest sat on a stone :
He cannot choose hut hear ;

And thus spake out that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.

6. "The ship was cheered, the harbor cleared,

Merrily did we drop

Below the kirk, below the hill,

Below the light-house top.

The sun came up upon the left.
Out of the sea came he I
And he shone bright, and on the right
Went down into the sea.

Higher and higher every day.

Till over the mast at noon — "

The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,

For he heard the loud bassoon.

The Marine?
tells how tho
ehip sailed
southward
with a trood
wind and fair
weather, till
it reached
the Line.

9. The bride hath paced into the hall,
Red as a rose is she ;
Nodding their heads before her goes
The merry minstrelsy.

10. The Wedding- Guest lie beat his breast,
Yet he cannot choose but hear ;

And thus spake on the ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.

11. "And now the storm-blast came, and he

Was tyrannous and strong :

He struck with his o'ertaking wings.

And chased us south along.

12. With sloping mast and dipping prow.
As who pursued with yell and blow
Still treads the shadow of his foe.

The Wed-
dinj,'-Guc3t
heareth the
bridal music;
but the Ma-
riner cori-
tinueth his
tale.

The ship
drawn by a

storm to-
ward the
south pole.

iff

The land of 14,
ice aiitl of
foarful
sounda,
whuio no
living thing
was to bo ^
seen. lo.

28 THB RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER.

And forward bends his head,

The bhip drove fast, loud roared the blast,

And southward aye we lied.

18. And now there came both mist and snow,
And it grew wondrous cold ;
And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
As green as emerald.

And through the drifts the snowy clifts
Did send a dismal sheen :
Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken —
The ice was all between.

The ice was here, the ice was there,

The ice was all around :

It cracked and growled, and roared au :

howled,
Like noises in a swouud ! '"

At length did cross an Albatross,
Through the fog it came ;
As if it had been a Christian soul.
We hailed it in God's name.

It ate the food it ne'er had eat,
And roand and round it flew.
The ice did split witli a thunder-fit ;
The helmsman steered us through !

18. And a good south wind sprung up behind ;
The Albatross did follow,
And every day, for food or play,
Came to the mariners' hollo 1

19. In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,
It perched for vospors nine ;

Whil-'^S nil ^ho, nifrhf. +.h j>r.|i rrVi f^rc c

white
Glimmered the white moon-shine."

Tillajrreat ^^'
fccabird,
called the
Albatross,
came
through

the8iio\v-f( J' 17
and was re-
coived with
j>reat joy
1)11(1 liuspi*
tality.

And lo ! the

Albatross
proveth a
bird of good
omen, and
followeth
the ship as
it returned
northward
throuuh fog
and floatiug
ice.

THE lllME 01' THE ANCIENT MAUINEII.

20. ** God Kavo tlico, ancient Mariner, Tho ancient

From the fiends, thatpla^mo tl.eo tlius!- ^j:):^!,^,^
Why look'sb thou so ?"— " With my cross- Knicfii the

bow pious bird of

I shot the Albatross. good omen.

PART II.

1. The snn now rose upon the right;
Out of the sea came he,

Still hid in mist, and on the left
Went down into tho sea.

2. And the good south wind still blew behind,
But no sweet bird did follow,

Nor any day for food or play
Came to the mariners' hollo !

And I liad done a hbUish thing,

And it would work 'em woe :

For all averred, I had killed the bird

That made the breeze to blow.

Ah wretch ! said they, the bird to slay,

That made the breeze to blow !

Nor dim nor red, like God's own head,

Tho glorious Sun uprist :

Then all averred, I killed the bird

That brought the fog and mist.

'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay.

That bring the log and mist.

The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, l\Z!fl
The furrow followed free ; tii;ues; i

His ship-
ujatos cry
out a^'ainst
the ancient
Mariner for
killinfr the
l)ird of good
lutk.

lUit when
the fo]L(
cleared off
Wiey justify
the same,
and thus
nialie tficm-
selves ac-
complices in
the crime.

Wo were the first that ever burst
Into that silent sea*

con-
the
sliip enters
the Pacific
Ocean, and

THE KIME OF THE ANCIENT MAHINER.

sails north-
war I, evoii
till it< reaches
the Liuo.

And the Al-
batross 1)0-
u'lii.s to be
avciiucd.

0. Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt
down,
'Twas sad as sad could be ;
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea 1

7. All in a hot and copper sky,
The bloody Sun, at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the Moon.

8. Day after day, day after day,
Wo stuck, nor breath or motion ;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.

9. Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink ;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.

10. The very deep did rot : O Christ !

That ever tllis sliould bo !

Yea, slimy thint^s did crawl with legs

Upon the sUmy sea.

11. About, about, in reel and rout
The death-fires danced at night ;
The water, like a witch's oils,
Burnt green, and blue and white.

A Spirit foi- 12. And some in dreams assured were

onTof ^tJie" ' Of the Spirit that plagued us so ;

invisible in- Nine fathom deep he had followed us

habitants of From the land of mist and snow.

this planet,

neither de-

p.vrted spirits nor anprels : concerning whom the learned Jew, Joeephus,

and the'Piatonic Constantinopolitan, Michael Psellus, may be consulted.

They are very numerous, and there is no climate or element without one

or more.

THE RIME OP THE ANCIENT MARINER.

I H, And every tongue, through utter drouglit
Was withered at the root ;
We could not speak, no more tlian if
We had been choked with soot.

14. Ah ! well a-day ! what evil looka
Had I from old and young !
Instead of the cross, the Albatross
About my neck was hung.

Thw .flip.
niiifvjB, in
their sore
disfroas,
would fain
throw th'i
,. . ■ ., , whole n'lilt

on the ancient Mariner : in sign whereof they hang the dead sea bird

I uund his ueclc.

PAHl' III.

1. There passed a weary time. Each throat
Was parched, and glazed each oyo.

A weary time ! a weary time !
How glazed each weary eye.
When looking westward I beheld
A something in the sky.

2. At first it seemed a little speck,
And then it seemed a mist ;

It moved and moved, and took at last
A certain shape, I wist.

Tho anoient
Mariner bo-
holdoth a
ai'^n in the
clcniunt afar
oil.

A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist !
And still it neared and neared :
As if it dodged a water- sprite,
It plunged and tacked and veered.

/.f its nearer

4. With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, '?o.'neti 'him
We could not laugh nor wail ; ^ '^ea ship ;

Through utter drought all dumb we stood ! JInVom he"'*
I bit my arm, I sucked the blood, frocth his

And cried, A sail ! a sail I fP^^ch from

the iiorida of
thirst.

THE RIME OP THE ANCIENT MARINER.

(J.

11.

■

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
Agape they heard me call :

Gramercy ! they for joy did grin, ^ ^^^ ^^

And all at once their breath drew in, joy ;•

As they were drinking all.

And horror
follows. For
can it be a
ship that
comes on-
ward with-
out wind or
tide?

See ! see ! (I cried) she tacks no more !
Hither to work us weal, —
Without a breeze, without a tide,
She steadies with upright keel !

7. The western wave was all a-flame
The day was well nigh done !
Almost upon the western wave
Rested the broad bright Sun ;

When that strange shape drove suddenly
Betwixt us and the Sun.

8. And straight the Sun was flecked with bars, P seemeth
(Heaven's Mother send us grace !) ?i3l"n Si
As if through a dungeon-grate he peered ship.
With broad and burning face.

Alas ! (thought I, and my he'art beat loud)
How fast she nears and nears !
Are those her sails that glance in the Sun,
Like restless gossameres ?

Are those her ribs through which the Sun And its ribs
Did peer, as through a grate ?
And is that Woman all her crew ?
Is that a Death ? and are there two ?
Is Death that woman's mate ?

Her lips were red, her looks were free,
Her locks were yellow as gold :
Her skin was as white as leprosy,
The Night-mare Life-in-Deathwas she,
Who thicks man's blood with cold.

are seen as
bars on the
face of the
setting sun.
The Spectre-
Woman and
her Death-
mate, and no
other on
board the
slteleton-
ship.

Like vessel,
like crew !

THE RIME OP THE ANCIENT MARINER.

12.

And its ribs

13.

14.

15.

The naked hulk alongside came,

And the twain were casting dice ;

'The game is done ! I've won ! I've won !'

Quoth she, and whistles thrice.

The Sun's rim dips ; the stars rush out :
At one stride come* the dark ;
With far-heard whisper o'er the sea,
Oflf shot the spectre-bark.

We listened and looked sideways up !

Fear at my heart, as at a cup.

My life-blood seemed to sip !

The stars were dim, and thick the night,

The steerman's face by his lamp gleamed

white ;
From the sails the dew did drip-
Till clomb above the eastern bar
The horned IVIoon, with one bright star
Within the nether tip.

One after one, by the star-dogged Moon,

Too quick for groan or sigh, SUfthlr^'

Each turned his face with a ghastly pang,

And cursed me with his eye.

Dcnth and
Life-in-
Death have
diced for the
ship's crew,
ami ahe <the
latter) win-
neth the
aneient
Mariner.

No twili|,'ht
within the
courts of the
Sun.

At the rising
of til J moon.

Four times Hfty living men,
(And I hciird nor sigli nor groan)
With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,
They dropped down one by one.

The souls did from thei'' bodies fly, —
They fled to bliss or woe !
And every soul, it passed me by.
Like the whizz of my crosa-bow !"

His ship
mates drop
>» down dead.

But Life-in-
Death be-
ifins her
worlc on the
ancient Ma-
riner.

THE RIME OP THE ANCIKNT MAUINEa

TheWsd-

dinpf-Oueat
feareth that
» Spirit ii
talking to
him.

But the an-
cient Mari-
ner asHureth
him of his
bodily life,
and prooeed-
eth to relate
his horrible
penance.

Hedeapiseth
the crea-
tures of the
t'alm

PART IV.

1. ** I fear thee, ancient Mariner I
I fear thy skinny hand •

And thou art long, and lank, and brown,
As is the ribbed aea-sand.*

2. I fear thee and thy glittering eye,
And thy skinny hand, so brown. "-
*'Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guost !
This body dropt not down.

3 Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide, wide sea !
And never a saint took pity on
My soul in agony

4 The many men, so beautiful !
And they all dead did lie

And M thousand thousand slimy things
Lived on , and so did I

ttat the?'*" ^' J ^«^'l^^d upon the rotting sea.
should live. And drew my eyes away ;

fit'de^'"*"^ I looked upon the rotting deck,
And there the dead men lay

& I 'ooked .to heaven, and tried tc pray ;
But or ever a prayer had gusht,
A wicked whisper came, and made
My heart as dry as dust.

7. I closed my lids, and kept them close,
And the balls like pulses beat ,

For the last two lines of this stanza I am indebted to Mr Words-
worth. It wa,« on a delightful walk from Nether Stowey to Dulverton
, with hun and his siskr, in the autumn of 1707, that this poem was planned
and in part <oiiiposed * , ^ ^ pia,iiiicu

THE UIMK OF THE ANCIENT MARINER.

For the sky and the flea, and the sea and

the sky
Lay like a load on my weaned eye,
And the dead were at my feet.

8. The cold sweat melted from their limbs,
Nor rot nor reek did they ;
The look with which they looked on me
Had never passed away.

9. An orphan's curse would drag to hell
A spirit from on high ,

But oh ! more horrible than that
Is the curse in a dead man's eye !
Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse
And yet I could not die.

But the
curse Hveth
for him in
the eye of
the dead
men.

10. The moving Moon went up the sky,
And no where did abide •
Softly she was going up,
And a star or two beside—

In hit loneli-
ness and
fixedness he
yearneth to-
wards the
lourneyinj;
iu i. iu ^ L-tt , Moon, and

the stars that still sojourn, yet still move onward; and evorvwhere tho
blue Hky belonK« to them, and is their appointed rest, and their native
country and their own natural homes, which they enter unannounced, as
lords that are certainly expected and yet there is a silent joy at their

li Her beams bemocked the sultry main,
Like April hoar-frost spread ;
But where the ship's huge shadow lay.
The charmed water burned alway
A still and awful red.

12. Beyond the shadow of the ship,
I watched tlio water-snakes:
They moved in tracks of shining wLite,
And when they reared, the elfish light
Fell off in hoary flakes.

By the light
of the Moon
he beholdeth
God's crca-
ture.s of the
great calm.

TUE RIME OP THE ANCIENT MARINER

13.

Their be»uty 14.
and thuir
happinciu.

llo bIcsHuth
them in his
heari

Tho spell be>
K'\n(i to
break.

15.

By grace of
the holy
Mother, the
ancient Ma-
riner is re-
freshed with
rain.

Within the shudow of tho ship

I watched their rich attire :

Blue, glossy green, and velvet blacii,

rhey coiled and swam ; and every track

Was a flash of golden fire.

O happy living things ! no tongue

llieir beauty might declare :

A spring of J(,vo gushed from my heart.

And 1 blessed them unaware :

Sure my kind saint took pity on me.

And I blessed them unaware.

The selfsame moment I could pray •
And from my neck so free '

The Alb.itross fell off, and sank
Like lead into the sea.

PAET V.

sleep ! it is a gentle thing,
Beloved from pole to pole !

To Mary q!ieen the praise be given f
Shu sent the gentle sleep from Heaven
Ihat slid into my soul.

The silly buckets on the deck,
That had so long remained,

1 dreamt that they were filled with dSw ;
And when I awoke, it rained.

My lips were wet, my throat was cold.
My garments all were dank ;
Sure I had drunken in my dreams,
And still my body drank.

THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MAUINEU.

4. I moved, and could not fuel my limbs :
I was HO li^'ht— almost
I thou^'ht that 1 liud died m sleep,
And was a blessed ghost.

And soon I heard a roaring wind ;
It did not conio anear ;
But with its sound it shook the sails,
That were so thin and sere.

The upper air burst into life !
And a hundred fire-flags sheen,
To and fro they were hurried about I
And to and fro, and in and out,
Tlie wan stars danced between.

He hearoth
boufhIh urid
Bccth
fltian^o
t<ip:hts uti(f
coininotions
in the uky
and the ele*
ment.

1(».

And the coming wind did roar more loud,

And the sails did sigh like sedge ;

And the rain poured down from one black

cloud ;
The Moon was at its edge.

The thick black cloud was cleft, and still
The Moon was at its side :
Like waters shot from some high crag,
The lightning fell with never a jag,
A river steep and wide.

The loud wind never reached the ship,
Yet now the ship moved on !
Beneath the lightnino- and th« Moon
The dead men gave a groan.

They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose,
Nor spake, nor moved their eyes :
It had been strange, oven in a dream.
To have seen those dead men rise.

The bodies
of the sliip's
crew are

inspired, and
the ship
moves on.

38 THE RIMli OF THE ANCIENT MARIN Eli.

11. The helmsman steered, the ship moved on;
Yet never a breeze up blew ;

The mariners all 'gan work the ropes,
Where they were wont to do ;
They raised their limbs like lifeless tools —
We were a ghastly crew.

12. The body of my brother's son
Stood by me, knee to knee :

The body and I pulled at one rope,
But he said nought to me."

But not by - „
the souls of •*•"•
the men, not
by demons
of earth or
middle air,
but by a

blessed '

troop of an-
gelic spirits, 14.
sent down
by the invo-
cation of the
guard iaa
oaint.

"I fear thee, ancient Mariner !'*
*'Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest ;
'Twas not those souls that fled in pain,
Which to their corses came again.
But a troop of Spirits blest :

For when it dawned — they dropped their

arms,
A.nd clustered round the mast ;
Sweet sounds rose slowly through their

mouths,
And from their bodies passed.

15. Around, around, flew each sweet sound.
Then darted to the Sun ;

Slowly the sounds came back again,
Now mixed, now one by one.

16. Sometime a-dropping from the sky
I heard the sky-lark sing ;
Sometimes all little birds that are,
How they seemed to fill the sea and air
With their sweet jargoning !

17. And now 'twas like all instruments,
Now like a lonely flutb j

ed on ;

THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINEB.

And now it is an angel's song,
That makes tlio heavens be mute.

»
;ooli

their
their

id,

18. It ceased ; yet still the sails made oa
A pleasant noise till noon,

A noise like of a hidden brook /, ■
In the leafy month of June, ^^^l.^-^
That to tfiesTeeping woods all night
Singeth a quiet tune. ,

19. Till noon we quietly sailed on, /
Yet never a breeze did breathe :
Slowly and smoothly went the ship,
Moved onward from beneath.

20. Under the keel nine fathom dsep,
From the land of mist and snow,
The Spintjilid : and it was he

• That made^the ship to go.
The sails at noon left off their tune.
And the ship stood still also.

21. The Sun, right up above the mast,
Had fixed her to the ocean .

But in a minu*;e she 'gan stir,
With a short uneasy motion —
Backwards and forwards half her length
With a short uneasy motion.

22. Then like a pawing horse let go,
She made a sudden bound :
It^ung the blood into my head.
And I fell down in a swound,

•iS. How long in that same fit I lay,
I have not to declare ;
But ere my living life returned,
I heard, atid in mv sf)ul flisctir.'ifli?
Two voices in the air.

/ /■ .^V/^ /^l

The lone-
Boine Spirit
from the
south pole
carries on
the ship as
far as the
liine, in obe-
dience to the
aiiy:elic
troop, but
still re-
quireth
vengeance.

The Polar
Spirit's fel-
low demons,
the invisible
inhabitants
of the ele-
ment, taka

THE LIME OP THE ANCIENT MARINER.

part in his
wroriffs ; and
two of them
relate, one
to the other,
that penance
long and
heavy for
the ancient
Mariner
hath been
accorded to
the Polar
Spirit, who
rotunieth
southward.

24.

25.

26.

' Is it he ?' quoth one, * Is this the man ? ,
By him who died on cross, y

^^'ith his crael bow he laid full low
The harmless Albatross.

The Spirit who bideth by himself
In the land of mist and snow,
He loved t!ie bird that loved the man
Who shot him with his bow.'

The other was a softer voice,

As soft as honey-dew :

Quoth he, * The man hath penance done,

And penance more will do.

PART VL

FIRST VOIOB.

* But tell me, tell me ! speak again,
Thy soft response renewing —
"What makes that ship drive on so fast t
"What is the ocean doing ? '

BBCOXB VOIOl.

2. * Still as a slave before his lord.
The ocean hath no blast ;
His great bright eye most silently
Up to the Moon is cast —

8. If he may know which way to go ; •
For she guides him smooth or grim.
See, brother, see ! how graciously
She looketh down on him.'

The Marfner
hath beeri
cast into u

FIRST VOICT!.

*P>nf, whv drives on that shin SO fasi.

4/ ■ a. ^

Without or wave or wind ?'

THE IllAlE OF THE ANU ENT MARINER.

nan?

3.n

done,

£tf

10.

SECOND VOIOB.

* The air is cut away before,
And closes from behind.

Fly, brother, fly ! more high, more high !
Or wc shall bo belated :
For slow and slow thac ship will go,
When the Mariner's trance is abated.'

I woke, and we were sailing on

As in a gentle weather :

•Twas night, calm night, the moon was high

The dead men stood together.

All stood together on the deck,

For a charnel-dungeon fitter :

All fixed on me their stony eyes, •

That in the Moon did glitter.

The pang, the curse, with which they died
Had never passed away :

I could not draw my eyes from theirs, y

ssoi turn them up to pray.

And now this spell was snapt : once more
1 viewed the ocean green,
And looked far forth, yet little saw
yji what had else been seen

trance; for
the angelic
power cans
eth the ves
sel to drive
northward
faster than
human life
could en-
dure.

The super-
natural mo-
tion is re-
tarded : the
Mariner
awakes and
hia penaucc!
begins anew.

The curse it;
linally cxiii-
ated.

Like one, that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turned round walks on
And turns no more his head • *

Because he knows, a frightfu'l fiend
lioth close behind him tread.

11. But soon there breathed a wind on me
JNor sound nor motion made : '

TUE ItlME OF THE ANUIENT MARINER,

Its path was not upon the sea,
In ripple or in shade.

12. It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek
Like a meadow-gale of spring —

It mingled strangely with my fears,
Yet it felt like a welcoming.

13. Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,
Yet she sailed softly too :
Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze-r-
On me alone it blew.

And the an*
cient Mari-
ner behold-
eth his
native
country.

14. Oh ! dream of joy ! is this indeed
The light-house top I see ?

• Is this the hill ? is this the kirk ?
Is this mine own countree ?

16. We drifted o'er the harbor-bar,
And I with soLs did pray —
let me be awake, my God !
Or let me sleep alway.

16. The harbor-bay was clear as glass,
So smoothly it was strewn !
And on the bay the moonlight lay,
And the shadow of the Moon.

17* The rock shone bright, the kirk no less,
That stands above the rock :
The moonlight steeped in silentness
The steady weathercock.

The angelio
spirits leave
the dead
hndiea.

18. • And the bay was white with silent light
Till rising from the same,
Full many shapes, that sl*adows were,
In crimson colors came.

THE RIME OP THE ANCIENT MARINER.

lek

less,

light
)re.

19. A little distance from the prow
Those crimson shadows were :

I turned my eyes upon the deck— ^
Oh, Christ ! what saw I there 1 /

20. Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat,
And by the holy rood !

A man all light, a seraph-man,
On every corse there stood.

21. This seraph-band, each waved his hand ;
It was a heavenly sight !

They stood as signals to the land,
Each one a lovely sight ;

22. This seraph-band, each waved his hand
No voice did they impart —

No voice ; but oh ! the silence saiik
Like music on my heart.

•23. But soon I heard the dash of oars,
I heard the Pilot's cheer ;
My head was turned perforce away
And I saw a boat appear.

24. The Pilot and the Pilot's boy,
I heard them coming fast :

Dear Lord in Heaven ! it was a joy
The dead men could not blast. '

25. I saw a third — I heard his voice :
It is the Hermit good !

Ha singeth loiicTtlis godly hymns
That he makes in the wood.
' He'll ehrieve my soul, he'll wash away
The Albatross's blood.

And appear
in thi'ir own
fonrm of
light.

THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER.

PART VII.

The Hermit
of the wood.

1. This Hermit good lives in that wood
Which slopes down to the sea.
How loudly his sweet voice he rears !
He loves to talk with marineres
That come from a far couiitree.

Approach-
eth the ship
with wonder

8. He kneels at morn, and noon, «( .79—
He hath a cushion plump :
It is the moss that wholly hides
The rotted old oak-stump.

3. The skiff-boat neared : I heard them talk,

* Why, this is strange, I trow !

*l Where are those lights so many and fair,
' That signal made but now V

4 * Stranj?e, by ray faith ! ' the Hermit said—

* And they answered not our cheer 1

The planks looked warped I and see those

sails,
How thin they are and sere !
I never saw aught like to them,
Unless perchance it were

6. Brown skeletons of leaves that lag
My forest-brook along ;
When the ivy- tod is heavy with snow,
And the owlet whoops to the wolf belov/,
■~^ That eats the she-wolf's young.'

6. ' Dear Lord ! it hath a fiendish look —
(The Pilot made reply)
T am a-f eared '— ' Push on, pusl^on !'
Said the Hermit cheerily.

■iiS.

THE RIME OP THE ANCIENT MARINER.

The boat came closer to the shipt
But I nor spake nor stirred ;
The boat came close beneath the ship,
And straight a sound was heard.

on.

Under the water it rumbled

Still louder and more dread :

It reached the ship, it split the bay ;

The ship went down like lead.

The ship
suddenly
sitiketh.

Pilot's boat.

9. Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound, «. , .
Which sky and ocean smote, Mariner is

Like one that hath been seven days drowned saved in the
My body lay afloat ;
But swift as dreams, myself I found
Within the Pilot's boat.

10. Upon the whirl, where sank the ship
The boat spun round and round ;
And all was still, save that the hill
Was telling of the sound.

11. I moved my lips— the Pilot shrieked,
And fell down in a fit ;
The holy Hermit raised his eyes, ^
And prayed where he did sit. *"

12. I took the oars : the Pilot's boy,
Who now doth crazy go,
Laughed loud and long, and all the while
His eyes went to and fro. ^
' Ha ! ha ! ' quoth he, ' full plain I see,
The Devil knows how to row. '

13. And now, all in my own countree,
I stood on the firm land !
The Hermit stepped forth from the boat,
And scarcely he could stand.

ii !

THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT . MARINEa

Tho ancient 14^
Mariner
earnestly
entreateth
tbe Hermit
to shrieve
him ; and
the penance i p;
of life falls ■*•"•
oi.> him.

And ever
and anon
throughout
his future
life an agony
constraineth
him to travel
from laud to
laud.

16.

17.

18.

19.

O shrieve me, shrieve mo, holy man !
The Hermit crossed his brow.
' Say quick, ' quoth he, ' I bid thee say —
What manner of man art thou ? '

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched
With a woful agony,
Which forced me to begin my tale :
And then it left me free.

Since then, at an uncertain hour,
That agony returns :
And till my ghastly tale is told,
This heart within me burns.

I pass, like night, from land to land ;
1 have strange power of speech ;
The moment that his face I see,
I know the man that must hear me :
To him my tale I teach.

What loud uproar bursts from that door ?
The wedding-guests are there :
But in the garden-bower the bride
And bride-maids singing are ;
And hark the little vesper bell,
Which biddeth me to prayer !

O Wedding-Guest ! this soul hath been
Alone on a wide wide sea :
So lonely 'twas, that God himself
Scarce seemed there to be.

20. sweeter than the marriage-feast^
'Tis sweeter far to me,
To walk together to the kirk
With a goodly company ! —

THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER.

21.

22.

23.

24.

25.

To walk together to the kirk,

And all together pray,

While each to his great Father bends,

Old men, and babes, and loving friends,

And youths and maidens gay !

Farewell, farewell ! but this I tell
To thee, thou Wedding-Guest !
He prayeth well, who loveth- well
Both man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small ;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all."

The Mariner, whose eye is bright.
Whose beard with age is hoar.
Is gone : and now the Wedding-Guest
Turned from the bridegroom's door.

He went like one who hath been stunned,
And is of sense forlorn :
A sadder and a wiser man.
He rose the morrow morn.

And to teach
by his own
example
love and re-
verence to
all things
that Qod
made and
loveth.

1797.

NOTES TO ANCIENT MARINER.

I fJI f!

m i

Hi ii

ft' 'm

The measure is generally that of alternate linen of 4 » a {x—
unaccented, a=aoceut(*d, syllable) measure — Iambic tetrameter,
and 3 x a — Iambic trimeter ; but xxa foot [anapceatio are very
common, aa also ax (^roc/wttc)— urfually at the beginning of a
line. In general the second and fourth lines rnymo, but there
»re variations, as in 12; middle rhyme, as in 6, line 1, is very
common and very effective — 12, 1. 6; 15, 1. 3.
1. The abrupt opening of the noora is a common feature in
ballads, as are also the repetitions in the poem. Remark
the archaic form of \s'ords and archaic expressions ; also,
that the vary appeai'ance of the " mariner" has something
supernatural in it, and that no place is mentioned.
4. Nothing is allowed to interfere with the Mariner's tale.
9. Note this picture of gaiety as a contrast to tie gloom of the

story to follow.
12. Show fully all the points of comparison in this simile- Note
the position of the ship as regards the sun.

14. Clif ts : clefts, or, perhaps, cliffs.

16. L,4, swound: awoon. Is is said that people in a swoon often
hear loud noises. Note the fine imitative harmony.

L 4. Why should this be?

Vespers : by metonymy for evenings. Note the ghostliness
of the scene in the last two lines.

Account for this sudden exclamation on the part of the
"Wedding-Guest"; and also for the character of the
Mariner's answer. How should this answer ')e read ?
Bemark here the character of the dumb message brought
by the bird ; the friendliness and sympatliy of the bird ;
its trustfulness ; the pleasxire it gave ; its innocence and its
defencelessness ; also the character of the scene amid
which the crime took place, as if Nature mourned for the

16.
19.

20.

N0TK8 TO ANCIENT MARINER

CO a {x—
\rameter,
are very
ling of a
)ut there
., is very

jature in

Be mark

ns; also,

)metliing

ale.

m of the

lO'. Note

3on often

lostliuess

rt of the
c of the
ead?

brought
ilie bird;
ce and its
ine amid
d for the

act, or wonld like to hide it from view. Remark, too, tliat
the kilhng of the bird is a orime aKainst each of thoRe
virtuei, or those conditionB, that appeal most Btroniilv to
our better nature. " '

1. Account for this change, Of. I., 7.

2. Why niention these thiuL's? What is the Mariner's state of

mmd? Note the vivid realization of the whole story ; the
Manner lives over again all the scenes and feelings of the
past.

3. There are numerous anecdotes illustrating the baperstition of

sailors regarding the killing of sea-birds.

4. L. 1: Examine the punctuation of this line. What con-

struction has " like "?

L. 2: uprist^up-riaed, a weak preterite. Chaucer has

"the Sonne upriBte"=:sunriHe, in which "upriste" is a

noun.

L. 3: Note that the sailors, both here and in stanza throe
say nothing about the moral guilt of the act; with tluun
right and wrong are measured only by immediate effects-
^; "Pon themselves. They judge from a selfish, not from a
^ -dotal, point of view.

6. Observe the fine effect of the threefold alliteration of this
stanza.

LI. 3-4 : The Mariner is so absorbed in the memory of the
horrors undergone in " that silent sea" that he forgets his
listener knows nothing of it, and speaks as if he were talk-
ing to himself and the scene were before his eves Of I
20, 11. 8, 4, and note. ^ *'

6. L. 3: break. A provincial pronunciation here=breek.

7. Are these statements descriptive of real, natural phenomena ?

If so, account for th« phenomena. Where was the ahii) ?
Was the calm supernatural ?

8. Eemark the extreme terseness, force, and vividness of this

stanza. What effect does the repetition of " paiuted " pro-
duce? Compare with "water" in stanza 9.
10. The statements here made are by no means wholly fanciful.
Tho stillness of the water during long onlnm in the low
latitudes gives opportunity lo innumerable gelatinous aui-
mals to develop themselves. Many of these animals are
phosphorescent. Wind is an important agent in keeping
the ocean pure, for by agitating the water it keeps the
gelatinous animals from forming.

NOTKH TO ANCIENT MARINER.

Death fires. Thin name wan piven by Huperstitious people to
certain phoHphorcHcent li^'hts amxiaring to pome from
houBCH or the jjroutid. They lorotohl doatli, and the
coiuHo thoy took marked out the road, it was said, by
which the corpse would be borne to the grave.

13. Cf., 8, 4, and note

14. LI. 3, 4: Give the full meaning conveyed here. What is the

oroBB emblematic of ?

III.

2. Wist, pist tense of to wit (Ang.-Sax., toitan), to know;
present tense, wot. What is the force of the repetition of
moved ?

5. Gramercy: thanks,— from French grand, great, and merci,

thanks. Why did the crew thank the Mariner? Is the
act described in 11. 4, 6 true to nature ?

6. What does the pointing at the end of line 2 indicate? Is

there any chauKO of tone in the speaker? If so, why?
See marginal note.

7. This stanza and the rest of III. are of extraordinary impres-

siveness and vividness, more so than r.ny other part of tlie
poem. Ex[)lain carefully the reason of the appearance
indicated in line 1
9. Gossamers • The origin of this word is obscure. Some say it
is a corruption of *' gqoHe-summor," from the downy aj)-
jearance of tlie tlireadsrigoose-sumnier thread. "Av
egend says that when the Virgin Mary was taken to
; heaven her sliroud fell away into fine fraginents, and have
:ioated about ever since. It is this divine origin that is
indicated by the first syllable, i.e., God-summer."—
(Wedgewood.)

10. After this stanza the original (1798) edition had the following:

His bones were black with many a crack,
All black and bare I ween ;
Jet black and bare, save where with ru8|
Of mouldy damps and chanial crust,
They're patched with purple and green.

11. Life-in-Beath . Not life alone, for the Mariner waa to pass

through horrors from which death would have been a
welcome refuge. His life was to be one of continuous
penance.
13. Within the tropics the twilight is very short ; in some places

NOTES TO ANCIENT MAniNER

IS people to
•ome from
I, and the
as Haid, by

7hat is the

, to know ;
^petition of

and merci,
er ? Is the

licate ? Is
[f BO, why ?

iry impres-
part of tlie
appearance

Some say it
downy au- /
iread. " AsJ
18 taken to
ts, and have
igin that la
iuinmer." —

e following:

was to pass
ave been a
continuous

some places

i^Mh^S'''^'"" '" "'" *'"®™ ^""^*^ ^^ '*''"*''^' literally

14. LI. 4. Cf. I., 19 and note

17. L. 4. Why (-hoose this comparison? Would not any other
W„W r'\% Comment on the character of the word
w/mz In 1. 3 ih there an error in grammar ? Tf not. how
can the exprosHion be justified ? Show if lu.iKuuge is con-
stanza 4. ii,^*i'%^^P^'«'*"°" °' thought" merely Cf IV..

IV.

1. Wordsworth suggested the last two lines of this stanza. The
ribbed markings are produced on the beach by the
ripples of the retiring tide. ^

The interruption of tTie " Weddin,-G„e8t," here and else-
where, recalls us to ourselves, and serves to show us how
intensely we are interested in the Mariner's story, and
how far we have left our own world behind us.

4. Eemark the spirit that the Mariner still evinces toward the
humble creatures of nature— the same aa that which he
showed when he killed the albatross

6 Or ever: ''Or is the Ang.-Sax oer=ere." before. It is pro-
bable that or ere arose as a duplicate expression, in which
ere repeats and explains or, later, ere was confuRod with
T f^oA^'^f expression or ever. " See Daniel vi , 24
LA. 3-4 : Coleridge does not scruple to ntate what has been
the experience of all of us in this particular.

9. In the Bible, oppression of " the fatherless and the widow" is
one of the great sins charged against the Jews.

11. Eemark the splendor of the pictures here and in the two fol.
lowing stanzas.

12-13. The following extract from Herschel's Physical Geography
shows that Coleridge is not describing an altogether
imaginary state of tlie sea :-«« Captain Kingman, in lat.
8 deg 46 mm. south, long. 106 deg. 30 min. east, passed
through a tract of water 23 miles in breadth and of un-
known length so full of minute (and some not very
minute) phosphorescent organisms, as to present the as-
pect at night of a boundless plain covered with snow
Some of these animals were serpents of six inches iii
length, of transparent, gelatinous consistenoy, and verv
lurnmous. • * The phosphorescence of the ocean pre-
vails largely through the whole extent of the tropical
seas, and proceeds from a great variety of marine organ-

}£

-^^^v^«

!
i 1

i .:-ii

. i:!

i i

lu. H

Itii

NOTES TO ANCIENT MARlNfiB.

isms — ^onm soft and gelatiL^ous, some minute Crustacea,
Sec. They shine mostly when excited by a blow, or by
agitation of the water, or when a fish darts along, or oar
dashes, or in the wake of a ship when the water closes on
the track. In the latter case are often seen what appear
to be large lumps of light rising from under the keel and
floating out to the surface, apparently of many inches in
diameter. * * One of the most remarkable of the
luminous creatures is a tough, cartilaginous ba^ or mufl-
shaped body of more than an inch in length, which, when
thrown doWn on the deck, bursts into a glow so strong as
to appear like a lump of white hot iron. One of the most
curious phases of phosphorescence • • is the appear-
ance on the surface of calm or but little agitated water of
luminous spaces of several square feet in area, thining fit-
fully, and bounded by rectilinear, or nearly rectilinear,
outlines, presenting angular forms, across which the light
flashes as if propagated rapidly along the surface."
itherto the Mariner has been thinking only of himself and
his miseries. When this selfish spirit passes away, and he
can see beauty, and happiness, and the enjoyment of life
in the very lowest forms of Nature's living creatures, then,
consciously or unconsciously, he re psnts of his wanton
deed and receives divine pardon. HflBCffortti his feelings
*are different, for he knows he will be saved from his ter-
rible position, though the demands of the Spirits for fur-
ther vengeance will be e %nted. Nothing any longer will
inspire fear or horror ; his language is cheerful or solemn.
The dropping off of the Albatross is a token of pardon, as
the hanging of it about his ueck WM a token of bis orime.

1. L. 5: Note the appropriateness of this idea.

3. Silly : in the bense of happy, blessed, the old meaning of the

wo^d.
'j-S. Remark the extraordinary splendor of this description and

how the magic of language and imagination converts the

perfectly natural storm into a supernatural one. Stanza

6 is especially weird ; the black cloud with the moon at

its edge heightens the effect.
9. Spirits usually do their work in the dark, and depart when

the light comes.
11. L. 5 : The absence of real human life is shown by the way in

Txrhi^.h the limbs were moved.

NOtES to ANCIENT MARINER.

) Crustacea,
blow, or by
long, or oar
>r closes on
vhat appear
16 keel and
y inches in
nble of the
3ft^ or mnff-
^hich, when
10 strong as
of the most
the appear-
led water of
$hining fit-
rectilinear,
oh the light
ice."

himself and
vray, and he
ment of life
itures, then,
his wanton
his feelings
rom his ter-
rits for fur-
longer will
1 or solemn.
[ pardon, as
>i bis crime.

aning of the

sription and
converts the
ne. Stanza
ihe moon at

iepart when

J the way in

14-18. Remnrk this pleasing change from the horrors that pre-
cede—the voices of the happy "spirits blessed." and how
the Manner delights to dwell upon their songs and tho
pleasant sonnils. The sounds dart eagerly homeward, but
return reluctantly, as if wishing to avoid the earth,

23. L. 2 : I declare: merely "I do not know."

24. Note the character of the " two voices in the air." They

know the guilt of the Mariner, and are interested in what
occurs on earth.

VI.

2-3. Observe this magnificent conception of the ocean I Con-
trast with this the scientific way of expressing the same
idea.

G. The Mariner is now freed from the bonds of the avenging
spirits and Nature once more becomes familiar to him,
though the evidence of his crime and its bitter consequences
are still before him. He eagerly looks forth for his coun
try again, regardless of all else.

11. LI. 3-4: Remark Coleridge's close observation of nature. A
slight breeze will produce a " shade " on the water, in
reality caused by the very minute ripples raised by the
breeze. ""

15.

J 7.

LI.

23.

4: Why make this alternative ?
3-4 : Compare this splendid picture with Shelley's :—
"All the earth and air

With thy song is loud.
As, when night is bare,

H'rom one lonely cloud
The moon rains out her beamg, and heaven is overjlotoed,"

Splendid as both are, there can be no doubt which is the
more exquisite.

What is the poet's reason for using the word "steady"?
Cf. stanza 16, 1. 4, pointing v.-t the connection.
By her stillness and beauty did Nature declare her forgive-
ness and reconciliation? But remark how short-lived is
the intense happiness of the Mariner! As soon as he
comes in contact with his fellow-man his new penance be-
gins and new sorrows arise.

L. 3 : The Mariner sees the " seraphs" for the first time. He
does not see them rise from the bodies ; and now, when
they are to go away, he must not witness their departure.

V-:

54 NOTES TO ANCIENT MARINER.

25. LI. 5-6 : The minister of the divine religion will perform the
rites that are appointed as outward tokens of the inward
divine forgiveneae upon due repentance.

vn.

6. A-feared : This is a correct, though obsolete form ; it is not
a corruption of afraid.

8. There could be no other fitting end for a ehip that had been

the scene of so many wonders.

9. L. 3 : The bodies of the drowned are said to float after seven

or nine days.
11. Some terrible change must have taken place in the Mariner's
appearance in order to produce such grave effects as it did.
He has also been endowed with a certain supernatural

Eower (stanzas 16-17) for the purpose of teaching the lesson
e bears.

17. Coleridge here interweaves, without doubt, the medicsval le-

gend of the Wandering Jew. The legend says that as Christ,
bearing tha cross, was being hurried forward to execution
he wished to rest at the door of a certain Jew, a shoe
maker, but the latter drove him off with insult. Where-
upon Christ turned round, and looking upon him, said, "I
shall stand and rest, but thou shalt go till the last day."
After the crucifixion the Jew became perforce a pilgrim,
and having embraced Christianity he passes from land to
land, often preaching or reproving sin, especially swear-
ing, but is usually reserved, answering only direct ques-
tions. He speaks correctly the language of each country
to which he comes. He was last seen in 1721 at Munich,
in Bavaria, so report says.

18. Notice how we are aroused, as it were, from a spell by the

breaking in of the "Lad uproar"; the fascination is now
gone, and we hear and apply to real life the lesson that
was taught amid supernatural horrors.

23. SoCowper:

'* Mercy to him that shows it, is the rule

And righteous limitation of its act

By which Heaven moves in pardoning guilty

NOTES TO ODES.

b after seven

ODE TO THE DEPARTING TEAB,

,*L^'*?*^® ^^ composed on the 24th, 25th, and 26th days of December
1796 ; and was first published on the last day of that year. '"^e^oer,

The four short poems following, all refer to Coleridge person-
ally ; the two first are " political poems " ; the others depict his
flta^ of mmd in view of failing powers and wasted time

The " Ode to the Departing Year " is valuable only in so far
fts It affora? us a view of the youthful poet's mind, and of the
extravagances to which fanatical enthusiasm may carrv a warm
imaginative nature.

In "Fears in Solitude" he retracts nearly all he has said
against England, and more than half confesses he was one of
those who

" Dote with a mad idolatry; and all
Who will not fall before their images,
And yield them worship, they are enemiea.
Even of their country 1 "

I. The Spirit is God; and though the things that happen in
time seem confused and aimless, like notes on the harp an-
parently struck at random, and therefore, hard to the unskilled to
reconcile with harmony; yet the poet trusts submissively and
calmly in Heaven. But the departing year, a time for thoughtfui-
ness, arouses him to give utterance to what he feels.

II. The sorrows and joys referred to are the deepest and
tenderest of our nature ,; the poet says these must not be indulged
bv'Z^^TS'? Liberty, that has just been born, is warred against

Z.i^T .t*^''*-''*'' '"^ °*^ier ^ords, all people (no matter what
may be their joys or sorrows) should help to carry out the
principles and aims of the French Revolutionists.

"Or where- -torch." Hymen, the god of marriage is re-

presented as bearing a torch ; « the two bright torches blending "
probably means the marriage of those who really love each
Ocner. - .

NOTBS TO 0DB8.

Perplexed, as if people were in anspenae as to what was going
to happen, liberty being a new thing on earth.

Young-eyed, joy being accompanied with ^.light, buoyant feel-
ing, sach as characterizes youth. Joy is " ever young. '

Whose — sUep. Simply, Gbd (or fate or destiny) who brings
about changes in the coarse of time.

Nature—birth. Frenchmen had to defend their freedom against
united Europe ; one cause of the union agaiust them was that
they regarded themselves as the champions of freedom through-
out the world, and, intoxicated with their success in re-
pelling invasion, had offered to assist any nation that wanted
to get rid of its tyrants.

Dread name. Liberty. To the enthusiastic, the advent of
Liberty, or in other words, the overthrow of monarchs and the
establishment of republics, would lead all men to be truthful and
just. As if a government could change human nature I See
" Fears in Solitude," stanza " I have told," «S50.

EEL Northern Oonquereas. Catharine 11. Empress of Russia;
she died in 1796. " Conqueress " is an appropriate title, for she
enlarged Russia to the north-west; by two several partitions of
Poland, 1773, and 1795, she acquired by far the larger portion of
that kingdom ; and by wars with the Turks and Tartars of the
south she added very largely to the dominions of Russia, carrying
them to the Black Sea. Her private character was bad, but she
was liktd by the Russians, She became Empress through the
deposition of her husband by means of a revolution brought
about by her friends. She hated the French Bevolution, but
though joining the confederacy against it, was more busy in
annexing territory than in helping ner allies.

" Ah way." Note this Scriptural style of expression. See

Judges V. 28.

Murder— face. Catherine's husband, Peter III. , was murdered
after his deposition, but without her consent or knowledge.

Warsaw, Ismdil. The first of these refers to the uprising of
the Poles under Kosciusko, before the last division of Poland ;
the Poles were overthrown with great slaughter,

Ismail, a city at the mouth of the Danube, was taken by the
Russians from the Turks irf the war of 1768-74 ; an awful
massacre of men, women, and children followed.

The measure and rhythm of this whole stanza are those of
Gray's " Bard; " — both poems are pro|)hetic.
IV. This is a somewhat bold flight of the prophet-poet ; but

tiat was going

7.'

NOTBd TO ODBS.

buoyant feel-
ung.

r) who brings

eedom against
bem was that
dom through-
■ccess in re-
a that wanted

the advent of
irchs and the
6 truthful and
nature ! See

'ess of Russia ;
8 title, for she
partitions of
ger portion of
Far tars of the
issia, carrying
s bad, hut she
} through the
ition brought
evolution, but
more busy in

pression. See

, was murdered
aowledge.

he uprising of
>n of Poland;

? taken by the
74 ; an awful

a are those of

3het-poet; but

as French revolutionists had deposed God, it was probably not
presumption for the prophet to appear in the presence of God !
The imitation of Scripture here is evident ; tho poet deems
himself another Apostle John, who was " in the spirit," and saw
heaven in a vision. See Bevelatious v. 9-10; viii. 13.

Ayo — iiti. Referring, of course, to the omniscience of God,
who remembers all that men have done on earth.

Thy robe — gor0. It is too bad that Coleridge should have
allowed himself to use this expression ; although he is imitating
the style of John's Revelation, it is too much to make the gar-
ments of the departed year suggest to us the atoning sacrifice of
Christ. Coleridge was not irreverent, but French-republican
rhapsodists seemed to know no bounds.

Thou itorieda't. Related to Memory what had happened
on earth during his rule — i.e. , during the year 1796 1

Spirit of thtt Earth. This seems as if the youthful prophet-
poet saw more in heaven than John did ; John saw merely " the
spirits of the dead, both small and great," and spirits from the
" bottomless pit," and " heavenly spirits " I

This whole stanza borders very closely on bombast ; the only
redeeming part is " Where alone tits; *' a fine conception.

Cloudy seat. God's throne. See Rev. i. 7.

V. Thou — throning. Psalm xviii. 2.

Lampada seven. See Rev. i. 12, &c.

By peace eoared. See Greene's History d English People,

Chap. X., Sec. iv. — Progress of War.

Afrio's wrongs. The question of the abolition of slavery was
then being agitated. French republicans denied the negro's
right to freedom.

Deaf lies. Referring, doubtless, to the British parlia-
ment. See its character in Greene's History of England, reign
of Geo. III.

Thankless Island. England, " thankless " because, possessed
of blessings and some freedom (see xii.) herself, she does not join
France in propagating French revolutionist views. See also
"' Fears in Solitude," stanza " Thankless, too, for peace."

The Spirit of the Earth thinks that ** banded tyrants " will be
too strong for new-born Freedom, and calls upon God to inter-
fere in its behalf !

In character this stanza may fitly go with the preceding ; it is
boml)astic, or at least excessively turgid.

NOTES TO ODES.

t' i

Vn. Oompftre this with Brian's story of the effect produced
on him by a vision. Lady of the Lake, Canto IV. Coleridge
well knew what these sufferings by night are. See *' Pains of
Sleep."

VITI. The change from the beautiful stanza VIL is most
startling; the Spirit of the Earth must have re-appeared, or
else the poet takes upon himself to speak for him. The stanza
is one long maniac-shriek of blood and fury.

Destruction— dream, <&c. Destruction is now slumbering,
dreaming of the time when she shall assail Albion ! Are we to
suppose that Destruction, unable to attack England by armed
foreigners, is reduced to the necessity of employing volcanoes ?

IX. Birds of warning. Alluding to the old Greek myth of
the Harpies, foul creatures, half women, half bird, that had the
gift of prophecy.

J }iear 'pray. Destruction can never have enough.

Evil thing, England's thanklessnesa and her opposition to
the French revolutionists.

■^ith soil. The poet by writing and speaking hae done

what little he could to avert ruin from England.

jjfovj Seraphim, A somewhat remarkable close to the

poem ! The poet does not say that he will rest silently, trusting
in an overruling Providence to make all things well ; but, now
that he has expressed his feelings, he will find happiness within
himself; and he resumes a calm state, becoming to one " created
in the image of God." ,-, , ,

In a poet of inferior powers this self-confidence would partake

of presumption.

FRANCE — IlS ODE.

A litle more than a year after writing the preceding poem,
Coleridge wrote this. By this time his faith in his idol, France,
had disappeared. The contrast between the two poems is great;
there is still an absence of simplicity,— perhaps the subject for-
bids it, but there is no bombast, no turgidity, no absurdity ; in
place of these there is a near approach to the sublime. Through-
out there is a chastened feeling,— not the maniac-raving of the
other poem,— resulting from grief at the overthrow of cherished
hopes, and despair, and distrust of all on earth, but yet with
even a heightened love of freedom.

1. As the subject is freedom, the invocation or apostrophe to

NOTES TO ODES. 59

^^^^ ^th '^^ °^ freedom in nature is quite appropriate. There

" The sound as of a hidden brook,
In the leafy month of June."

It is the wilder sound and the wilder act of nature that in-
i^^lt^ uf P?et. and. makes him speak in exulting language
In the « Ancjeat Mariner " and " Ohristabel " there is the quiet
beautiful nature— and nature in any form was dear to Coleridge!

Note especially the effect of *' imperious in Save awina-

mg," and the lines " Inspired sound.*' ^

Compare this latter statement with the sentiment in " O
Lady, we receive but what we give," &c., in " Dejection."

II. Disenchanted nation. France, freed from tyranny.
Mung eight. What is meant ? Note the expression.

III. Atheists were leaders in the French revolution, and the
wildest excesses were committed by the government, especiallv
during the Terror; yat the poet thought that these would pass
away as the clouds of morning that obscure the sky pass awav
when the sun has risen. ^

Dissonance cease. The overthrow of the bloodv rule of thp
Committee of Public Safety is alluded to.

When France, dc. France successfully beat back all invaders
and in her turn successfully invaded the domains of her foes. *

Insupportably. Irresistibly.

Domestic treason. The insurrection in La Vendee and
Urittany, crushed out by General Hoche.

• ^^' ^^® P°®* breaks out in indignation at the action of France
in invading and subduing Switzerland, the immemorial home of
liberty. Pretending to fight for liberty, France deprived a free
people of their freedom, and thus became no better than kings.

V. Disappointed in France, the poet mournfully says that
ireedom IS not found where human power existb. This stanza
ana the hrst are the finest of this magnificent poem.

NOTES TO ODES.

DEJECTION.

(The Ballad of Sir PatHok Spenoe i$ found in Percy's " Be-

liquea.")

This Ode gives us a glance at Coleriage's Inward self; he was
given to fits of dejection, which arose partly from bodily pam
partly from physical weakness, and often also from the feeling
of his. iu a measure, wasted life. Some of his best poems were
written after one of these seasons of dejection, the softening m-
flubuce of which can be felt throughout.

Note in the poem the mournful strain ; how each picture and
landscape scene suggests melancholy ; and how the worst m each
case is foreboded.

I. Ooleridf?e is himself here in aU his power of musical
language. Note—" sobbing means."

Eclian lute. This consisted of ordinary violin strings strung
across a frame of the same sonorous character as the body o^ »
violin, out of a rectangular shape. The lute was placed where
a draft of wind would strike across the chords.

y^hich mute. Why this statement ?

Overspread thread. This is in Coleridge's best vein. Refer

to passage.^ iu the '« Ancient Mariner " and "Ohnstabel" which
speak of moonlight.

Old lap. This phenomenon is frequently seen ; it is caused,

nPODle suppose, bv the -noon's reflecting back to the earth the
Fight thafiThas^e tl ed from the earth -this latter light
having iu the first place been received from the moon.

II Remark the excessive heaviness of spirit in the whole
stanza, and that the poet is helplessly conscious of it; it IB a
heaviness that enters the soul and borders on despair.

And how exquisitely chosen the words are I One of the si^s
of Coleridge's waning powers, is this yielding to despairing
thoughts.

Tint green. Note here Coleridge's close observation of

nature.

IV. Lady shroud. Simply, the exterior world is what

we make it. If it appears joyless to us, it is because we are joy-
l^ss If it seems gay and happy it is b«OM- we feel so our.
selvM.

NOTES TO ODES.

of musioal

VOloud— shower The cloud and shower give life to
earth ; bo joy is life and springs from hfe.

Joy-— dower. When joy within ourselves unites with nature
everything becomes new ; and if nature inspires us with thouidits
higher than those of others, it is because it is due to ouraelves
aiuue.

VI. And fruits mine. Alluding to his plans for the future

Cnat were never carried out.

But ch- iynagination. Here is Coleridge's own confes-
sion of failing powers. His disease, and his fatal opium eati n^
brought with them dejection that was only too natural to him
and he knows its deadly effect; his poetic spirit is gone, and
the knowledge of that makes him more joyless still.

Abstruse research. Metaphysics. It is pitiful to read this
mournful confession,— for sheer defence against brooding sorrow
at the loss of the poetic spirit, he turns metaphysician. It is
but fair to believe Coleridge's frank, though despairing confes-
sion, rather than to attribute to laziness his failure to write
more. "* «o

Suitg-^whole. He had a taste for metaphysics, but now
tnis taste destroyed every other.

VII. Devil's yule. Yule is Christmas, the time of merriment.

Thou mighty Jiear. Notice how the varied sounds of the

wind suggest different ideas to the poet.

servatlon of

TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

•Ti?y°T ^^^^^^ *o is Wordsworth's "Prelude;" it opens
with Wordsworth's account of his own mental experience.

♦v,^V^T"?.°?^"\* carefully the remarks upon Wordsworth and
tbe Lake School of Poetry, in the introduction.

Vital,- — words. The belief in an intimate connection be-
tween external nature and the soul of man is everywhere seen
m the writings of Wordsworth, as it is also in the writings of
Coleridge. Not only were Wordsworth and Coleridge close ob-
I servers of external nature, but they ohserved narrowly the work-
I S ? L ^^^^ mind,-« distinguishing feature of the Lake

NOTES TO ODES.

lm;L mii^

o The po:c S«.lf a'nd the iuLence ol external natnre

^i^<,« for.e Currents of thought set in motion by some-

thi^g externTot-her currente of thought seem to an.e of them-

*^ u/^'« hA.tnwed When the poetio mood was upon him,

r',r t'Se"hXg-pWt o^ Imagination^ that%ade nauire
Sin^iro JZ,-theaame thougtt. precisely, as « expressed
in •'Dejection."

« Lady, we receive but what we give," &c.
Hyblean. Hybla. a town in Sicily, famous for its honey.

.t ^ , >A/. "Wnrrliworth had been a most en-

hopes from *^5*^_?^V^";Hvn Wordsworth celebrates the new-
K5'ra'„«'™DttrSeeBEaA":S«"5d;L^Depa.tin«year."
'irBta:::'c:mplTt::*e aescnptiono. thet^emes o, Words-

^ ytX'r— c;^an^«c2. The idea is much the same as shown
in the note on " not learnt— notes," below.

'^'*"' ' " He was not for an age, but for all time I "

f nr^h's'^ a^ t^^ct^r^CTh^n! s'tui i:;:re

nature— of what re as ^^^ ""^ . Veion-ing to country or place,
1° t'o.i^n'^vS'^ieri.r a in1™ry Stat.'

stT«r The n-Imes of the great t^ets that have Uved

Notes to odes.

68 of Words-

me tme that all great poets sang; but tho lav— tho kir./l .If

While the latter has been dilim>ntlv at wor^ ;,ri.oa I • Ti

beautiful as they may bo will DfiHRh wifj, i^; "is writinpffi,

placed „„ » co/n go Vthe sam'"^"™ ^s'lhe ™^^^^^ '"' """""
lethargy?"^ '^'" ''° "" """ »'''° '° '^">«'» hlmeeU from hia

ow?st:;^7„7i,p^rS'f htS,:a =' """' -' ■"">«■» hiB

no^o"of r"i;-;;i^u*r'"' ''"""'''S o" "^^ °™ short-ooming. with

Nor do thou.dc In beRging his friend not to think of him

Amid~-wing. Kemark in this fine figure how the nnof
dentifies himself, as it were, with the birdT even i^ the mntl

,me as shown

at have lived

YOUTH AND AGE.

As a whole this poem belongs to 1827.
poems same melancholy reigns throughout as in the preceding
It is not th«fT"' '' ^^r same too, his unhappy temperame t"
time of hiini -^ ""T^^^ ^'T^- °^^' ^"<^ his youth waTThe
of both ^ ^'^'"^'^^ ''"^ ^^' l«alth,-he lanientB the loss

in^a^M;;;:5^1Xal.'^^'' ™ ^^P^^ ^^ ^- ^^- participants

NOTES TO ODEa

Body wrong. His body was heavy, growing worse as he

grew older. ^ . . i

Thou. maaker hold. As if he thought hw present phyflioal

state wap hut a disguise assumed by youth for the moment.

Dew-drops. Dew-drops in the morning sun are beautiful but
are dull and sad in the evening when there is no sun. Hope
beloii" to youth and makes all Things beautiful ; but old age is
without the hope of youth, and therefore, it is duU like the even-

ing*

SMD OT MOTBB TO OOLEBIDOE'B POEMd.

<:^=^r^=^^^

worse AS he

ODE TO THE DEPARTING YEAR

The Ode commonceB with an addresato tho Divine Providervce,
that regulates into one vast harmony all the events of time,
however calamitous some of them may appear to mortals. The
second Strophe calls on men to suspend their private joys and
sorrows, and devote thora for a while to the cauHc of human
nature in j?eneral. The first Epode speaks of the EmpresH of
Russia, who difid of an apoplexy on the 17th of November, 1796;
having just concluded a subsidiary treaty with the Kings com-
bined against France. The first and second Antistrophe describe
the image of the Departing Year, &c.. as in a vision. The
second Epode prophesies, in anguish of spirit, the downfall of
this country.

Spirit who sweepest the wild harp of Time f

It is most hard, with an untroubled ear

Thy dark inwoven harmonies to hear !
Yet, mine eye fixed on Heaven's unchanging clime,
Long had I listened, free from mortal fear,

With inward stillness, and a bowed mind ;

When lo ! its folds far waving on the wind,
I saw the train of the departing Year !

Starting from my silent sadness,

Then with no unholy madness
Ere yet the entered cloud foreclosed my sight,
I raised the impetuous song, and solemnized his flight.

II.

Hither, from the recent tomb.

From the prison's direr gloom,
From distemper's midnight anguish ;
And thence, where poverty doth waste and languish f
Or where, his two bright torches ble iding.

Love illumines manhood's maze ;

li III''

.iH

i M
I

' 4

66 ODE TO THE DEPARTING YEAR

Or where o'er cradled infants bending
Hope has fixed her wishful gaze ;
Hither, in perplexed dance,

Ye Woes ! ye young-eyed Joys ! advance.

By Time's wild harp, and by the hand
Whose indefatigable sweep
Raises its fateful strings from sleep,
I bid you haste, a mixed and tumultuous band i
From every private bower,

And each domestic hearth,
Haste for one solemn hour ;
And with a loud and yet a louder voice,
O'er nature struggling in portentous birth,

Weep and rejoice !
Still echoes the dread name that o*'er the earth
Let slip the storm, and woke the brood of hell :

And now f.dvance in saintly jubilee
Justice and Truth ! They too have heard thy spell |
They too obey thy name, divinest Liberty !

in.

I marked Ambition in his Avar-array !

I heard the mailed Monarch's troublous cry

"Ah ! wherefore does the northern Conqueress stay /
Groans not her chariot on its onward way ? "
Fly, mailed Monarch, fly !
Stunned by Death's twice mortal mace,
No more on murder's lurid face
The insatiate hag shall gloat with drunken eye !
Manes of the unnumbered slain !
Ye that gasped on Warsaw's plain 1
Ye that erst at Ismail's tower.
When human ruin choked the streams.

Fell in conquest's glutted hour,
'Mid women's shrieks and infant's screams I
Spirits of the uncoffiiied slain.

Sudden blasts of triumph swelling,

ODE TO THE DEPARTING YEAR.

Oft, at night, in misty train,

Rush around her narrow dwelling !
The exterminating fiend is fled —

(Foul her life, and dark her doom)
Mighty armies of the dead

Dance, like death-fires, round her tomb !
Then with prophetic song relate,
Each some tyrant- murderer's fate 1

IV.

Departing Year ! 'twas on no earthly shore
My soul beheld thy vision ! Where alone,
Voiceless and stern, before the cloudy throne,
Aye Memory sits : thy robe inscribed with gore,
With many an unimaginable groan

Thou storied'st thy sad hours ! Silence ensued,
Deep silence o'er the ethereal multitude,
Whose locks with wreaths, whose wreaths with glories shone.
Then, his eye wild ardours glancing,
From the choired gods advancing,
The Spirit of the Earth made reverence meet,
And stood up, beautiful, before the cloudy seat.

Throughout the blissful throng,
Hushed were harp and song :
Tii.1 wheeling round the throne the Lampads seven,
(The mystic Words of Heaven)
Permissive signal make :
The fervent spirit bowed, then spread his wings and spake !
" Thou in stormy blackness throning

Love and uncreated Light,
By the Earth's unsolaced groaning,
Seize thy terrors, Arm of might !
By peace with proffered insult soared.
Masked hate and envying scorn !
By years of havoc yet unborn !

i8t%% atl-ttt^e

ODE TO THE DEPARTING YEAB.

But chief by Afric's wrongs,

Strange, horrible, and foul !
By what deep guilt belongs
To the deaf Synod, 'full of gifts and lies ?'
By wealth's insensate laugh ! by torture's howl !
Avenger, rise !
Forever shall the thankless Island scowl,
Her quiver full, and with unbroken bow ?
Speak ! from thy storm-black Heaven 'O speak aloud
And on the darkling foe
Open thine eye of fire from some uncertain cloud I
O dart the flash ! O rise and deal the blow !
The Past to thee, to thee the Future cries !

Hark ! how wide Nature joins her groans below !
Rise, God of Nature ! rise."

VI.

The voice had ceased, the vision fled ;
Yet still I gasped and reeled with dread.
And ever, when the dream of night
Renews the phantom to my sight.
Cold sweat-drops gather on my limbs ;

My ears throb hot ; my eye-balls start ;
My brain with horrid tumult swims ;

Wild is the tempest of my heart ;
And my thick and struggling breath
Imitates the toil of death !
No stranger agony confounds

The soldier on the war-field spread.
When all foredone with toil and wounds,

Death-like ho dozes among heaps of dead !
(The strife is o'er, the day-light fled.

And the night-wind clamours hoarse !
See ! the starting wretch's head

Lies pillowed on a brother's corse 1)

VII.

Not yet enslaved, not wholly vilo,
Albion ! O my mother Isle !

ODE TO THE DEPARTING YEAR. 69

Thy valleys, fair as Eden's bowers,
Glitter green with sunny showers ;
Thy grassy uplands' gentle swells

Echo to the bleat of flocks ;
(Those grassy hills, those glittering dells

Proudly ramparted with rocks)
And Ocean mid his uproar wild
Speaks safety to his island-child.

Hence for many a fearless age

His social Quiet loved thy shore ;

Nor ever proud invader's rage
Or sacked thy towers, or stained thy fields with gore.

VIII.

Abandoned of Heaven ! mad avarice thy guide,
At cowardly distance, yet kindling with pride—
Mid thy herds and thy corn-fields secure thou hast stood,
And joined the wild yelling of famine and blood !
The nations curse thee! They with eager wondering

Shall hear Destruction, like a vulture, scream !

Strange-eyed Destruction ! who with many a dream
Of central fires through nether seas upthundering

Smoothes her fierce solitude ; yet as she lies

By livid fount, or red volcanic stream,

If ever to her lidless dragon-eyes,

O Albion ! thy predestined ruins rise,
The fiend-hag on her perilous couch doth leap,
Muttering distempered triumph in her charmed sleep.

IX.

Away, my soul, away !
In vain, in vain the birds of warning sing —
And hark ! I hear the famished brood of prey
Flap their lank pennons on the groaning wind I
Away, my soul, away !
I unpartaking of the evil thing,
With daily prayer and daily toil
Soliciting for food my scanty soil,

PRANCE : AN ODE,

Have wailed my country with a loud Lament.
Now I recentre my immortal mind

In the deep sabbath of meek self -content ;
Cleansed from the vaporous passions that bedim
God's Image, sister of the Seraphim.

FRANCE: AN ODE.

Ye Clouds ! that far above me float and pause,
Whose pathless march no mortal may control !

Ye Ocean- Waves ! that, wheresoe'er ye roll,
Yield homage only to eternal laws !
Ye Woods ! that listen to the night-birds singing,

Midway the smooth and perilous slope reclined,
Save when your own imperious branches swinging,

Have made a solemu music of the wind !
Where, like a man beloved of God,
Through glooms, which never woodman trod.

How oft, pursuing fancies holy.
My moonlight way o'er flowering weeds I wound,

Inspired, beyond the guess of folly,
By each rude sh ipe and wild unconquerable sound 1
O ye loud Waves ! and O ye Forests high !

And O ye clouds that far above me soared !
Thou rising Sun ! thou blue rejoicing Sky !

Yea, every thing that is and will be free :

Bear witness for me, wheresoe'er ye be.

With what deep worship I have still adored
The spirit of divinest Liberty.

When France in wrath her giant -limbs upreared,
And with that oath, which smote air, earth and sea,
Stamped hor strong foot and said she would be free.

PRANOB : AN ODE.

Bear witness for me, how I hoped and feared I
With what a joy my lofty gratula^^^ion

Unawed I sang, amid a slavish band :
And when to whelm the disenchanted nation,

Like fiends embattled by a wizard's wand,
The Monarchs marched in evil day,
Ai^ Britain joined the dire array :

Though dear her shores and circling ocean,
Though many friendships, many youthful loves

Had swol'n the patriot emotion
And fiung a magic light o'er all her hills and groves ;
Yet still my voice, unaltered, sang defeat

To all that braved the tyrant-quelling lance,
And shame too long delayed and vain retreat !
For ne'er, O Liberty ! with partial aim
I dimmed thy light or damped thy holy flame ;

But blessed the pseens of delivered France,
And hung my head and wept at Britain's name.

III.

**And what," I said, "though Blasphemy's loud scream

With that sweet music of deliverance strove !

Though all the fierce and drunken passions wove
A dance more wild than e'er was maniac's dream !

Ye storms, that round the dawning east assembled,
The Sun was rising, though ye hid his light !"

And when, to soothe my soul, that hoped and trembled,
The dissonance ceased, and all seemed calm and bright ;

When France her front deep-scarr'd and gory,

Concealed with clu Altering wreaths of glory ;
When, insupportably advancing.

Her arm made mockery of the warrior's tramp ;
While timid looks of fury glancing,

Domestic treason, crushed beneath her fatal stamp,
Writhed like a wounded dragon in his gore ;

Then I reproached my fears that would not flee ;
'"And soon," I said, " shall Wisdom teach her lore
In the low huts of them that toil and groan !

PRANOB . AN ODB.

And, conquering by her happiness alone,

Shall France compel the nations to be free,
Till Love and Joy look round, and call the Earth their

own.

lY.

Forgive me. Freedom I O forgive those dreams I
I hear thy voice, I hear thy loud lament,
From bleak Helvetia's icy cavern sent—

I hear thy groans upon her blood stained streams !
Heroes, that for your peaceful country perished,

And ye that, fleeing, spot your mountaiu-suows

With bleeding wounds ; forgive me, that I cherished

One thought that ever blessed your cruel foes I
To scatter rage, and traitorous guilt,
Where peace her jealous home had built,
A patriot-race to disinherit

Of all that made their storiay wilds so dear ;
And with inexpiable spirit

To taint the bloodless freedom of the mountaineer—

O France, that mockest Heaven, adulterous, blind,
And patriot only in pernicious toils.

Are these thy boasts. Champions of human kind ?
To mix with Kings in the low lust of sway,
Yell in the hunt, and share the murderous prey I
To insult the shrine of Liberty with spoils
- From freemen torn : to tempt and to betray ?

The Sensual and the Dark rebel in vain,
Slaves by their own compulsion 1 In mad game
They burst their manacles and wear the name

Of Freedom, graven on a heavier chain :
O Liberty I with profitless endeavour
Havi' I pursued thee, many a weary hour ;

But thou nor swell'st the victor's stram, nor ever
Didst breathe thy soul in forms of human power.
Alike from all, howe'er they praise thee,

DBJECTION : AN ODE.

(Nor prayer, nor boastful name delays thee)

Alike from Priestcraft's harpy minions,
And factious Blasphemy's obscener slaves,
Thou speedest on thy subtle pinions.
The guide of homeless winds, and playmate of the waves !
And there I felt thee !— on that sea-cliff"s verge,

Whose pine, scarce travelled by the breeze above,
Had made one murmur with fhe distant surge !
Yes, while I stood and gazed, my temples bare
And shot my being through earth, sea and air,
Possessing all things with intensest love,
O Liberty, my spirit felt thee thera
February f 1797.

DEJECTION: AN ODE.

Late yestreen I saw the new Moon,
With the old Moon in her arms ;
And I fear, I fear, my Master dear!
We shall have a deadly storm.

BALLAD OF SIR PATRICK SPENCE.
1.

Well ! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made
The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence,
This night, so tranquil now, will not go hence
Unroused by winds, that ply a busier trade ^

Than those which mould yon cloud in lazy flakes,
Or the dull sobbing draft, that moans and ra.kes
Upon the strings of this Eolian lute.
Which better far were mute.
For lo ! the New-moon winter-bright !
And overspread with phantom light,
(With swimming phantom light o'erspread
But rimmed and circled by a silver thread)
I see the old Moon in her lap, foretelling
The coming on of rain and squally blasl

DEJECTION : AN ODE.

And oh ! that even now the gust wore swelling,

And the slant nigh+.-shower driving loud and fast !
Those sounds which oft have raised n^e, whilst they awed,

And sent my soul abroad,
Might now perhaps their wonted impulse give,
Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and live !

II.

A grief without a pan^ void, dark, and drear,
A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief.
Which finds no natural outlet, no relief,
In word, or sigh, or tear —

Lady ! in this wan and heartless moo ',
To other thoughts by yonder throstle woo'd,

All this long eve, so balmy and serene,
Have I been gazing on the western sky,

And its peculiar tint of yellow green ;
And still I gaze — and with how blank an eye !
And those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars,
That give away their motion to the stars ;
Those stars, that glide behind them or between.
Now sparkling, now bedimmed, but always seen ;
Yon crescent Moon as fixed as if it grew
In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue ;

1 see them all so excellently fair,

I see, not feel how beautiful they are !

III.

My genial spirits fail ;
# And what can these avail
To lift the smothering weight from off my breast

It were a vain endeavour,

Though I should gaze for ever
On that green light that lingers in the west ;;
I may not hope from outward forms to win
The passion and the life, whose fountains are within.

IV.

O Lady ! we receive but what we g^ve.
And in our life alone does nature live :

©BJBOTION : AN ODE.

Ours is her wedding-garment, ours her shroud !

And would we aught behold, of higher worth,
Than that inanimate cold world allowed
To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd,

Ah ! from the soul itself must issue forth,
A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud

Enveloping the Earth —
And from the soul itself must there be sent

A sweet and potent voice, of its own birth,
Of all sweet sounds the life and element !

O pure of heart ! thou need'st not ask of me
What this strong music in the soul may be !
What, and wherein it doth exist.
This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist,
This beautiful and beauty-making power.

Joy, virtuous Lady ! Joy that ne'er was given.
Save to the pure, and in their purest hour.
Life, and Life's effluence, cloud at once and shower
Joy, Lady ! is the spirit and the power,
Which, wedding Nature to us, gives in dower,

A new Earth and new Heaven,
Undreamt of by the sensual and the proud —
Joy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous cloud —

We in ourselves rejoice !
And thence flows all that charms our ear or sight,

All melodies the echoes of that voice,
All colours a suffusion from that light.

There was a time when, though my path was rough.
This joy within me dallied with distress.

And all misfortunes were but as the stuff
Whence Fancy made me dreams of happiness :

For Hope grew round me, like the twining vine.

And fruits, and foliage, not my own, seemed mine.

If :
k 1

1 1

•I

!•

t '.

Dejection : an odb.

But now afflictions bow me down to earth :
Nor care I that the> rob me of my mirth,

But oh ! each visitation ^

{Suspends what nature gave i:k< a,v u.v birth,

My shaping spirit of Imagiiiatuu;.
For not to think of what I needs must feel,

But to be still and patient, all I can ;
AihI haply by { bstruse research to steal

From my own nature all the natural man—

This was my sole resource, my only plan '
Till that which suits a part infects the whole,
And now is almost grown the habit of my soul.

VII.

Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around my mind,

KeaUty's dark dream !
I turn from you, and listen to the wind.

Which long has raved unnoticed. What a scream
Of a<»ony by torture lengthened out ^ -it, 4.

That lute sent forth ! Thou Wind, that ravest without,

Bare craig, or mountain tairn,* or blasted tree,
Or pine-grove whither woodman never clomb,
Or lonely house, long held the witches home,

Methinks were fitter instruments for thee,
Mad Lutanist 1 who in this month of showers,
Of dark brown gardens, and of peeping flowers,
Mak'st Devils' yule, with worse than wintry song.
The blossoms, buds, and timorous leaves amoig.

Thou Actor, perfect in all tragic sounds I
Thou mighty Poet, e'en to frenzy bold 1
What tell'st thou now about ?
'Tis of the rushing of a host in rout,

With groans of trampled men, with smarting wounds-
At once they groan with pain, and shudder with the cold I

heard it at niyht, and in a mouniainous country.

TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

But hush 1 there is a pause of deepest silence !

And all that noise, as of a rushing crowd,
With groans, and tremulous shudderings— all is over-
It tells another tale, with sounds Lss deep and loud !
A tale of less affright,
And tempered with delight.
As Otway's sol " had framed the tender lay,
'Tis of a little child
Upon a lonesome wild,
Not far from home, but she hath lost her way !
And now moans low in bitter grief and fear,
And now screams loud, and hopes to make her mother
hear.

VIII.

'Tis midnight, but small thoughts have I of sleep :
Full selclom may my friends such vigils keep !
Visit her, gentle Sku p ! with wings of healing,

And may this storm be but a mountain-birth,
May all the stars hang bright above her dwelling,

Silt^nt as tiough they watched the sleeping Earth !
With hght heart may she rise,
Gay fancy, cheerful ej es,

Joy lift her spirit, joy attune her voice ;
To her may aH things live, from pole to pole,
Their Hfe the eddying of her living soul I

O simfde spirit, guid. d from above.
Dear Ladty ! friends devoutest of my choice,
Thue mayest thou ever, evermore rejoice.

TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

COMPOSED ON THE NIGHT AFTER HIS RECITATION OF A POEM ON THl
GROWTH F AN INDIVIDUAL MIND.

Friend of the wise . and ^eacher of the good !
Into my heart have I received that lay
More than historic, that prophetic lay

llf

TO WILLIAM WOUDSWOUTH.

Wherein (high theme by thee first sung aright)
Of the foundations and the l)uilding up
Of a Human Spirit thou hast dared to tell
What may be told, to the understanding mind
Revealable ; and what within the mind
By vital breathings secret as the soul
Of vernal growth, oft quickens in the heart
Thoughts all too deep for words ! —

Theme hard as high
Of smiles spontaneous, and mysterious fears,
(The first-born they of Reason and twin-birth)
Of tides obedient to external force.
And currents self-determined, as might seem,
Or by some inner power ; of moments awful,
Now in thy inner life, and now abroad,
When power streamed from thee, and thy soul received
The light reflected, as a light bestowed —
Of fancies fair, and milder hours of youth,
Hyblean murmurs of poetic thought
Industrious in its joy, in vales and glens
Native or outland, lakes and famous hills !
Or on the lonely high-road, when the stars
Were rising ; or by secret mountain streams,
The guides and the companions of thy way !

Of more than Fancy, of the Social Sense
Distending wide, and man, beloved a^ man,
Where France in all her towns lay vibrating
Like some becalmed bark beneath the burst
Of Heaven's immediate thunder, when no cloud
Is visible, or shadow on the main.
For thou wert there, thine own brows garlanded
Amid the tremor of a realm aglow,
Amid a mighty nation jubilant.
When from the general heart of human kind
Hope sprang forth like a full-born Deity !

Of that dear Hope afflicted ani struck down,

So summoned homeward, thenceforth calm and sure

TO WILLIAM WOIIUSWOUTH. 79

From the dread watch-tower of man's absolute self.

With light unwaning on her eyen, to look

Far on — hersolf a glory to behold,

The Angel of the vision ! Then (last strain)

Of duty, chosen laws controlling choice,

Action a!id joy ! — An Orphic song indeed,

A song divine of high und passionate^houghta

To their own music chanted !

O great Bard I
Ere yet that last strain dying awed the air,
With steadfast eye I viewed thee in the choir
Of ever-enduring men. The truly great
Have all one age, and from one visible space
Shed influence ! They, both in power and act,
Are permanent, and Time is not with them,
Save as it worketh for them, they in it.
Nor leas a sacred roll, than those of old,
And to be placed, as they, with gradual fame
Among the archives of mankind, thy work
Makes audible a linked lay of Truth,
Of Truth profound a sweet continuous lay.
Not learnt, but native, her own natural notes !
Ah ! as I listened with a heart forlorn,
The pulses of my being beat anew ;
And even as life returns upon the drowned,
Life's joy rekindling roused a throng of pains-
Keen pangs of Love, awakening as a babe
Turbulent, with an outcry in the heart ;
And fears self-willed, that shunned the eye of hope ;
And hope that scarce would know itself from fear ;
Sense of past youth, and manhood come in vain,
And genius given, and knowledge won in vain ;
And all which I had culled in wood- walks wild.
And all which patient toil had reared, and all,
Commune with thee had opened out — but flowers
Strewed on my corse, and borne upon my bier,
In the same co^n, fo|r tlie self-sswne grave I . .

-- -1
till

■Ki

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

That way no more ! and ill beseems it me,
Who came a welcomer in herald's guise,
Singing of glory, and futurity,
To wander back on such unhealthtul road,
Plucking the poisonf^, of self-harm ! And ill
Such intertwine beseems triumphal wreaths
Strewed before thy advancing !

Nor do thou,
Sage Bard ! impair the memory of that hour
Of thy communion with my nobler mind
By pity or grief, already felt too long !
Nor let my words import more blame than needs.
The tumult rose and ce^ ied : for peace is nigh
"Where wisdom's voice has found a listGumg heart.
Amid the howl of more than wintry storms,
The halcyon hears the voice of vernal hoara
Already on the wing.

Eve following eve,
Dear tranquil time, when the sweet sense of Home
Is sweetest ! moments for their own sake hailed
And more desired, more precious for thy song,
In sflence listening, like a devout child.
My 80«1 lay passive, by the viirious strain
Driven as in surges now beneath the stars,
With momentary stars of my own tarth.
Fair constellated foam,* still dartiiig off
Into the darkness ; now a tranquil sea,
Outspread and bright, yet swelling to the moon.

And when— O Friend ! my comforter and guide !
Strong in thyself, and powerful, tc give strength !—
Thy hmg sustained Song finally closed.

• ««A iMuiiiful white cloud of foum »l mom€»tary ist«rTa6i eowrsW !^
*u .-d «?^l v«J«l wkk a iwftT. Mid Ht,tle stars of flwn* <l«o«ed an*

TtW wh"?S S*TkVfoam darted o?fX the vessers^side.. each with
it JwB smTn Sellatton, o^^r the aea, and scoured ont of sight hke a
TwtTr t»J^ over a wilderness." -i'Ae Friend, p. 220.

YOUTH AND AGE.

And thy deep voice had ceased— yet thou thyself
Wert still before my eyes, and round us both
That happy vision of beloved faces —
Scarce conscious, and yet conscious of its close
I sate, my being blended in one thought
(Thou^<}it was it ? or aspiration ? or resolve ?)
Absorb^ad, yet hanging still upon the sound —
And when I rose. I found myself in prayer.

YOUTH AND AGE.

Verse, a breeze mid blossoms straying.
Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee—
Both were mine ! Life went a maying

With Nature, Hope, and Poesy,
When I was young I
When I was young ? — Ah, woful when ?
Ah I for the change 'twixt Now and Then !
This breathing house not built with hands,
This body that does me grievous wrong,
, O'er aery cliflFs and glittering sands,
How lightly then it flashed along : —
Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore,
On winding lakes and rivers wide,
That ask no aid of sail or oar.
That fear no spite of wind or tide !
Nought cared this body for wind or weather
When Youth and I liv'd in't together.

Flowers are lovely ; Love is flower-like ;
Friendship is a sheltering tree ;
! the joys, that came down shower-like,
Of Friendship, Love and Liberty,

Ere I was old.
Ere I was old ? Ah woful Ere,
Which tells me, Youth's no longer here !
Youth ! for years bo many and sweet,

g2 YOUTH AND AGE.

'Tis known, that Thou and I were one,
I'll think it but a fond conceit-
It cannot be that thou art gone !
Thy vesper bell hath not yet toll d :—
And thou wert aye a masker bold ?
What strange disguise hast now put (»ti,
To make believe, that Thou art gone (
I see these locks in silvery slips,
This drooping gait, this altered size :
But springtide blossoms on thy lips.
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes !
Life is but thought : so think I will
That Youth and I are house-mates still.

Dew-drops are the gems of morning,
But the tears of mournful eve !
Where no hope is, lira's a warning
That only serves to make us grieve,

When wc are old '.
That only serves to make us grieve
With oft and tedious taking-leave,
Like some poor nigh-related guest,
That may not rudely be dismist.
Yet hath out-stay' d his welcome while,
And tells the jest without the smile,

INTRODUCTORY.

Life of Macaulay.

Thomas Babington Macaulay (1800-1859) was the sea of
Zachary Macaulay, an English merchant, who took a lead-
ing part with Wilberforce, Clarkson, and others in securing
tlie abolition of the slave-trade, and whose house was a place
of frequent meeting for both political and social reformers,
many of whom, as well as the elder Macaulay himself, were
earnest, religious men. Though young Macaulay could not
fail to be deeply impressed by h:3 surround mgs, more
especially as he was very precocious, for some reason, he
never showed any particular liking for his father's religious
views ; but yet he always treated with deep respect every-
thing connected with his father. And when, through devo-
tion to questions of a philanthropic character, especially to
the abolition of slaverj, the father neglected his business,
and was reduced almost to poverty, the son cheerfully took
upon himself the task of supporting the family. Between
himself and his sisters the teuderest ■ attachment existed
through life, and his greatest grief was caused by the death
of one and the marriage of the other.

At Cambridge University, from which he graduated in
1822, he won distinction in classics and in writing English
verse, and took a foremost position as a speaker in the debat-
ing societies of the university.

He began his literary career in 1823, by contributions to a
magazine, but it was not till three years later, when he wrote
his essay on Milton, that he attracted general notice as a
writer. The literary ability displayed got him influential
friends, and in 1830, he entered Parliament in the Whig in-
terest, through the patronage of Lord Landsdowne. He at
once took an active part in the great question of the day,
parliamentary reforzn ; he soon ranked as one of the first

»I3

Ill

\l f

'. ' il

UFJ' OP MAOAtJLAY.

orators of the House. On the question of abolition of slavery,
two years later, he also spoke powerfully both in public
assemblies and in parliament.

In 1834, he went out to India as president of a Law t^om-
misaion, and member of the Supreme Council of Calcutta.
He had studied law in England, had been admitted to the
har, but disliking the profession, he had never practisecl.
Literature and politics had too much attraction for him.^ His
knowledge of law, however, was extensive, and it iitted him tor
the position he went to India to fill. He, however, was not pre-
judiced in favor of English law, and deeming that laws should
be made for the good of the governed, and adapted to their
peculiar need and circumstances, he caused the new code for
India that was drawn up under his direction to be made in
accordance with the requirements of the people of India—
not of England. .

He returned to England in 1828, and in the following year,
after returning from a tour abroad, was induced to enter
political life again as member for Edinburgh. He accepted
office in the government, to the strength of which he
materially contributed. In all the great questions of the day,
whether he was in opposition or in the government, Macaulay
took a leading and decisive part. In 1847, owing to the ex-
cited state of feeling in Scotland on the question of granting
support to denominational colleges, Macaulay lost his seat for
Edinburgh. He regretted it but little, for he had long been
disgusted with political life, and he wished for time to com-
plete the great work on which he was engaged, —his History.
Edinburgh, unasked, afterwards elected him again, but he
now took little interest in political discussion, resigned his
seat in the Commons, and the next year (1857) was made a
peer under the title of Baron Macaulay of Rothley. This
peerage was almost wholly due to Macaulay's literary ability.
His death was sudden, as he had always wished it to be.

Works. From 1823, till the close of his life, Macaulay
contributed essays to magazines, to the ** Edinburgh Me-
view,'' to the " Ehcydopcedia Britannica," and others. The
first collection of these was published in 1842, under the titb
of Critical and Historical Essays. These essays are upon
various topics ; those relating to English History subjects,
furnish in their own way, and from the author's point of view.

LtE'E Of* MACAULAt.

a tolerably connected narrative from Elizabeth's time to
Macaulay's own day. Some of the essays contain his most
finished and characteristic work ; of these, the two "Indiaa "
essays, on Clive and Hastings, rank among the best.

Lays of Ancient Rome. (1847.) A little volume of four
poems, embodying some of the legends of Ancient Rome.
These poems are studiously simple in character, but full of
force and fire, speaking to a rude simple people in language
that they could understand, and with allusions and appeals
that went directly home. In these Macaulay has caught the
very spirit of the old Romans.

With equal spirit he wrote The Battle of Nasehr/ ; Ivry,
celebrating the victory of Henry of Navarre, (Hen. IV. of
France) over the Leaguers ; and the Armada, the latter un-
finished.

History of England from thefAccession of James II. This
great work is incomplete. Macaulay proposed to bring his
narrative down to his own time, but the work is planned on
such a scale as to be impossible of completion during the life-
time of any one man. Four volumes (the first two bein^
published in 1849), and an incomplete fifth, bring the story
down tc 1701.

No history had ever been written on a scale of such magni-
tude or with such a purpose in view.

He aimed at presenting the past as a living reality, mak-
ing it pass before us as if we were then living, and were
witnesses of the scenes and actions he pictures < o us. The
same interest that we take in the present, therefore, he wishes
to arouse in us for the past ; he presents to us the actors,
their characters and motives ; the multitudinous causes at
work to produce every important national event are carefully
described. His history is, therefore, a narrative or descrip-
tion, not a treatise on national development, socially or con-
stitutionally. We read it in the same manner as we see the
present, not clearly perceiving the tendency and the results
of what is going on before us, but carried along with the
action as an interested spectator, but not as an actor. If we
wish philosophical history, and to trace the growth of politi-
cal and social ideas and their influence upon national life and
character, we must look els?v . re than in the pages of
Macaulay.

LIFE OP MAOAULAY.

Ofneceasitv therefore, «' scenic effect" muat hold a pro-
unnLt plao^^^^^^ such a trcatmcn.t of history and nothing mi^t
he intro^luce.1 that wouhl tend to make ^l^^^^;^^
Thia is the weak point in a history of this kind, foi it tempts
it mes too strongly for resistance t«. *^-?gff ^f ;«" ^^^ ^^^
sake of effect ; just as we are often inclined to add some
emben shments if our own when giving a "arratiye o oc-
cm-reS we have witnessed. The substantial truthfnlneas
and accuracy of Macaulay's history, has however, never been

^ThXt^S^tlry IS another and distinct type In
^ " '• i» -o-^^i. ,rUrwlnPHs hfe.— IS sacnhcod Ic

effect,— vividness, life,— is sacrificed

the

i'eve oS"t of „r£ it irelrneBt, but it makes the past
shadowrana unreal ; we are never made to feel tluvt the
a IsZre living persons actuated ),y 'h| same ,n,p.ls^s j.
WA nrp and living in tbeir own present, feucli history, iook
r/around at what the present is, starts in the remote past
an^d trices itp Ttep bv stop the changes that took place, the
new id J^is that were advanced, and shows how all combined to
XluTe wh t we see around u.. Such history only a philoso-
pher can write ; such a history as .....aulay's only a man
pher Jf ^ J^\7; ' . . _ et or painter, can write ; each may re
f ?. fro n Tts own stWpoint, and they may be equally
* f Ich has Yts own temptations and difficulties -those
Ke one are not t^^^^ of the other. Our choice between
?Lse two types of history will depend upon our own natural

^^Ttrfauuit'S in Macaulay's history are those of the
^I not of hs style of treatment. What is tme of his great
woriTs afso tru^^^^^^ his essays ; in all he wrote it was the

'Tac^uUv ™ a man of singularly straightforward char -
.Woidd never stoop to the tricks of a mere politician
^""^^'itJaane He supported his party strongly, but it was
Tn^hTSf intLSteousnessof its aims; he had re-
^ Vp^ the treat services done to the nation in the past by
tlTwhimitv he took part with that party in doing other
the Wing paity, n«iAJu y countrv but to humanity at

r'* Td'he sWl belLed that ts ahS were right. But he
'dTn t htsH:;''rorden.n both the ^^%^^ ^l^^^
when he thought they were wrong. He detested the KaiU

LIPT3 OP MACAULAY.

cals as much as he did High Tories. His outspoken defence
of the government grant to the Eoman (Catholic (Jollego of
Maynooth costhun his seat in Parliament for Edinburgh,

The aame determined spirit in support of what he deemed
the right, often led him to do injustice both to historical per-
sons and to his contemporaries. His dislike of Marlborough
was jntense, because he believed him false to his country and
wholly selfish. VValpole was equally disliked, an(i Sir Elijah
Impey. The conduct of all three at times was open to sus-
picion ; It was not straightforward and transparently
honest ; seliishness was evident. Therefore, IVIacaulay be-
lieved they were wholly corrupt, and refused to give them
credit for great qualities that they leally posses^^ed, and great
services that they really and honestly performed.

Ho was intensely patriotic ; it was the patriotism and
honesty of Cromwell and the Puritans generally, not sym-
patliy with their religion, that made Macaulay admire them.
Facaulay had no eye for natural scenery : a mountain, a
plain, a river, or a grove interested him only if some historical
association was connected with it. He was essentially a man
of men ; at home in human action and nowhere else. He
delights in displays of human poinp and grandeur.

He was omnivorous in his reading ; the number of large
and small volumes and the mass of pamphlets he read in
connection with the period covered bv his history is incredi-
r ",. f9^^^y> Sood or bad, novels, plays, ephemeral literature
of all kinds as well as solid works. He would read a novel
through while at breakfast, and know it all. Even in the
midst of hard work in India, in thirteen months he read the
works of thirty-two Classical authors, seven of them twice,
and this with greatest care. This passicm for miscellaneous
reading began when he was only three years old.

His memory was exceedingly powerful ; at the age of eight
he knew by heart all of Scott's "Lay," and nearly all of
Marmion " ; and the power of rapid acquisition and faithful
retention of what he had required never left him.'

Some Leading Features of Macaulay's Style —

Macaulay possessed in a marked manner the power of making
the past seem real, of causing it to pass, as it were, before his
eyes. Hence his historical descriptions have an extraordinary
degree of vividness, and his personages become living and

LIFE OP MAOAULAY.

k .j_.,i

moving characters, with their virtues and their vices tpen t*

^^Th'e splendid and magniticent had always a charm for hini,
and in descriptions of such he is at his best. He never wants
for the proper word-the whole storehouse of English « at
his immediate command. He never is confused ; every state-
ment is perfectly clear. a. i. n • ^

His short, abrupt sentences form one of his most striking
characteristics; indeed, he carries tj?" *?^^*J„f. ^^^J*
especially when these sentences are antithetical, and in anti-
thesis he delights. He loves the ''balanced sentence -a
compound sentence, the members of which have the same
construction and are of about the same length.

Liveliness and rapidity of movement result from his vivid-
ness of realization ; he often keeps his reader in suspense as to
his meaning ; and often the turn given is one wholly unlooked
for. Closely connected with this is his fondness for climax.
Indeed, his love of antithesis and of climax has laid him open
to the charge of exaggeration.

His imagery is of extraordinary splendor ; not that he
uses figurative language to any great extent, but the pictures
from tie past or the present that he summons up before the
mind by a word or by an allusion blend themselves with the
person or scene he is describing so that all is but one splendid

^NB— For other features in Macaulay's style, and for
illustration of the above, see the explanatory notes at the
end of the essay.

WARREN HASTINGa*

(OOTOBSB, 1841.)

Wi are inclined to think that we shall best meet
the wishes of our readers, if, instead of minutely ex-
amining this book, we attempt to give, in a way
necessarily hasty and imperfect, our own view of the
life and character of Mr. Hastings. Our feeling
toward him is not exactly that of the House of Com-
mons which impeached him in 1787 ; neither is it
that of the House of Commons which uncovered and
stood up to receive him in 1813. He had great
qualities, and he rendered great services to the State. 10
But to represent him as a man ot stainless virtue is
to make him ridiculous ; and from regard for his
memory, if from no other feeling, his friends would
have done well to lend no countenance to such adu-
lation. We believe that, if he were now living, he 15
would have sufficient judgment and sufficient great-
ness of mind to wish to be shown as he was. He
must have known that there were dark spots on his
fame. He might also have felt with pride that the
splendor of his fame would bear many spots. He 2")
would have wished posterity to have a likeness of
him, though an unfavorable likeness, rather than
a daub at once insipid and unnatural, resembling
neither him nor anybody else. "Paint me as I
am," said Oliver Cromwell, while sitting to young 25
Lely. " If you leave out the scars and wrinkles, I

* Memoirs of the Life of Warren Hastings, First OonernoT'Gen-
eral of Bentjal. Compiled from Original Papers, by the Rev. 'J. R,
Qlbio, M.A. 8 volt., 8 vo. London: 1841.

D; ¥

•^^i

i»'

WARREN llASTINOa

will not pay you a shilling." Even in Buch a trifle
U Zvt IVotoctor shown.1 both lus good senso and
hiB magnaniuuty. Ho did not wish a 1 hat w^a
characteriBtio in his couutonanco to bo lost, in to
va n attempt to give hitn the regular fea ureB and
smooth. blooming'cheekB of tho cur -pa^d m nK>nB
of James the First. Ho was content that hia taoo
Bhould go forth marked with all the blemiBhea which
D been put on it by time, by war, by aleepleBB
StB by anxiety, perhaps by remorse ; but with
X p Ucy, authority, and public care written m
In its prince y lines. If me" truly great knew heir
own interest,^t is thus that they would wish their

minds to be portrayed. • i. „. i ;n.,a

Warren Hastings sprung from an ancient and illua-
triouB race It has been affirmed that us pedigree
can be traced back to the great Danish sea-king
whose sas were long the terror of both coasts of the
Br tish Channel, and who, after many fierce and
do ibtful Btru.^gles, yielded at last to the valor and
S of Alfred. But the undoubted splendor of
the Ihie of Hastings needs no illustration from fable.
One branch of that line wore, in the fourteenth
century the coronet of Pembroke. From another
rranc/sprmig the renowned Chamberlain the aiUi^
fuf adherent of the White Rose, whose fate has fili-
ng hed so striking a theme both to poets and to lus^
torians. His family received ^^^^..^j^^ Judora the
earldom of Huntins^don, which, after a long ais
^ossessLi, was regained in our time by a aeries of
events scarcely paralleled "^^"^^l^^^- , . ^^^3.
The lords of the manor oi Daylesford, in Worces
tersMre claimed to be considered as the heads of
th" distinguished family. The main stock, indeed,
prospered less than some of the younger shoots.

was wealthy Ind highly considered, til , about two
hundred years ago, it was overwhelmed by the great

♦-

WAHUI N \8TINOa.

ruin of tho civil war. Tho ITaBtinjfB of that timo 05

WH8 a zealous cavn' r. Ho raiatd money on his
lands, sent his plate to tho mint at Oxford, joined
the royal army as d, nftor spending half lis property
in the cause of Kinj? Charles, was gla<, to ransom
iiimself by making ovor most of the romaiiiins} half 70
to Speaker L< ithal. Tho old seat a* <} still

remained in le family ; but it coulu ao .ongtr be
kept up ; and m the following generation ii was sold
to a merchant of London.

Before this transfer took ace, the last Hastings 75
of Daylesford had presented his second son to the
rectory of the parish in which the ancimt residence
of the family stood. The living was of little value ;
and the situation of the poor clergym;)n. after the
sale of the estate, was deplorable. was con- 80

stantly engaged in lawsuits about his tithes with the
new lord of tho manor, and was at length utterly
ruined. His eldest son, Howard, a well-conducted
young man, obtained a place in' the Customs. The
second son, Pynaston, an idle, worthless boy, ^nar- 85
ried before he was sixteen, lost his wife in two years,
and died in the West Indies, leaving to the care of
his unfortunate father a little orphan, destined to
strange and memorable vicissitudes of fortune.

Warren, the son of Pynaston, was born on the 6th 90
of December, 1732. His mother died a few days
later, and he was left dependent on his distressed
grandfather. The child was early sent to the village
school, where he learned his letters on the same
bench with the sons of* the peasantry ; nor did any- 05
thing in his garb or fare indicate that his life was to
take a widely different course from that of the young
rustics with whom ho studied and played. But no
cloud could overcast tlio dawn of so much genius and
so much ambition. Tue very ploughnivjn observed, 100
and long remembered, how kindly little Warren took
to his book. The daily sight of the lands which his ^

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WARREN HASTINGS.

ancestors had possessed, and which had passed into
the hands of strangers, filled his young brain with

106 wild fancies and projects. He loved to hear stories
of the wealth and greatness of his progenitors, of
their splendid house-keeping, their loyalty, and their
valor. On one bright summer day, the boy, then
just seven years old, lay on the bank of the rivulet

110 which flows through the old domain of his house to
join the Isis. There, as threescore and ten years
later he told the tale, rose in his mind a scheme
which, through all the turns of his eventful career,
was never abandoned. He would recover the estate

115 which had belonged to his fathers. He would be
Hastings of Daylesford. This purpose, formed in
infancy and poverty, grew stronger as his intellect
expanded and as his fortune rose. He pursued his
plan with that calm but indomitable force of will

120 which was the most striking peculiarity of his char-
acter. When, under a tropical sun, he ruled fifty
millions of Asiatics, his hopes, amidst all the cares of
war, finance, and legislation, still pointed to Dayles-
ford. And when his long public life, so singularly

125 checkered with good and evil, with glory and oblo-
quy, had at length closed forever, it was to Dayles-
ford that he retired to die.

When he was eight years old his uncle Howard
determined to take charge of him, and to give him a

130 liberal education. The boy went up to London, and
was sent to a school at Newington, where he was
well caught, but ill fed. He always attributed the
smallness of his stature to the hard and scanty fare
of this seminary. At ten he was removed to West-

135 minster school, then flourishing under the care of
Dr. Nichols. Vinny Bourne, as his pupils affection-
ately called him, was one of the masters. Churchill,
Colman, Lloyd, Cumberland, Cowper, were among
the students. With Cowper, Hastings formed a

140 friendship which neither the lapse of time nor a wide

WARBEN HASTINGS.

S'Tv^^lLl'P^^r' and pursuits could wholly
dissolve It does not appear that they ever met Xr
they had grown to manhood. But forty verralaf«r

fellow could Imyldc^eln^r.^J'"^-*'""^^'^ »
own life had bltn ^entt^K^ mS fn^ ''"

tried, but not by teSot'wScMmXTmt ,KK
a..F gross Tiolations of the rules of sS morXl ^^

Iield in theory the doXne of h.^^ J''"'*^ ^ '^^ 1^0

school-davs B^f^Z'fK^® ^''''^ ^'*"® *^«»<^ their
.ues^^t^t!' wh^e"nlv7r*^t^^^^^^ ^^

tmk more than usually naufhty he hir J / ^""^ ^^^
with a tart or a ball to act m Fr^ in f if . ^""P®^

the prfank ^ ''^ *^^® ^^^st part of

165

WABBBN HAST1NGI3.

older corapetitorg. He stayed two years longer at

180 the school, and was looking forward to a studentship
at Christ Church, when an event happened which
changed the whole course of his life. Howard Hast-
ings died, bequeathing his nephew to the care of a
friend and distant relation, named Chiswick. This

185 gentleman, though he did not absolutely refuse the
charge, was desirous to rid himself of it as soon as
possible. Dr. Nichols made strong remonstrances
against the cruelty of interrupting the studies of a
youth who seemed likely to be one of the first scholars

190 of the age. He even offered to bear the expense of
sending his favorite pupil to Oxford. But Mr. Chis-
wick was inflexible. He thought the years which
had already been wasted on hexameters and pentam-
eters quite sufficient. He had it in his power to

195 obtain for the lad a writership in the service of the
East India Company. Whether the young adventurer,
when once shipped off, made a fortune, or died of a
liver complaint, he equally ceased to be a burden to
anybody. Warren was accordingly removed from

200 Westminster school, and placed for a few months at
a commercial academy, to study arithmetic and book-
keeping. In JaTiuary, 1750, a few days after he had
completed his seventeenth year, he sailed for Bengal,
and arrived at his destination in the October following.

205 He was immediately placed at a desk in the Secre-
tary's office at Calcutta, and labored there during two
years. Fort William was then purely a commercial
settlement. lii the South of India the encroaching
policy of Dupleix had transformed the servants of the

210 English Company, against their will, into diplomat-
ists and geneials. The war of the succession was
raging in the Carnatic ; and the tide had been sud-
denly turned against the French by the genius of
young Robert Olive. But in Bengal the European

215 settlers, at peace with the natives and with each other,
were wholly occupied with ledgers and bills of lading.

WARREN HASTINGS.

bazar, a town IhTch lies ou^thiw '"'^^'^^^ ^^««''«-
from Moorshedabad and wh ^h S''''^^?' ^^^"*^ * "^^^^
hedabad, a relation if we^I*^^"" ^""'^ *° ^"««- 220
with grokt, such Ts he Kf LoTd^n '"^'1^ *^^"««
minster. Moor8h«/l.>K„^ ^ oi i^ondon bears to West-

Mogul, but really independent i^jff ":"* ^ J'<>» ">«

hedabad were the ionrt th<. i. '''^'■- , -** ^oors-

reuowned for the ouantifAS^ and aplace of trade,
which were soIdlnTts maL^ o=tcellence of the silk^
and Bending forth fleerrfVfMTl'*""y'-«'=«^ing 230
this important pofnrfteComr,^''' 't^T ^^'S^- At
.mall fi'ctory sSbor^ i^te^'tHhaT o'toT^'t^" "
Here, during several Tro««. cr ,.■ " Wilham.

in n.kk,ng barSfo^r.?,W '"•!!!«' ''"' «™ployed
While he was thus enZedf' "-^^ ^'^ ^'"^''^ 235
ed to the SovernraeTfnd dT^*J °°''''* """''^^^

English. ThedeSe'Cs sett&:rc„"«"\^' '^
lying close to the tvranfs ~ njtJi ® . P^^^'mbazar.
Hastings was JntT^riJ"^ f' Z^ '"^tantly seized.

in oons^qre^^c: o xe;;^: tr^'^i''"^' ""'- 2*0

servants of the niitoi?n„ intervention of the

dulgence MeanwhUe ZTl' T^ ^"^^^ «"«' i"-
cut&, the governor and fbi^f"** """."^'^ °° Cai.
town ^nd citadelTere taken «^r'""?'^?''i ^'^■- *">«
prisoners perishld fn^fK hT/' "' '^' ^"^'^'^ ^^^

Ha^tiL'gr KS^tfe.^:,~r ^^ Warren

had taken refuge on theXary 'stet of F,?lT*'"°"'
the mouth of the HoobIv ThL ,'''''' "^^r

irous to obtain fuuSmaH™^ "^'^ naturally des- 250

^t 4e in thT^irer^^l^L^dTf fc;^'

WABRBN HASTINGS.

255 He thuB became a diplomatic agent, ^d i^n estab-
lished a high character for abihty and resolution.
The treason^hich at a later period was fatal to Sura-
iah Dowlah was already in progress ; and Hastmgs
ias adSed to the deliberations of the conspirators.

260 But th^ time for striking had not arrived. It was
necessary to postpone the «? ^cut^^r^^^ ^j^^ ^^f^^
and Hastings, who was now in extreme pern, fled to

^loon after his arrival at Fulda, the expedition
265 from Madras, commanded by Clive, appeared in the
Hooely Wairen, young, intrepid, and excited prob-
Wy the exam'ple of the commander of the forces
who having like himself been a mercantile agent of
The Company, had been turned by public calamities
2^0 into a soldier, determined to serve in the ranks.
During the eariy operations of the war he carried a
muskel But the quick eye of Clive soon perceived
Tafthe head of the young volunteer would be more
useful than his arm. When, after the battle of Pl^-
975 sev Meer Jaffier was proclaimed Nabob of f engai,
^ hS was appointed to reside at the court of the
new nrince as agent for the Company.

He^remained at Moorshedabad till theyear 1761,

when he became a Member of Council, and was con-

280 Teauently forced to reside at Calcutta. This was

Sfthe hiterval between CUve's first and second

aSistration-an interval which has leit on the

fame of the East India Company a P^-im, not

Xuy effaced by many years of just anu humane

285 government. Mr. Vansittart, the governor, was at

fhlhead of a new and anomalous empire. On one

Bide was a band of English functionaries, darmg,

^telligent, eager to be rich. On the other side was

f grea? nativf population, helpless, tnnid, accus^

290 tomed to crouch under oppression. To keep the

stronger race from preying on the weaker was an

undertaking which tasked to the utmost the talents

I estab-
)lutioii.
o Sura-
[aatinga
lirators.

It was
design ;

fled to

pedition
i in the
3d prob-
» forces,
agent of
lamities
) ranks,
carried a
erceived
be more
of Plas-
Bengal,
rt of the

3ar 1761,
was con-
?his was
d second
:t on the
lin, not
liamane
r, was at
On one
, daring,
side was
i, accus-
keep the
r was an
le talents

WARREN HASTINGS. 97

and energy of Olive. Vansittart, with fair inten-
tions, was a feeble and ineflSicient ruler. The mas-
ter caste, as was natural, broke loose from all 295
restraint ; and then was seen what we believe to be
the most frightful of all spectacles, the strength of
civilization without its mercy. To all other des-
potism there is a check, imperfect indeed, and lia-
ble to gross abuse, but still sufficient to preserve 300
society from the last extreme of misery. A time
comes when the evils of submission are obviously
greater than those of resistance, when fear itself
begets a sort of courage, when a convulsive burst
of popular rage and despair warns tyrants not to 305
presume too far on the patience of mankind. But
against misgovernment such as then afflicted Ben-
gal it was impossible to struggle. The superior
intelligence and energy of the dominant class made
their power irresistible. A war of Bengalees against 310
Englishmen was like a war of sheep against wolves,
of men against demons. The only protection which
the conquered could find was in the moderation,
the clemency, the enlarged policy of the conquer-
ors. That protection, at a later period, they found. 315
But at first English power came among tfiem
unaccompanied by English morality. There was
an interval between the time at which they became
our subjects and the time at which we began to
reflect that we were bound to discharge toward 320
them the duties of rulers. During that interval tlie
business of a servant of the Company was simply
to wring out of the natives a hundred or two hund-
red thousand pounds as speedily as possible, that
he might return home before his constitution had 325
suffered from the heat, to marry a peer's daughter,
to buy rotten boroughs in Cornwall, and to give
balls in St. James's Square. Of the conduct of
Hastings at this time little is known ; but the little
that is known, and the circumstance that little is "30

WARREN HASTINGS.

known, must be considered as honorable to him.
He could not protect the natives ; all that he could
do was to abstain from plundorinj? and oppressing
them ; and tliis he appears to have done. It is

886 certain that at this time he continued poor ; and it
is equally certain that by cruelty and dishonesty he
might easily have become rich. It is certain that
he was never charged with having borne a share in
the worst abuses which then prevailed ; and it is

840 equally certain that, if hr had borne a share in
those abuses, the able and bitter enemies who after-
ward persecuted him would not have failed to dis-
covor and to proclaim his guilt. The keen, severe,
and even malevolent scrutiny to which his whole

845 public life was subjected — a scrutiny unparalleled,
as we believe, in the history of mankind— is in one
respect advantageous to his reputation. It brought
many lamentable blemishes to light ; but it'entitles
him to be considered pure from every blemish which

850 has not been brought to light.

The truth is, that the temptations to which so
many English functionaries yielded in the time of
Mr.. Vansittart were not temptations addressed to
the ruling passions of Warren Hastings. He was

356 not squeamish in pecuniary transactions ; but he
was neither sordid nor rapacious. He was far too
enliglitened a man to look on a great empire merely
as a buccaneer would look on a galleon. Had his
heart been much worse than it was, his understand-

360 ing would have preserved him from that extremity
of baseness. He was an unscrupulous, perhaps an
unprincipled, statesman ; but still he was a states-
man, and not a freebooter.
In 1764, Hastings returned to England. He had

865 realized only a very moderate fortune ; and that
moderate fortune was soon reduced to nothing,
partly by his praiseworthy liberality, and partly by
his mismanagement. Toward his relations he

WARRBN HASTINGS.

appears to have acted very generously. The ^eater
part of his saviugs ho loft in Bcaigal, hoping prob- 870
ably to obtain tho high usury of India. But high
usury and bad security generally go together ; and
Hastings lost ])oth interest and principal.

He remained for years in England. Of his life
at tliis time very Uttlo is known. But it has been 875
assorted, and is highly prol)able, that liberal studies
and tlie society of men of letters occupied a great
part of his time. It is to be remembered to his
honor that, in days when the languages of the East
wore regarded by other servants of the Company 880
merely as the means of communicating with
weavers and money-changers, his enlarged and
accomplished mind sought in Asiatic learning for
new forms of intellectual enjoyment, and for now
views of government and society. Perhaps, like 385
most persons who have paid much attention to
departments of knowledge which He out of the com-
men track, he was incHned to overrate the value of
his favorite studies. He conceived that the culti-
vation of Persian literature might with advantage 890
be made a part of the Uberal education of an Eng-
lish gentleman ; and he drew up a plan with that
view. It is said that the University of Oxford, in
which Oriental learning had never, smce tho revival
of letters, been wholly neglected, was to be the seat 896
of the institution which he contemplated. An
endowment was expected from the munificence of
the Company ; and professors thoroughly competent
to interpret Hafiz and Ferdusi were to be engaged
in the East. Hastings called on Johnson, with the 400
hope, as it should seem, of interesting in this pro-
ject a man who enjoyed the highest literary reputa-
tion, and who was particularly connected with
Oxford. ^ Tlie interview appears to have left on
Jolmson's mind a most favorable impression of the 406
talents and attainments of his visitor. Long after,

lOU

WARREN HASTINGS.

when Hastingfl was ruling the immense population
of British India, the old pliilosoplicr wrote to him,
and referred in the most courtly terms, though with

410 great dignity, to their short but agreeable inter-
course.

Hastings soon began to look again toward India.
He had little to attach him to England ; and his pecu-
niary embarrassments were gr' at. He solicited his

415 old masters, the Directors, for employment. They
acceded to his request, with high compliments both
to his abilities and to his integrity, and appointed
him a Member of Council at Madras. It would be
unjust not to mention that, though forced to borrow

420 money for his outfit, he did not withdraw any por-
tion of the sum which he had appropriated to the
relief of his distressed relations. In the spring of
17G9 he embarked on board of the Duke of 0-rafton,
and commenced a voyage distinguished by inci-

425 dents which might furnish matter for a novel.

Among the passengers in the Duke of Grafton
was a German of the name of Imhoff. He called
himself a baron ; but he was in distressed circum-
stances, and was going out to Madras as a portrait-

430 painter, in the hope of picking up some of the
pagodas whi'^.h were then lightly got and as lightly
spent by the English in India. The baron was
accompanied by his wife, a native, we have some-
where read, of Archangel. This young woman

435 who, born under the Artie Circle, was destined to
play the part of a queen under the Tropic of Can-
cer, had an agreeable person, a cultivated mind,
and manners in the highest degree engaging. She
despised her husband heartily, and, as the story

440 which we have to tell suflficiently proves, not with-
out reason She was interested by the conversation
and flattered by the attentions of Hastings. The
situation was indeed perilous. No place is so pro-
pitious to the formation either of close friendships

WAItUEN HASTINGS.

101

or of deadly enmitios as an Indiaman. There are 445
very few peopU? who do not find a voyage which
lasts several months iuHnpportably dull. Anything
is welcome which njay break that long monotony
—a sail, a shark, an albatross, a man overboard.
Most passengers find some resource in eating twice 460
as many meals as on land. But the great devices
for killing the time are quarrelling and flirting.
The facilities for both these exciting pursuits are
great. The inmates of the ship are thrown to-
gether far more than in any country-seat or boarding- 455
house. None can escape from the rest except by
imprisoning himself in a cell in which he can
hardly turn. All food, all exercise, is taken in
company. Ceremony is to a great extent banished.
It is every day in the power of a mischievous per- 400
son to inflict innumerable annoyances. It is every
day in the power of an amiable person to confer
little services. It not seldom happens that serious
distress and danger call forth, in genuine beauty
and deformity, heroic virtues and abject vices 466
which, in the ordinary intercourse of good society,
might remain during many years unknown even to
intimate associates. Under such circumstances
met Warren Hastings and the Baroness Imhoff,
two persons whose accomplishments would have 470
attracted notice in any court of Europe. The gen-
tleman had no domestic ties. The lady was tied
to a husband for whom she had no regard, and who
had no regard for his own honor. An attachment
sprang up, which was soon strengthened by events 475
such as could hardly have occurred on land. Hast-
ings fell ill. The baroness nursed him with
womanly tenderness, gave him his medicines with
her own hand, and even sat up in his cabin while
he slept. Long before the Duke of Grafton reached 480
Madras, Hastings was in love. But his love was of
a most characteristic description. Like his hatred,

10:

WABRBN HASTINQS.

like his ambition, like all his passions, it was strong,
but not impetuous. It was calm, deep, earnest, pati-
485 ent of delay, unconquerable by time. Imhoff was
called into council by his wife and his wife's lover.
It was arranged that the baroness should institute a
suit for a divorce in the courts of Franconia, that the
baron should aJQford every facility to the proceeding,

490 and that, during the years which might elapse before
the sentence should be pronounced, they should con-
tinue to live together. It was also agreed that Hast-
ings should bestow some very substantial marks of
gratitude on the complaisant husband, and should,

496 when the marriage was dissolved, make the lady his
wife, and adopt the children whom she had already
borne to Imhoff.

At Madras, Hastings found the trade of the Com-
pany in a very disorganized state. His own tastes

600 would have led him rather to political than to com-
mercial pursuits ; but he knew that the favor of hia
employers depended chiefly on their dividends, and
that their dividends depended chiefly on the invest-
ment. He therefore, with great judgment, deter-

506 mined to apply his vigorous mind for a time to this
department of business, which had been much neglect-
ed, since the servants of the Company had ceased to
be clerks, and had become warriors and negotiators.
In a very few months he effec+ou an important

510 reform. The Directors notified to him their high
approbation, and were so much pleased with his con-
duct that they determined to place him at the head
of the Government of Bengal. Early in 1772 he
quitted Fort St. George for his new post. The Im-

615 hofFs, who were still man and wife, accompanied
him, and lived at Calcutta on the same plan which
they had already followed during more than two
years.

When Hastings took his seat at the head of the

520 Council-board, Bengal was still governed according

WABBBN HASTINOS.

lOS

625

535

to the system which Olive had devised— « system
which wiis, perhaps, skilfully contrived for the pur-
pose of facilitating and concealing a great revolution,
but which, when that revolution was complete and
irrevocable, could produce nothing but inconvenience.
There were two governments, the real and the osten-
sible. The supreme power belonged to the Company,
and was in truth the moat despotic power that can l)e
conceived. The only restraint on the English masters
of the country was that which their own justice and 530
humanity imposed on them. There was no constitu-
tional check on their will, and resistance to them was
utterly hopeless.

But, though thus absolute in reality, the English
had not yet assumed the style of sovereignty. They
held their territories as vassals of the throiie of Delhi ;
they raised their revenues as collectors appointed by
the imperial commission , their public seal was in-
scribed with the imperial titles; and their mint
struck only the imperial coin.

There was still a nabob of Bengal, who stood to the
English rulers of his country in the same relation in
which Augustulus stood to Odoacer, or the last Mero-
vingians to Charles Martel and Pepin. He lived at
Moorshedabad, surrounded by princely magnificence. 545
He was approached with outward marks of reverence,
and his name was used in public instruments. But in
the government of the country he had less real share
than the youngest writer or cadet in the comoany's
service.

The English Council which represented the Com-
pany at Calcuttta was constituted on a very different
plan from that which has since been adopted At
present the governor is, as to all executive measures,
absolute. He can declare war, conclude peace, ap-
point public functionaries or remove them, in opposi-
tion to the unanimous sense of those who sit with
him in Council. They are, indeed, entitled to know

540

550

555

104

WAEREN HASTINGS.

all that is done, ti) discuss all that is done, to adviso,

660 CO remonstrate, to send protests to Eijgland ; but it
is with the governor that the supreme power resides,
and on him that the whole responsibility rests. This
system, which was introduced by Mr, Pitt and Mr.
Dundas in spite of the strenuous opposition of Mr.

665 Burke, we conceive to be, on the whole, the best that

was ever devised for the government of a country

* where no materials cm be found for a representative

constitution. In the time of Hastings the governor

had only one vote in Qouncil, and, incase of an equal

670 division, a casting vote. It therefore happened not
unfrequently that he was overruled on the gravest
questions , and it was possible that he mJght be
wholly excluded, for years together, from the real
direction of public afiairs.

675 The English functionaries at Fort William had as
yet paid little or no attention to the internal govern-
ment of Bengal. The only branch of politics about
which they much busied themselves was negotiation
with the native princes. The police, the administra-

580 tion of justice, the details of the collection of revenue,
were almost entirely neglected. We may remark
that the phraseology of t\\e Company's servants still
bears the traces of thi^ state of things. To this day '
they always use the word "political" as synonymous

585 with "diplomatic." We could name a gentleman
still living, who was described by the highest author-
ity as an invaluable public servant, eminently fit to
oe at the head of the internal administration of a
whole presidency, but unfortunately quite ignorant

590 of all politiccal business.

The internal government of Bengal the English
rulers delegated to a great native minister, who was
stationed at Moorshedabad. All military afiairs,
and, with the exception of what pertains to mere

595 ceremonial, all foreign afiairs, were withdrawn from
his control ; but the other departments of the ad-

,:V

WARREN HASTINGS. 105

minisfration were entirely confided to hiir.. His
own stipend amounted to near a hundred thousand
pounds sterling a year. The personal allowance of
the nabob, aiiiountmg to more than throe hundred COO
thousand pounds a year, passed through the minis-
ter s hands, and was, to a great extent, at his dis-
posal. The collection of the revenue, the adminis-
tration of justice, the maintenance of order, were
lef ^. to this high functionary ; and for the exercise of 605
his irnmense power he was responsible to none but
the British masters of the country.

A situation so important, lucrative, and splendid
was naturally an object of ambition to the ablest and
most powerful natives. Clive had found it difficult 610
to decide between conflicting pretensions. Two can-
didates stood out prominently from the crowd, each
of them the representatives of a race and of a
religion.

One of these was Mahommed Reza Khan, a Mas- 615
sulman of Persian extraction, able, active, religious
after the fashion of his people, and highly esteemed
by them. In England he might perhaps have been
regarded as a corrupt and greedy politician. But,
tried by the lower standard of Indian morality, he 620
might be considered as a man of integrity and
honor. ^

His competitor was a Hindoo Brahmin whose name
h^s, by a terrible and melancholy event, been in-
separably associated with that of V/'arren Hastings 625
the Maharajah Nuncomar. This man had played aii
important part in all the revolutions which, since the
^me of Surajah Dowlah, had taken place in Bent^al.
To the consideration which In that country belongs
to high and pure caste, he add d the weight which is 630
derived from wealth, talents, and experience. Of his
moral character it is difficult to give a notion to those
who are acquainted with human nature only as it
appears in our island. What the Italian ig f.. +!»-

106

WARREN HASTINGS.

035 Englishman, what the Hindoo is to the Italian, what
the Bengiileo is to other Hindoos, tliat was Nuncomar
to other Bengalees. The physical organization of the
Bengalee is feeble even to effeminacy. He lives in a
constant vapor-bath. His pursuits are sedentary, his

fi40 limbs delicate, his movements languid. During many
ages he has been trampled upon by men of bolder and
more hardy breeds. Courage, independence, veracity,
are qualities to which his constitution and his situa-
tion are equally unfavorable His mind bears a

046 singular analogy to his body. It is weak even to
helplessness for purposes of manly resistance ; but its
suppleness and its tact move the children of sterner
climates to admiration not unmingled.with contempt.
All those arts which are the natural defense of the

650 wejik are more familiar to this subtle race than to the
Ionian of the time of Juvenal, or to the Jew of the
Dark Ages. What the horns are to the buffalo, what
the paw is to the tiger, what the sting is to the bee,
what beauty, according to the old Greek song, is to

655 woman, deceit is to the Bengalee. Large promises,
smooth excuses, elaborate tissues of circumstantial
falsehood, chicanery, peijury, forgery, are the wea-
pons, offensive and defensive, of the people of the
Lower Ganges. All those millions do not furnish

660 one sepoy to the armies of the Company. But as
usurers, as money-changers, as sharp legal practi-
tioners, no class of human beings can bear a com-
parison with them. With all his softness, the
Bengalee is by no means placable in his enmities or

665 prone to pity. The pertinacity with which he ad-
heres to his purposes yields only to the immediate
pressure of fear. Nor does he lack a certain kind of
courage which is often wanting to his masters. To
inevitable evils he is sometimes found to oppose a

670 passive fortitude, such as the Stoics attributed to
their ideal sage. A European warrior who rushes on
a battery of cannon with a loud hurrah wiUsoin

WARREN HASTINGS,

107

times shriek under the surgeon's knife, and fall into
an agony of despair at the sentence of death. But
the 13engalee, who would see his country overrun, his 675
house laid m ashes, his children murdered or dis-
honored without having the spirit to strike one blow
has yet been known to eudure torture with the firm-
ness of Mucins, and to mount the scaffeld with the
steady step and even pulse of Algernon Sidney. 680

InJNuncomar, the national character was stronglv
and with exaggeration personified. The Company's
servants had repeatedly detected him in the most
criminal intrigues. On one occasion he brouf/ht a
false charge against another Hindoo, and tried to 685
substantiate it by producing forged documents On
another occasion it was discovered that, while profess-
ing the strongest attachment to the Encrlish he was
engaged m several conspiracies against them, and in
particular that he was the mfdium of a corespondence 690
between the court of Delhi and the French authori-
ties A the Carnatic. For these and similar practices
he had been long detained in confinement. But his
talents and influence had not only procured his liber-
ation but had obtained for him a certain degree of 695
consideration even among the British rulers of his
country.

Olive was extremely unwilling to place a Mussul-
man at the head of the administration of Bengal On
the other hand, he could not bring himself to confer 700
immense power on a man to whom every sort of vill-
§-nyhad repeatedly been brought home. Therefore
though the nabob, over whom Nuncomar had by
intrigue acquired great influence, begged that the
artful Hindoo might be instructed with the govern- 705
ment, Chve, after some hesitation, decided honestly
and wisely in favor of Mahommed Reza Khan. When
Hastings became governor, Mahommed Reza Khan
had held^power seven years. An infant son of Meer
Jaflier w*xO was now nabob; and guardianship of the 710

108

WARREN HASTINGS.

715 young prince's person had been confided to the min-
ister.

Numcomar, stimulated at once by cupidity and
liialice, had been constantly attempting to hurt the
reputation of his successful rival. This was not difB-

720 cult. The revenues of Bengal, under the administra-
tion established by Clive, did not yield such a surplus
as had been anticipated by the Company ; for, at that
time, the most absurd notions were entertained in
England respecting the wealth of india. Palaces of

725 porphyry hung with the richest brocade, heaps of
pearls and diamonds, vaults from which pagodas and
gold mohurf were measured out by the bushel, filled
the imagination even of men of business. Nobody
seemed to be aware of what, nevertheless, was most

730 undoubtedly the truth, that India was a poorer country
than countries which in Europe are reckoned poor —
than Ireland, for examjilis, or than Portugal. It was
confidently believed by Lords of the Treasury and
members for the City that Bengal would not oi:^ de-

735 fray its own charges, but would afford an increased
dividend to the proprietors of India stock, and large
relief to the English finances. These absurd expecta-
tions were disappointed ; and the Directors, naturally
enough, chose to attribute the disappointment rather

740 to the mismanagement of Mahommed Reza Khan
than to their own ignorance of the country intrust-
ed to their care. They were confirmed in their error
by the agents of Nuncomar; for Nuncomar had
agents even in Leadenhall Street. Soon after Hast-

745 ings reached Calcutta, he received a letter addressed
by the Court of Directors, not to the Council gener-
ally, but to hirasiBlf in particular. He was directed
to remove Mahommed Reza Khan, to arrest him. to-
gether with all his family all partisans, and to insti-

750 tute a strict inquiry into the who^e administration of
the province. It was added that the governor would
do well to avail himself of the assistance of Nuncomar

WARREN HASTINGS.

lOd

m the investigation. The vices of Nuncomar were
acknowledged. But even from his vices, it was said,
much advantage might at such a conjuncture be de- 755
riyed ; and, though he could not safely be trusted, it
might still be proper to encourage him by hopes of
reward.

The governor bore no good-will to Nuncomar.
Many years before, they had known each other at 760
Moorshedabad ; and then a quarrel had arisen be-
tween them which all the authority of their superiors
could hardly compose. Widely as they differed in
most points, they resembled each other in this, that
both were men of unforgiving natures. To Mahom- 765
med Reza Khan, on the other hand, Hastings had no
feelings of hostility. Nevertheless, he proceeded to
execute the instructions of the Company with an ala-
crity which he never showed, except when instruc-
hons were in perfect conformity with his own views. 770
He had, wisely as we think, determined to get rid of
the system of double government in Bengal. The
orders of the Directors furnished him with the means
of effecting his purpose, and dispensed him from the
necessity of discussing the matter with his Council. 775
He took his measures with his usual vigor and dex-
terity. At midnight, the palace of Mahommed Reza
Khan at Moorshedabad was surrounded by a battal-
ion of sepoys. The minister was roused from his
slumbers and informed that he was a prisoner. With 780
the Mussulman gravity, he bent his head and sub-
mitted himself to the will of God. He fell not
alone. A chief named Schitab Roy had been in-
trusted with the government of Bahar, His valor
and his attachment to the English had more than 785
once been signally proved. On that memorable day
on which the people of Patna saw from their walls
the whole army of the Mogul scattered by the little
band of Captain Knox, ths voice of the British con-
querors assigned the palrt of gallantry to the brave 790

WARREN HASTINGS.

Asiatic. *'I never," said Knox, when he introduced
Schitab -Roy, covered with blood and dust, to the
English functionaries assembled in the factory — "I
never saw a native fight so before." Schitab Roy

795 was involved in the ruin of Mahommed Reza Khan,
was removed from office, and was placed under arrest.
The members of the Council received no intimation
of these measures till the prisoners were on their
road to Calcutta.

800 The inquiry into the conduct of the minister was
postponed on diflFerent pretences. He was detained
in an easy confinement during many months. In the
mean time, the great revolution which Hastings had
planned was carried into effect. The office of minis-

805 ter was abolished. The internal administration was
transferred to the servants of the Company. A sys-
tem — a very imperfect system, it is true — of civil
and criminal justice, under English superintendence,
was established. The nabob was no longer to have

810 even an ostensible share in the govern mem ; but he
was still to receive a considerable annual allowance,
and to be surrounded with the state of sovereignty.
As he was an infant, it was necessary to provide
guardians for his person and property. His person

815 was entrusted to a lady of his father's harem, known
by the name of the Munny Begum. The office of
treasurer of the household was bestowed on a son of
Nuncomar, named Goordas. Nuncomar's services
were wanted ; yet he could not safely be trusted

820 with power ; and Hastings thought it a master-stroke
of policy to reward the able and unprincipled parent
by promoting the inoffensive child.

The revolution completed, the double government
dissolved, the Company installed in the full sov-

826 preignty of Bengal, Hastings had no motive to treat
the late ministers with rigor. Their trial had been
put off on various pleas till the new organization was
complete. They were then brought before a com-

WARREN HASTINGS.

Ill

mittee, over which the governor presided. Schitab
Hoy was speedily acquitted with honor. A formal 830
apology was made to him for the restraint to which
he had been subjected. All the Eastern marks of
respect were bestowed on him. He was clothed in a
robe of state, presented with jewels and with a richly
harnessed elephant, and sent back to his government 835
at Patna. But his health had suft'ered from confine-
ment ; his high spirit had been cruelly wounded ;
and soon after his liberation he died of a broken
heart.

The innocence of Mahommed Reza Khan was not 840
so clearly established. But the governor was not dis-
posed to deal harshly. After a long hearing, in which
Nuncomar appeared as the accuser, and displayed
both the art and the inveterate rancor which dis-
tinguished him, Hastings pronounced that the charge 845
had not been made out, and ordered the fallen min-
ister to be set at liberty.

Nuncomar had purposed to destroy the Mussulman
administration, and to rise on its ruin. Both his
malevolence and his cupidity had been disappointed. 850
Hastings had made him a tool, had used him for the
purpose of accomplishing the transfer of the gov-ern-
ment from Moorshedabad to Calcutta, from native to
European hands. The rival, the enemy, so long
envied, so implacably persecuted, had been dismissed 855
unhurt. The situation so long and ardently desired
had been abolished. It was natural that the gov-
ernor should be from that time an object of the most
intense hatred to the vindictive Brahmin. As yei,
however, it was necessary to suppress such feeUngs. 8G0
The time was coming when that long animosity was
to end in a desperate and deu lly struggle.

In the mean time, Hastings was compelled to turn
his attention to foreign affairs. The object of his
diplomacy was at this time simply to get money. 865
The finances of his government wevQ in an embar-

112

WARREN HASTINGS.

rassed state ; and this embarrassment he was deter-
mined to relieve by some means, fair or foul. The
principle which directed all his dealings with his

870 neighbors is fully expressed by the old motto of one
of the great predatory families of Teviotdale, "Thou
shalt want ere I want." He seems to have laid it
down, as a fundamental proposition which could not
be disputed, that; when he had not as many lacs of

875 rupees as the public service required, he was to take
them from anybody who had. One thing, indeed, is
to be said in excuse for him. The pressure applied
to him by his employers at home was such as only
the highest virtue could have withstood, such as left

880 him no choice except to commit great wr( ngs, or to
resign his high post, and with that post all his hopes
of fortune and distinction. The Directors, it is true,
never enjoined or applauded any crime. Far from
it. Whoever examines their letters written at that

885 time will find there many just and humane senti-
ments, many excellent precepts — in short, an ad-
mirable code of political ethics. But every exhorta-
tion is modified or nullified by a demand for money.
"Govern leniently, and send more money; practise

890 strict justice and moderation toward neighboring
powera, and send more money ; " this is, in truth,
the sum of almost all the instructions that Hastings
ever received from home. Now these instructions,
being interpreted, mean simply, "Be the father and

895 the oppressor of the people ; be just and unjust,
moderate and rapacious." The Directors dealt with
India as the Church, in the good old times, dealt
with a heretic. They delivered the victim over to
the executioners, with an earnest request that all

900 possible tenderness might be shown. We by no
means accuse or suspect those who framed these de-
spatches of hypocrisy. It is probable that, writing
fifteen thousand miles from the place where their
orders were to be carried into effect, they never per-

WARREN HASTINGS.

113

cciyed the gross inconsistency of which they were 005
Kiiiity. But the inconsistency was at once mani-
test to their vicerej^ent at Calcutta, who, with an
empty treasury, with an unpaid army, with his own
salary often m arrear, with deticient crops, with
government tenants daily running away, was called 910
upoa to remit home another half-million without
fail. Hastings saw that it was absolutely neces-
sary for him to disregard either the moral (liscours-
es or the pecuniary requisitions of his employers.
Being forced to disobey them in something, he had 915
to consider what kind of disobedience they would
most readily pardon ; and he correctly judged that
the safest course would be to neglect the sermons
and to hnd the rupees.

A mind so fertile as his, and so little restrained 920
by conscientious scruples, speedily discovered spv-
era modes of relieving the financial embarrassments
of the Government. The allowance of the Nabob of
Bengal was reduced at a stroke from three hundred
and twenty thousand pounds a year to half that 925
sum. The Company had bound itself to pay near
three hundred tliousand pounds a year to the Great
Mogul, as a mark of homage for the provinces which
he had intrusted to their care, and they had ceded
to him the districts of Corah and Allahabad. On 930
the plea that the Mogul was not really independent,
but merely a tool in the hands of others, Hastin^-s
determined to retract these concessions. He ac-
cordingly declared that the English would pay no
more tribute, and sent troops to occupy Allahabad 935
and Corah. The situation of these places was such
that there would be little advantage and great
expense in retaining them. Hastings, who wanted
money and not territory, determined to sell them.
A purchaser was not wanting. The rich province OIQ

, ^^® ^^^' ^° *^® general dissolution of the Mo-
gul Empire, fallen to the share of the great Mus-

114

WAIIUEN HASTINGS.

snlman house by which it is still governed. About
tvvtiity yoars a^o, this house, by the permission of

915 the hiitJsh Governmeut, assumed the royal title;
but, iu the time of Warren HaHtiii^s, £rdch an
aHHUinption would have been con8i(l(!red by the
Mahommedana of India as a monstrous impiety.
The Prince of Oude, though he held the power, did

950 not venture to use the style of sovercugnty. To
the appellation of nabob or viceroy he added that
of vizier of the monarchy of Hindostan, just as in
the last century the Electors of Saxony and Brand-
enburg, though independent of the emperor, and

055. often in arms against him, were proud to style
themselves his grand chamberlain and grand mar-
shal. Surajah Dowlah, then nabob vizier, was on
excellent terms with the English. He had a large
treasure. Allahabad and Corah were so fiitaated

900 that tliey might be of use to him, and coula be of
none to the Company. The buyer and seller soon
came to an understanding ; and the provinces
which had been torn from the Mogul were made
over to the Government of Oude for abf/ut half a

9G6 million sterling.

But there was another matter still more import-
ant to be settled by the vizier and the governor.
The fate of a brave people was to be decided. It
was decided in a manner which has left a lasting

970 stain on the fame of Hastings and of England.

The people of Central Asia had always been to the
inhabitants of India what the w^arriors of the Ger-
man forests were to the subjects of the decaying
monarchy of Rome. The dark, slender, and timid

975 Hindoo shrunk from a conflict with the strong
muscle and resolute spirit of the fair race which
dwelt beyond tlie passes. There is reason to believe
that, at a period anterior to the dawn of regular
history, the people who sj^oke the rich and tiexi-

980 ble Sanscrit came from regions lying far beyond

WARREN HASTINOa

116

voL o?H.? 1 Ti'^ ""^ Hy«taspe8, and iiupo8(Ml their

during tho last ten ccmturios, a 8uc(;c8sion of inva
dors (leBcended from the west on Hindost n nor

tZ eTtfnrr 'til?Tf ' ^"^^ '"^""^ badUoUTd U85
i • I xl^ '^"^ *^^^ ^^^** memorable campaurn in

^ans^^oS^r^ '^^* ^^^'^« was plantcSTth^

from ^th?';^?!?''''"- ?' Hindostan themselves came
InTif h Jf" "''^r^ *^^ «'«^* mountain ridge ; 990
^nd It had always been their practice to recruit

whLVtS own T ^^^y -«d%ahant race fTom
WHICH their own illustrious house sprung. Amone

the mihtary adventurers who were^allured t^Z

anrCand\C^ V^^^^^ *^^ neighborhood of cVbul 995
ana i^anaahar were conspicuous several gallant
bands, known by the name of the Kohillas ThSr

L"dle?s'of "ir ^'^"^f ^^ ^^*^ large 'iractso?
land-liefs of the spear, if we may use an exDrca-

sion drawn from an analogous state of things-TnlOOO
that fertile plain through which the Kam|unga
thlalT" *\' T^^ ^"^Sbts of KumaoHoToin

ea the death of Aurungzebe, the warlike colonv
became virtually independent The RohillarS^^
distinguished from the other inhabitants of Ird a
by a peculiarly fair complexion. TheTwe?e more
honorably distinguished by courage in^wlr ^nd b^
£ } 1.^^ f *?, ""^ P?^^^- W^ii^ anarchy ragel

en Wl fSfl.^ ^-^^^ ^.°^^"^' ^^^^ li**l« t JrritorylOlO
th\TJ f ^^®«?^g«of repose under the guardian-
Lh?d Ir^""'- ,^^g^^«"l<^"re and commerce flou?-
^hed among them, nor were they negligent of

wT T^ ?°^*"y- ^^^y P^'^oL now^ Kving
tit when tifxTa^ '^^•'"''^ ''^'^^ ^^ *^« goldell015

Surajah Dowlah had set his heart on adding this

WARRBK IlASTlNaS.

rich diitrict to his own priucipality. Hight, ot

JO'iOsliovv of rij^lit, he had abHolutely none. HIh claim

wa« in no respdcl hotter IoiukUhI than that of

Catherine to Poland, or that of the Bonaparte

. family to Spain. The Rohillas held their country

by exactly the same title hy which he hold his, and

102r)had governed their country far better than his had
ever been governed. Nor were they a ptiople whom
it was perfectly safe to attack. Thtrir land was
indeed an open plain destitute of natural defenses,
but their veins were full of the high blood of

lOSOAfghanistan. As soldiers, they had not the steadi-
ness which is seldom found except in company with
strict discipline, but their impetuous valor had
been proved on many fields of battle. It was said
that their chiefs, wnen united by common peril,

1035could bring eighty thousand men into the field.
Surajah Dowlah had himself seen them fight, and
wisoly shrunk from a conflict with them. There
was in India one army, and only one, against which
even those proud Caucasian tribes could not stand.

1040It, liad been abundantly proved that neither tenfold
odds, nor the martial ardor of the boldest Asiatic
nations, could avail aught against English science
and resolution. Was it possible to induce the Gov-
ernor of Bengal to let out to hire the irresistible

1045euergies of the imperial people, the skill against
which the ablest chiefs of Hindostan were helpless
as infants, the discipline which had so often tri-
umphed over the frantic struggles of fanaticism and
despair, the unconquerable British courage which

lOSOis never so sedate and stubborn as toward the close
of a doubtful and murderous day ?

This was what the nabob vizier asked. imC ivbat
Hastings granted. A bargain was sc^z i:ijruck.
Each of the negotiators had what the other wanted.

1055Hastings was in need of funds to carry on the gov-
eriiment of Bengal, and to send remittances to

WARttEN IIA8T1N08.

117

Sur.ijah Dow ah was bent on subjUKatin^ tho. Rohil.
1.18, and Hast. np had at bin disposal th. m.ly force by

agreed that an English aru.y should be lent to the
nabob vizier and that, for the loan, he sliould pay
four hundred thousand pounds sterling, besides de-
fraying all the charge of the troops whilJ en.ployed in
his service. ' inr-

" I really cannot see," says Mr. Gleig, «• upon what ''
grounds, either of political or moral justice, fit
^fZ'^T ^rr.T *" ^"^ stigmatised as infamous."

to commit a wicked action for hire, and it is wickedl070
o engage in war without provocation. In this par
ticular war, scarcely one aggravating circumstance
was wanting. The object of t*io Rohilla wai was
this . to deprive a large population, who had never
done us the least harm, of a good government, and tol075
place them, against their will, under au execrably bad

^Tn^a??^' rf" *?.' !' ""* ^^^- England now de-
scended far below the level even of those petty Ger-

rfiXTY^'''-^^''"*^,^^ same time, soldus trooos
to tight the Americans. The hussar-mongers of HesselOSO
and Anspach had at least the assurance that the ex
peditions on which their soldiers were to be employed

r^npl n^ '-r^"?*"^ ? conformity with the himane
rules of civilized warfare. Was the Rohilla war likely

It should be so conducted ? He well knew what

whlrr'^*'^ ''?•. ^^ ^^" k"^^ that the power
LnS f^venanted to put into Surajah Dowlah's

hands would, in all probability, be atrociously abused ;
IhLuVtT'"^^^ ^"^ guarantee, no promise that itlOOO
SZilf f?:*^ be so abused. He did not even reserve to
hmiself the right of withdrawing his aid in case of

nS M^^T ?T^\ ^^ ^"« ^^»^"«t ashamed to
notice Major Scott's plea that Hastings was justified

WARREN HASTINGS.

1095m letti^ g out English troops to slaughter the Rohillas,
because the Rohillas were not of Indian race, but a
colony from a distant country. What were the Eng-
lish themselves? Was it for them to proclaim a crn-
eade for the expulsion of all intruders from the

llOOcountries watered by the Ganges ? Did it lie in their
mouths to contend that a foreign settler who estab-
lishes an empire in India is a caput lupinum ? What
would they have said if any other power had, <m such
a ground, attacked Madras or Calcutta, without the

llOSslightest provocation ? Such a defense was wanting
to make the infamy of the transaction complete. The
atrocity of the crime, and the hypocrisy of the apol-
ogy, ar© worthy of each other.

One of the three brigades of which the Bengal army

lllOconsisted was sent, under Colonel Champion, to join
Surajah Dowlah's forces. The Rohillas expostulated,
entreated, offered a large ransom, but in vain. They
then resolved to defend themselves to the last. A
bloody battle was fought. * ' The enemy, " says Colonel

1115Champion, *' gave proof of a good share of military
knowledge ; and it is impossible to describe a more
obstinate firmness of reaolution than they displayed."
The dastardly sovereign of Oude fled frc^n the field.
The English were left unsupported, but their fire and

1120their charge were irresistible. It was not, however,
till the most distinguished chiefs had fallen, fighting
bravely at the head of their troops, that the Rohilla
ranks gave way. Then the nabob vizier and his rabble
made their appearance, and hastened to plunder the

1125camp of the valiant enemies whom they had never
dared to look in the face. The soldiers of the Com-
pany, trained in an exact d)#cipline, kept unbroken
order while the tents were pillaged by these worth-
less allies. • But many voices were heard to exclaim.
1130** We have had all the fighting, and those rogues art
to hare all the profit."

axt ^\*& Y^fvpii'fYPfi. of TndiRn wav ^ere let loose on

I'jTs.a.'^a.y

} Rohillas,
ace, but a
) the P]ng-
aini M crn-
from the
lie in their
i^ho estab-
n? What
(i, on such
ithout the
IS wanting
plate. The
: the apol-

mgal army
)n, to join
)ostulated,
lin. They
Q last. A
lys Colonel
of military
ibe a more
lisplayed."
a the field,
eir fire and
3, however,
m, fighting
he Rohilla
I his rabble
»lunder the
had never
f the Com-
} unbroken
lese worth-
to exclaim,
rogues arc

gf loose on

WABBBN HASTINQfli

119

the fair valleys and cities of Rohilcund. The whole
country was m a blaze. More than a hundred thou-
sand people fled from their homes to pestilential jun-llSS
gles, preferring famine, and fever, and the haunts of
tigers, to the tyranny of him to whom an English
and a Chnstjan government had, for shameful lucre,
sold their substance, and their blood, and the honor
of their wives and daughters. Colonel Champion re-1140
monstraied with the nabob vizier, and sent strong
representations to Fort William ; but the governor
had made no conditions as to the mode in which the
war was to be carried on. He had troubled himself
about nothing but his forty lacs ; and, though hell45
might disapprove of Surajah Dowlah's wanton bar-
barity, he did not think himself entitled to interfere,
except by offei-ing advice. This delicacy excites the
admiration of the biographer. " Mr. Hastings, » he
says, "could not himself dictate to the nabob norllBO
permit the commander of the Company's troops to
dictate now the war was to be carried on." No to
be sure. Mr. Hastings had only to put' down 'by
mam force the brave struggles of innocent men
fighting for their liberty. Their military resistanceH55
crushed, his duties ended ; and he had then only to
fold lus arms and look on, while their Tillages were
burned, their children butchered, and their women
violated. Will Mr. Gleig seriously maintain this
ODinion ? Is any rule more plain than this, that who-1160
ever voluntarily gives to another irresistible power
over human beings is bound to take order that such
power shall not be barbarously abused ? But we hes
pardon of our readers for arguing a point so clear.

We hasten to the end of this sad and disgracefulH65
story. The war ceased. The finest population in
Inclia was subjected to a greedy, cowardly, cruel
tyrant. Commerce and agriculture languished. The
rich province which had tempted the cupidity of
ourajah JDowlah becamA tli« moaf »v5^.,.v,.,ki„ __..x^iw^

WARREN HASTINGS.

even of his miserable dominions. Yet is the injured
nation not extinct. At long intervals giearn^ of its
ancient spirit have flashed forth ; and even at this
day, valor, and self-respect, and a chivalrous feeling

1175rare among Asiatics, and a bitter remembrance of the
great crime of England, distinguish that noble Af-
ghan race. To this day they are regarded as the
best of all sepoys at the cold steel ; and it was very
recently remarked by one who had enjoyed great

llSOopportunities of observation, that the only natives of
India to whom the word " gentleman " can with per-
fect propriety be applied are to be found among the
Rohillas.

Whatever we may think or the morality of Hast-

1185ing3, it cannot be denied that the financial results of
b'^ policy did honor to his talents. In less than two
years after he assumed the government, he had,
without imposing any additional burdens on the peo-
ple subject to his authority, added about four hun-

1190dred and fifty thousand pounds to the annual income
of the Company, besides procuring about a million
in ready money. He had also relieved the finances
of Bengal from military expenditure, amounting to
near a quarter of a million a year, and had thrown

1196that charge on the Nabob of Oude There can be no
doubt that this was a result which, if it had been ob-
tained by honest means, would have entitled him to
the warmest gratitude of his country, and which, by
whatever means obtained, proved that he posi eased

1200great talents for administration.

In the mean time Parliament had been engaged in
long and grave discussions on Asiatic afiairs. The
ministry of Lord North, in the session of 1773, in-
troduced a measure which made a considerable

1205change in the constitution of the Indian Govern-
ment. This law, known by the name of the Regu-
lating Act, provided thai the Presidency of Bengal
should exercise a control over the other possessions

WARREN HA8TING&

le injured
iiof. of its
m at this
lis feeling
ice of the
noble Af-
)d as the
was very
^ed great
natives of
with per-
mong the

of Hast-
results of
than two
he had,
1 the peo-
four hun-
al income
a million
3 finances
unting to
d thrown
can be no
I been ob-
ed him to
which, by
posi fessed

ngaged in
,irs. The
1773, in-
isiderable
I Govern-
he Regu-
of Bengal
OBsessions

121

8ho*^d hTSrVA' ^^^^ *^^ "^^"^ «^ ^^^^ presidency
should be styled governor-general ; that he shouldl210

courrnf ^ P ^"' councillors ; and that a supreme
thrl! f J'\dicature, consisting of a chief-justice and

o^ff. Tu-""' J"^?^'' '^^"^^ b« established at Cal
cutta. This court was made independent of the

wit"Tci?rrri "^^ ^^T^'''- ^^^^^' intrustedl215
Inf ^ f T ^^^^..^^^^^/l jurisdiction of immense
and at the same time, of undefined extent.

in ^h f ^^"^^''-general and councillors were named
m the Act, and were to hold their situations for five

OnTnf ?ifo f"^' ""*" **" ^® *^® fi""* governor-general. 1220
One of the four new councillors, Mr. Barwell an

Inr^The Zr' .1' the Company, wnT Then !n
Mont* A^'^t^'' I?""®^' ^®^^^*1 Clavering, Mr.

England. *^'^"'^'' ^'"^ '""* out^'from

^ Jw "tuv ""i*^® ^^"^ councillors was, beyond al/^^^
doubt, Phihp Francis. His acknowledged compo
sitions prove that he possessed considerable e^o-
quence and information. Several years passed in
the pubhc offices had formed him to habits of bus "l230
f!!^L. His enemies have never denied that he had a
fearless and manly spirit; and his friends, we are
afraid, must acknowledge that his estimate of him-
jllJTl^^f ^''T"*^^ ^^S^' th^t hi« t^»M>er was irrl

ind CgVu'rftioT '''"' ^'^ ^* '""'^'^'^ ^^^^---

wJinnr^!?^^^.?'''''F® *° '"^"^^"•^ this eminent man
wh^^^rV^'^''^'*'''^/^" ^ "^^"^^'^t to the question
Wo=\ fu"^""!!.^* ''''''^ suggests to every mind.1240
Was he the author of the "Letters of Junius"/
Our own firm belief is that he was. The evSce is
we think, such as would support a verdict in a civil'
Juni,;« t '/v!'"'"^^ proceeding. The handwriting of
«i 1^1 I *^®. ""^F peculiar handwriting of Fi^fcls 1245
shghtly disguised. As to the position, pursuits' aTd

122

WARREN HASTINGS.

connections of Junius, the following are the most
important facts which can be considered as clearly
proved : first, that he was acquainted with the tech-

1250nical forms of the Secretary of* State's office ; sec-
ondly, that he was intimately acquainted with the
business of the War-office ; thirdly, that he, during
the year 1770, attended debates in the House of
Lords, and took notes of speeches, particularly of the

1255speeches of Lord Chatham ; fourthly, that he bit-
terly resented the appointment of Mr. Chamier to
the place of Deputy Secretary at War ; fifthly, that
he was bound by some strong tie to the first Lord
Holland. Now, Francis passed some years in the

1260Secretary of State's office. He was subsequently
chief clerk at the War-office. He repeatedly men-
tioned that he had liimself, in 1770, heard speeches
of Lord Chatham ; and some of these speeches were
actually printed from his notes. He resigned his

1265clerkship at the War-office from resentment at the
appointment of Mr. Chamier. It was by Lord Hol-
land that he was first introduced into the public ser-
vice. Now, here are five marks, all of which ought
to be found in Junius. They are all five found in

1270Franoi8. We do not believe that more than two of

them can be found in any other person whatever.

If this argument does not settle the question, there

is an end of all reasoning on rirnyi|inntii1 evidence.

The internal evidence seems ^^^s to point the

1275same way. The style of Francis bears a strong re-
semblance to that of Junius ; nor are we disposed to
admit, what is generally taken for granted, that the
acknowledged compositions of Francis are very de-
cidedly inferior to the anonymous letters. The ar-

1280gument from inferiority, at all events, is one which
may be urged with at least equal force agiunst every
claimant that has ever been mentioned, with the sin-
gle exception of Burke ; and it would be a waste of
time to i^rove that Burke was not Junius. And

WABBBN HA8TING&

123

what conclusion, after all, can be drawn from inerel285
inferiority? Every Wiiter must produce his best
work, and the interval between his best work and
hia second-best work may be very wide indeed.
Nobody will say that the best letters of Junius are
more decidedly superior to the acknowledged worksl290
of Francis than three or four of Comeille's tragedies
to the rest, i m three or four of Ben Jonson's
comedies to the rest, than the * ' Pilgrim's Progress "
to the other works of Bunyan, than " Don Quixote "
to the other works of Cervantes. Nay, it is certainl295
that Junius, whoever he may have been, was a most
unequal writer. To go no further than the letters
which bear the signature of Junius, the letter to the
king, and the letters to Home Tooke, have little in
comnxon, except the asperity ; and asperity was anl300
ins^redient seldom wanting either in the writings or
in the speeches of Francis.

Indeed, one of the strongest reasons for believing
that Fr^iiicis was Junius is the moral resemblance be-
tween the two men. It is not difficult, from thel305
letters which, under various signatures, are known to
have bf^en written by Junius, and from his dealings
with Woodfall and others, to form a tolerably correct
notion of his character. He was clearly a man not
destitute of real patriotism and magnanimity, a manl310
whose vices were not of a sordid kind. But he must
also have been a man in the highest degree arrogant
and insolent, a man prone to malevolence, and prone
to the error of mistaking his malevolence for public
Virtue. *'Doest thou well to be angry?" was thel315
question asked in old time of the Hebrew prophet
And he answered, "I do weU." This was evidently
the temper of Junius ; and t.j this cause we attribute
the savage cruelty which disgraces several of his let-
ters No man is so merciless as he who, under a]320
strong self-delusion, confounds his antipathies with
his duties. It may be added that Junius, though

'II

124

WARREN HASTINGS.

allieci trith the democratic party by common enml-
ties, was the very opposite of a democratic politician.

ir/JOWAile attackii)i< individuals with a ferocity which
pe^etually violated all the laws of literary warfare,
he regarded the most defective parts of old institu-
tions with a respect amounting to pedantry, pleaded
the cause of Old Sarum with fervor, and contempt-

ISSOnously told the cnpitalists of Manchester and Leeds
that, if they wanted votes, they might buy land, and
become freeholders of Lancashire and Yorkshire. All
this, we believe, might stand, with scarcely any
change, for a character of Philip Francis.

1335 It is not strange that the great anonymous writer
should have been willing at that time to leave the
country which had been so powerfully stirred by his
eloquence. Everything had gone against him. That
pariy which he clearly preferred to every other, the

1340party of George Grenville, had been scattered by the
death of ils chief, and Lord Suffolk had led the
greater part of it over to the ministerial benches. The
ferment produced by the Middlesex election had gone
down. Every fitction must have been alike an object

1345of aversion to Junius. His opinions on domestic
atfairs separated him from the ministry ; his opinions
on colonial atiairs from the opposition. Under such
circumstances, he had thrown down his pen in misan-
thropical despair. His farewell letter to Woodfall

13501 Kars date the 19th of January, 1773. In that letter
lie declared that he must be an idiot to write again ;
that he had meant well by the cause and the public ;
that both were given up ; that there were not ten
men who would act steadily together on any question.

1355" But it is all alike," he added, "vile and contempt-
ible. You have never flinched that I know of, and I
shall ahvays rejoice to hear of your prosperity." These
were the last words of Junius. In a year from that
time Philip Francis was on his voyage to Bengal.

1360 With the three new councillors came out the

WAIIIIEN lUSTINOa

125

>n enml-

olitician.
;y which
warfare,
i institu-
, pleaded
Dntempt-
id Leeds
and, and
hire. All
cely i*ny

IB writer
eave the
Bd by his
m. That
ther, the
id by the

led the
hes. The
had gone
an object
domestic
opinions
ider such
in misan-
Woodfall
liat letter
te again ;
e public ;

not ten
(question,
ontempt-
of, and I
■." These
:rom that
ingal.

out the

"i.d were disposed to be suam-im.. i.„j °.,. ''">

When men ate in such a frame of m?n^ Punct. hous. 1370

suftieient .0 give occasion tlsput™ The &emt»
of Cduncil exnected a ho1i,+^ «p a x -oiemDers

the batteries^oTjVt wX,„ *&"* «"",f '"■»
Uiom only seventeen Tl «^ i' j-."-'"^ allowed

The «rst Lilitfe^wTre eSn e^wth^^olfc^^^^^

f^i^f'''?'" 'r"?^"^«^ that long quarrel which
after distracting British India, was renewed iiTw
land, and m which all the most Tminenr «!? ^'
and orators of the a-e took &ctiLZT ^***«««»fn
other side. ° ^® P^'^* °^ o^^® or thel380

Hastings was supported by Barwell Th^^ u j
not always been friends Bnf fKl ! i T ,5" ^^^

eS/u^iSn^^^SSiS--

Claver,ng Mo.fson and Frl^^X^'S'^tSSl''''

e hlidT if H» ^ ^'»'«d the government^uHf
wltho'uTju^tt.'lr Z'dXTwfth- tSrSt ""'

evere „,q„ny into the conduct of the war Netf

manner, their new authori y over tC Lbor^Tf*
pres>denc.es, threw all the Vai?s of BoSy'?^^

126

WARREN HASTINGS.

confusion, and interfered, with an incredible nnion

1400of rashness and feebleness, in the intestine dis-
putes of the Mahratta Government. At the same
time they fell on the internal administration of Ben-
cal, and attacked the whole fiscal and judicial
system— a system which was undoubtedly defective,

1405but which it was very improbable that gentlemen
fresh from England would be competent to amend.
The effect of their reforms was that all protection
to life and property was withdrawn, and that gangs
of robbers plundered and slaughtered with impunity

1410in the very suburbs of Calcutta. Hastings con-
tinued to Uve in the government-honse, and to draw
the salary of governor-general. He continued even
to take the lead at the Council-board in the trans-
action of ordinary business ; for his opponents could

l415not but feel that he knew much of which they
were ignorant, and that he decided, both surely and
speedily, many questions which to them would
have been hopelessly puzzling. But the higher
powers of government and the most valuable pat-

1420ronage had been taken from him.

The natives soon found this ont. They consid-
ered him as a fallen man, and they acted after their
kind. Some of our readers may have seen in India a
cloud of crows pecking a sick vulture to death— no

1425bad type of what happens in that country as often as
fortune deserts one who has been great and dread-
ed. In an instant, all the sycophants who had
lately been ready to lie for him, to forge for him,
to pander for him, to poison for him, hasten to pur-

1430chase the favor of his victorious enemies by accus-
ing him. An Indian government has only to let it
be understood that it wishes a particular man to be
ruined, and in twenty-four hours it will be furnish-
ed with grave charges, supported by depositions so
I435full and circumstantial that any person unaccus-
tomed to Asiatic mendacity would regard them as

WARREN HASTINGS.

127

or mar the fortnn« rTf f J-^e power to make

passed' afit seemed i^^^^^^^^ f ^^^^^ ^^^

councillors. CmTd^itely cfa L^^^^^^^^^ Z --
ernor-general began to pour in ^ Thl T ^ ^""7'
welcomed by the maiorltv i?". i^^^^.u ^''^ eagerlyl445

ment from power wTu cVf Jr?)f •? * "^ encourage-1450

avarice, and by^Sn K^""^ by malignity, by
avenged on his^d iS!",. ?^ ^^ "'<* *™e to be
seveLen^^ea';:, t^^^^^Zl^^l &" "'
of the maioritv of mo n„ "^»®" jn the favor

greatest nativeVienll Fro^ .*^ 'i^'"'"'^ *o"60
arrival of the new cSlors. he had mid'^L"' '""t
marked court to them anfl h!^ ■ ^ *"''™"^'

witf i^eat cer?m?n7 TZt""' ^T'^-°^ Francis,I4C5

'hat Mahommed Efir, K^ 'T^l'' ^*« allegecU470
^ithimpnn^rtecondd.^f? ^f ''^™ dismissed
to the governor "ener^^"'*""" "' " ^^^^ ^'^'^ »«*«
Francis read the paper in Council. A

- - V .. - »_'iA 4;

128

WARREN HASTINGS.

1475altercation followed. Hastings complained m bit-
ter terras of the way in which he was treated, spoke
with contempt of Nuncomar and of Nimcomar s
accusation, and denied the right of the Council to
sit in judgment on the governor. At the next
1480meeting of the Board, another communication from
Nuncomar was produced. He requested that he
might be permitted to attend th- Council, and that
he might be heard in support of his assertions.
Another tempestuous debate took place. The gov-
1485ernor-eeneral maintained that the council-room
was not a proper place for such an investigation ;
that from persons who were heated by daily con-
flict with him he could not expect the fairness ot
ludees ; and that' he could not, without betraying
1490the dignity of his post, submit to be confronted
with such a man as Nuncomar. The majority,
however, resolved to go into the charges. Hastings
rose, declared the sitting at an end, and left the
room, followed by Barwell. The other members
1495kept their seats, voted themselves a council, put
Clavering in the chair, and ordered Nuncomar to
be called in. Nuncomar not only adhered to the
original charges, but, after the fashion of the East,
produced a large supplement. He stated that
1500Hastings had received a great sum for appointing
Kaiah Goordas treasurer of the nabob s household,
and for committing the care of his highness s per-
son to the Munny Begum. He put in a letter pur-
porting to bear the seal of the Munny Begum, for
1605the purpose of establishing the truth of his story.
The seal, whether forged, as Hastmgs affirmed, or
genuine, as we are rather inclined to believe,
proved nothing. Nuncomar, as everybody knows
who knows India, had only to tell the Munny Begum
ISlOthat such a letter would give pleasure to the ma-
ioritv of the Council, in order to procure her
attestation. The majority, however, voted that

WARREN HASTINQ0.

129

^e charge was made onfc ; that Hastings had eor-

xe^nl' ^^ ^^^^^^ ^ ^^ compelled to]516

wPol^^^f ^? ^^/"^S ^'"•^"S *^e English in Bengal
was fltrongly m favor of the governor-general Tf
talents for business, in knowledge of fhe countir

suSorlT''^^ "^ dexneanorfhe was decTded7y'l520
superior to his persecutors. The servants of the

SrfP*^^^7'' • r*?''^"y ^«P°««d *o Bide ^th the
most distinguished member of their own bodv
against a clerk from the War-office, who pro^
foundly Ignorant of the native languagran(f of 1626
the native character, took on himsdf to reflate
every department of the administration. HasSg
however, m spite of the general sympathy of Ws
countrymen, was in a most painful situation.^ There
was still an appeal to higher authority in EngCd 1630
JJin^i authority took part with his enemiel no-
ihmg was left to him but to throw up his office. He
according y placed his resignation in the hands of
his agent m London Colonel Macleane But Mac
ZLTi^'^'i^^uH^r* *« produce the resignationl636
at ^he Tn^^? w ^^ ^""y ascertained that the feeling
gene^ll '^ ""*' *^^^'"^ *° *^« governor-

H J^!i!i ''^J^-i''' ^uncomar seemed to be complete.
SL. ^ •* daily levee, to which his countr™enl640
resorted m crowds, and to which, on one occST

g^B majority of the Council condescended to re^^^^^^^
fClT^ ^.^" f ?^^ffi«« for *he purpose of recei^g
charges against the governor-general. It was sail
that, partly by threats and partly by wheeduSg 1545
the yiUainous Brahmin had induced mrnyoftife
nra?i^^^''t'?'S "^ *^^Province to send In com! '■
laaw T*^H^as playing a perilous game. It
was not safe to drive to despair a man of such re!
sources and of sunh ilAi:«vi,,««*,-«^ "„ tt!.?? '® . --^

130

WARPEN nASTINOS.

Nuncowiar, with all his acntenesa, did not understand
the nature of tlie institutions under which he lived.
Ho sa^y that he had with him the majority of the
body which mado treaties, gave places, raised taxes.

l.">r»r»Tho separation between political and judicial func-
tions was a thing of which he had no conception. Jt
had probably never occurred to biin that thoTo was in
Bengal an authority i)crfectly iiub^pendent of the Coun-
cil, an authority which could protect one whom tlie

IfjOOCouncil wished to destroy, and send to the gibbet one
whom the Council wished to protect. Yet such was the
fact. The Supreme Court was, wit bin the sphere of its
own duties, alto;^'C'therindepoiuU'nt of the Government.
Hastings, with his usual sagacity, had seen how much

IbCh) id vantage he might derive from possessing himaelf of
Ihis stronghold, and he had acted accordingly. The
judges, es])eci}rfly the chief- justice, were hostile to the
majority of the Council. The time had now come for
putting this formidable mftchinery into action.

15V0 On a sudden, Calcutta was astounded by the news
tiiat Nuncomar had been taken up on a charge of
felony, committed, and thrown into the conunon jail.
The crime imputed to him was that six years bef-^re
he had forged a bond. The ostensible prosecutor

1575 was a native. But it was then, and still is, the
opinion of everybody, idiots and biographers except-
ed, that Hastings was the real mover in the business.
The rage of the majority rose to the higlrest point.
Tiiey protested against the proceedings of the Su-

158()preme Ceurt, and sent several urgent messages to the
judges demanding that Nuncomar should be admitted
to bail. The judges returned haughty and resolute
answers. All that the Council could do was to heap
honors nvd emoluments on the family of Nuncomar,

1585and this tlioy did. In the meantime the assizes com
menced ; a true bill was found, arid Nuncomar was
brought before Sir Elijah Impey and a jury composed
of Englishmen. A groat quantity of contradictory

WARRRN HAaTINOB.

131

swearing, and the necesafty of having every word of
the ovidonce interpreted, protracted the trial to al600
most unusual length. At last a verdict of guilty was
returned, and the chief-justice pronounced sentence
of death on the prisoner.

That Impey ought to have respited Nuncomar, we
hold to be perfectly clear. Whether the whole pro-1595
ceeding was not illegal, is a question. But it is cer-
tain that, whatever may have been, according to
technical rules of construction, the ellect of the stat-
ute under which the trial took place, it was most
unjust to hang a Hindoo for forgery. The law which 1600
made forgery capital in -England was passed withput
the smallest reference to the state of society iu India
It was unknown to the natives of India. It had
never been put in execution among them, certainly
not for want of delinquents. It was in the highe8tl605
degree shocking to all their notions. They were not
accustomed to the distinction which many circum-
stances, peculiar to our own state of society, Imve
led us to make between forgery and other kinds of
cheating. The counterfeiting of a seal was, in theirlClO
estimation, a common act of swindling ; nor had it
ever crossed their minds that it was to be punished
as severely as gang-robbery or assassination. A just
judge would, beyond all doubt, have reserved the
case for the consideration of the sovereian. Butl615
Impey would not hear of mercy or delay. °

The excitement among all classes was great. Fran-
cis, and Francis's few English adherents, described
the governor-general a^nd the chief- justice as the
worst of murderers. Clavering, it was said, 8worolG20
that, even at the foot of the gallows, Nuncomar
should be rescued. The bulk of the European socie-
ty, though strongly attached to the governor-general
could not but feel compassion for a man who, with
all his crimes, ha4 so long filled so large a space inl625
txieir Sight, who iiacl been great and powerful before

132

WARRBN IIASTINOS.

the British Empire in India began to exist, and to
whom, in the old times, governors and Momhers of
Oouncil, then mere commorciul factors, had paid court

lG30for protection. The feeling of the Hindoos was
infinitely stronger. They were, indeed, not a people
to strike one blow for their countryman. But his
sentence filled them with sorrow and dismay. Tried
even by their low standard of morality, he was a bad

163oman. But, bad as he was, he was the head of their
race and religion, a Brahmin of the Brahmins. Ho
had inherited the purest and highest caste. He had
• practised with thj greatest punctuality all those cere-
monies to which the superstitious Bengalees ascribe

IClOfar more importance than to the correct discharge of
the sooial duties. They felt, therefore, as a devout
Catholic in the Dark Ages would have felt at seeing
a prelate of the liighest dignity sent to the gallows
by a secular tribunal. According to their old national

1645 laws, a Brahmin could not be put to death for any
crime whatever. And the crimo for which Nunco-
mar was about to die was regarded by them in much
the same light in which the sellin " of an unsound
horse for a sound price is regarded by a Yorkshire

1650jockey.

The Mussulmans alone appear to have seen with
exultation the fate of the powerful Hindoo, who had
attempted to rise by means of the ruin of Mahommed
Reza Khan. The Mahommedan historian of those

lG55times takes delight in aggravating the charge. He
assures us that in Nuncomar's house a casket was
found containing counterfeits of the seals of all the
richest men of the province. We have never fallen
in with any other authority for this story, which in

1660 itself is by no means improbable.

The day drew near ; and Nuncomar prepared him-
self to die with that quiet fortitude with which the
Bengalee, so effeminately timid in personal conflict,

f\ti-i-%n .»«-!rt«iir»f «ir'a oalamifipq f/»v iirliinVi t-.Tiorp iu no

WAiiRRN nASTmai.

133

remedy. The sheriff with the humanity which islGGr,
seldom wanting m an EnRliah Kontloman, visited tho
j)monor (.11 tho ovo of the oxocuHon, and asBuml
Imu that no inaiilgonoo consistont witli tho law should
be rofusod to linn. Nunoomar cxproaaod liin K^atitudo
witli friyt^t j)olitono88 and unaitorod ooninosuro. Not I (}7()
a innsclo of his face movod ; not a sigh broko hum
"!'ii . rH"*' his In.gor to hia forohoad, and c-ahniy
said that falo would have its way, and that thoro wan
no resisting tho pleasure of a..d. Ho sont his com-
pliinenU to Francis, Clavorin^, and Monaon, andlOTu
charged Iumu to protect IJajah Ooordas, who was
about to become the head of (ho nrahmins of Bon-
gal I he slientr withdrow, greatly a<<itate(l by what
h«d paasod, and Nuncoinar sat composedly down to
write notes and examine accounts. |r;f^,)

Tho next morHing, before the sun was in his pow-
er, an iiiimenao concourse assembled round tho place
where tho gallows had been set up. Grief and hor-
ror were on every face ; yet to the last the multiiu.h,
could hardly behove that the English really purposed 1(185
to take the life of tho great Brahmin. At length tho
mournful procesHion came through the crowd Nun
comar sat up in his pala.upiin, and looked rolind him
with unaltered serenity, lie had just parted from
thoae who were most nearly oonnected with him. 101)0
IJieir cries and contortions had api)alIod the Euro-
poan ministers of juatice, but had not produced the
smallest ellect on tho iron stoicism of the prisoner
I he only anxiety which he expressed was that num of
his own prieatly caste might be in attendance to takel005
charge of his corpse, iio again desired to be remem-
bered to his friends in the Council, mounted the
scahold with lirmncss, and gave the signid to tht«
executioner. The moment tluit tho dro|) fell a howl
of sorrow and despair rose from the iiinumorablel70()
spectators. Hundreds turned away their faces from
tlie polluting biglit, lied with loud waiiinga toward

134

WARRPiN HASTINGS.

the Hoogly, and plunged into its holy waters, aa if to
purify themselves from the guilt of having looked on

1705such a crime. These feelings were not confined to
Calcutta. The whole province was greatly excited ;
and the population of Dacca, in particular, gave
strong signs of grief and dismay.

Of Impey's conduct it is impossible to speak too se-

1710verely. We have already said that, in our/)pinion, he
acted unjustly in refusing to respite Nunccmar. No
rational man can doubt that he took this course in
order to gratify the governor-general. ^If we had ever
had any doubts on that point, they would have been

1715dispelled by a letter which Mr. Gleig has published.
Hastings, three or four years later, described Impey
as the man " to whose support he was at one time
indebted for the safety of his fortune, iionor, and
reputation." These strong words can refer only to

1720the case of Nuncomar ; and they must mean that
Impey hanged Nuncomar in order to support Hast-
ings. It is, therefore, our deliberate opinion that
Impey, sitting as a judge, put a man unjustly to
death in order to serve a political purpose.

17'25 But we look on the conduct of Hastings in a some-
what different light. He was struggling for fortune,
honor, liberty, all that makes life valuable. He was
beset by rancorous and unprincipled enemies. From
his colleagues he could expect no justice. He cannot

1730be blamed for wishing to crush his accusers. He
was, indeed, bound to use only legitimate means for
that end. But it was not strange that he should
have thought any means legitimate which were pro-
nounced legitimate by the sages of the law, by men

1735who3e peculiar duty it was to deal justly between ad-
versaries, and whose education might be supposed to
have peculiarly qualified them for the discharge of
that duty. Nobody demands from a party the un-

Vkomlinrr onnifv nf a. "iiirlcrf*.

The reason that iudfes

1740are appointed is, that even a good man cannot be

WABBEN HASTINGS.

135

, he

cemed. Not a day passes on which an honest prose-
cutor does not ask for what none but a dishonest
tribunal would grant. It is too much to exp^t that
any man, when his dearest interests are at stake andl745
his strongest passions excited, will, as against htm

c1 ' CZ'"'' ''r '^" «"""^ dispensis'f jrt-
mf; .i *r /" analogous case from the history of
our own island suppose that Lord Stafford, when Tn
the Tower on suspicion of being concerned in tJel 750
Popish plot had been apprised that Titus Gates had

tZlZT^t'^'V^'f '^'^^'' ^y ^ questionable con
tn?-^T' ^ ^Tii^ ""^«^' *^^ head of felony
Should we severely blame Lord Stafford, in the sup-
posed case for causing a prosecution to be instituted 1755
for furnishing funds, for using all his influence to
intercept the mercy of the crown? We tMnk not
If a judge, indeed, from favor to the Catholic lo?ds
were to strain the law in order to hang OateJ? such a
judge would richly deserve impeachment ' But ia7(>0
does not appear to us that the Catholic lord, by
bringing the case before the judge for decision would

"^ Whiri'^^r^f '^^ '^^ ^"*« ^^ ^ J-* self-defensf
While, therefore, we have not the least doubt that
this memorable execution is to be attributed to Hast 176^
ings we doubt whether it can with justice be rect

Ta nTfn? ^;' 'T'^' ^!^.^* ^'' «^"^"^^ ^-« dictated
by a profound policy is evident. He was in a minority
m Council. It was possible that he might lona be in

LT"^"*^-!, ?1 ^""V *^« "^*i^« character welt Hel770
knew m what abundance accusations are certain to
flow m against the most innocent inhabitant of India

he'wh TiT f' ^'"T-'^ P^^^^- There was notl^
• 1 Jnl' ^.^'^ Papulation of Bengal a place-holderV
. pldce-hunter, a government-tenant, who did notl775
thmk hat he might better himself b^ sending up a ^^^

-^- agu.in^t ciie guvernor-general. ITndor

136

WABXSIf HABTTNOB.

iSr

solved to teach the whole crew of accusers and wit-

1780nesses that, though in a minority at the Council-
board, he was still to be feared. The lesson which
he gave them was indeed a lesson not to be forgotten.
The head of the combination which had been formed
against him, the richest, the most powerful , the most

1785artful of the Hindoos, distinguished by the favor of
those who then held the Government, fenced round
by the superstitious reverence of millions, was hanged
in broad day before many thousands of people.
Everything that could make the warning impressive,

1790dignity in the sufferer, solemnity in the proceeding,
was found in this case. The helpless rage and vain
struggles of the Council made the triumph more sig-
nal. From that moment the conviction of every
native was that it was safer to take the part of Hast-

I795ings in a minority than that of Francis in a majority;
and that he who was so venturous as to join in run-
ning down the governor-general might chance, in the
phrase of the Eastern poet, to find a tiger while
boating the jungle for a deer. The voices of a thou-

ISOOsand informers Avere silenced in an instant. From
that time, whatever difficulties Hastings might have
to encounter, he was never molested by accusations
from natives of India.

It is a remarkable circumstance that ono of the

18051etterB of Hastings to Dr. Johnson bears date a very
few hours after the death of Nuncomai'. While the
wliole settlement was in commotion, while a mighty
and ancient priesthood were weeping over the re-
mains of their chief, the conqueror in that deadly

ISlOgrapple sat down, with characteristic self-possession,

to write about the **Tour to the Hebrides," Jones's

*' Persian Grammar," and the history, traditions,

arts, and natural productions of India.

In the mean time, intelligence of the Rohilla war,

3,815and of the first disDut^s between Hastings and his
colleagues, had reached London. The Directors

WARRSK HABTINGP

187

took part with the majority, and sent out a letter
tilled with severe reflections on the conduct of Hast-
ings. rhey condemned, in strong but just terms, the
iniquity of undertaking offensive wars merely for thel820
sake of pecuniary advantage. But they utterly for-
got that, if Hastings had by illicit means obtained
pecuniary advantages, he had done so, not for his
own benefit, but in order to meet their demands. To
enjoin honesty, and tc insist on having what couldl825
not be honestly got, was then the constant practice
of the Company. As Lady Macbeth says of her hus-
band they 'would not play false, and yet would
wrongly win." ^

The Regulating Act, by which Hastings had beenl830
apponited governor-general for Ave years, empowered
the crown to remove him on an address from the
Company. Lord North was desirous to procure such
an address. The tliree Members of Council who had
been sent out from England were men of his ownl835
choice. General Clavering, in particular, was sup-
ported by a large parliamentary connection such as
no cabinet could be inclined to disoblige. The wish
of the minister was to displace Hastings, and to put
Clavering at the head of tlie Government. In theJ840
^ourt otl^xrecturs parties were very nearly balanced
Mqvqti voted against Hastings, ten for him. The
Cvourt of Proprietors was then convened. The great
sale-room presented a singular appearance. Letters
had been sent by the Secretary of the Treasury, ex.1845
hortmg al the supporters of Government who held
India stock to be in attendance. Lord Sandwich
marshalled the friends of the administration with his
nsual dexterity and alertness. Fifty peers and privv
councillors, seldom seen so far eastward, were counted J 850
in the crowd. The debate lasted till midnight The
opponents of Hastings had a small superiority on the
division ; but a ballot was demanded, and the result
was that the governor-general triumnbftd ^^ » »«ot-«-

138

WABBBN HASTlNGNIk

I856iiy of above a hundred votes over the combined
efforts of +he Directors and the Cabinet. The minis-
ters were greatly exasperated by this defeat. Even
Lord North lost his temper — no ordinary occurrence
with him — and threatened to convoke Parliament
ISGObefore Christmas, and to bring in a bill for depriving
the Company of all political power, and for restrict-
ing it to its old business of trc'f i - in siiks and teaa.

Colonel Macleane, who tl»' all this conflict

had zealously supported the .>^use of Hastings,

1865now thought that his employer was in imminent
danger of being turned out, branded with parlia-
mentary censure, perhaps prosecuted. The opin-
ion of the crown lawyers had already been taken
respecting some parts of the governor-general's

1870conduct. It seemed to be high time to think of
securing an honorable retreat. Under these cir-
cumstances, Macleane thought himself justilied in
producing the resignation with which he had been
intrusted. The instrument was not in very accu-

1875rate form, but the Directors were too eager to be
scrupulous. They accepted the resignation, fixed
on Mr. Wheler, one of their own bo(iy, to succeed
Hastings, and sent out orders that General Claver-
ing, as senior member of Council, should exercise

1880the functions of governor-general till Mr. Wheler
should arrive.

But while these things wore passing in England,
a great change had taken place in Bengal. Mon-
son was no more. Only four members of the Gov-

1885ernment were left. Claveriag and Francis were
on one side, Barwell and the governor-general on
the other ; and the governor -geaeral had the cast-
ing vote. Hastings, who had been during two
years destitute of all power and patronage, became

1890at once absolute. He instantly proceeded to retal-
iate on his adversaries. Theij? measures were re
Toroed, their creatures were displaced. A new

Warren Hastings.

139

valuation of the lands of Ben-af, for the purposes
of taxation, was ordered ; and it was provided that
the whole inquiry should be conducted ' the eov-1805
ernor-genoral, and that all the letters relating to it "
should run m his name Ho began, at the same
time, to revolve vast plans of conquest and domin-
ion, plans which he lived to see reahzed, though
not by himself His project was to form subsidiarylOOO
alhances with the native princes, particularly with
those of Oude and Berar, and thus to make Britain
the paramount power in India. While he was
meditating these great designs, arrived the intelli-
gence that he had ceased to be governor -general, 190.5
that his resignation had been accepted, that
Wheler was coming out immediately, and that,
till Wheler arrived, the chair was to be filled bv
Clavering. ^

Had Hastings still been in a minority, he wouldlOlO
probably have retired without a struggle ; but he '
was now the real master of British India, and he
was not disposed to quit his high place. He as-
serted that he had never given any instructions
which could warrant the steps taken at home.1915
What his instructions had been, he owned he had
forgotten If he had kept a copy of them, he had
mislaid It. But he was certain that he had re-
peatedly declared to the Directors that he would
• not resign. He could not see how the court, pos-19'>0
sessed of that declaration from himself, could re- '
ceive his resignation from the doubtful hands of an
agent. If the resignation were invahd, all the
proceedings which were founded on that resig-
nation were null, and Hastings was still governor.1925
general.

He afterward affirmed that, though his agents
had not acted m conformity with his inetructions, ^
ho would, nevertheless, have held himself bound
by their acts, if Ciavermg had not attempted tol930

til

lii

140

WARREN HASTINGS.

seize the supreme power by violence. Whether
this asaertion were or were not true, it cannot be
doubted that the imprudence of Clavering gave
Hastings an advantage. The general sent for the

1935keys of the fort and of the treasury, took posses-
sion of the records, and held a council, at wdiich
Francis attended. Hastings took the cliair in an-
other apartment, and Barwell sat with him. Each
of the two parties had a plausible show of right.

1040There was no authority entitled to their obedience
within fifteen thousand miles. It seemed that
there remained no way of settling the dispute ex-
cept by an appeal to arms ; and from such an ap-
jieal, Hastings, confident of his influence over his

1945aountrymen in India, was not inclined to shrink.
He directed the officers of the garrison at Fort
William and of all the neighboring stations to obey
no orders but his. At the same time, with admir-
able judgment, he offered to submit the case to the

1950S iipreme Court, and to abide by its decision. By
making this proposition, he risked nothing ; yet it
was a proposition which his opponents could hardly
reject. Nobody could be treated as a criminal for
obeying what the judges should solemnly pro-

1955nounGe to be the lawful Government. The boldest
man would shrink from taking arms in defense of
what the judges should pronounce to be usurpa-
tion. Clavering and Francis, after some delay, un-*
willingly consented to abide by the award of the

1960cou'rt. The con.rt pronounced that the resignation
was invalid, and that therefore Hastings was still
governor-general under the Regulating Act ; and
the defeated mentbers of the Council, finding that
the sense of the whole settlement was against

1965them, acquiesced in the decision.
^ About fliis time arrived the news that, after a
suit which had lasted several years, the Fran-
oouian courts had decreed a dlTorce between Izn-

WARREN HASTINGS.

141

hoff and his wife. The baron left Calcutta, oarrv-

JfpirT,* T^ f 5 "^u^""^ ""^ ^^y^^g ^« estate inl970
baxony. The lady became Mrs. Hastings. The

event was celebrated by great festivities ; and aU

the most conspicuous persons at Calcutta, without

distmction of parties, were invited to the gov-

ernment-house. Clavering, as the Mahommedanl075

chronicler tells the story, was sick in mind and

body, and excused himself from joining the splen-

did assembly. But Hastings, whom, as it should

seem, success m ambition and in love had put into

hJ^-fi? f'^T^""' ^^^l^„*ake no denial. He wentl980
himself to the general's house, and at length
brought his vanquished rival in triumph to the gav
circle which surrounded the bride. The exertion
was too much for a frame broken by mortification
fat^ ^^ ^ disease. Clavering died a few daysl986

Wheler, who came out expecting to be governor-
general, and was forced to content himself with a
seat at the Council-board, generally voted with

hlf^T'A 1?''* *^® governor-general, with Barwell'sl990
help and his own casting vote, was still the maa-
ter Some change took pluce at this time in the
feeling both of the Court of Directors and of the
ministers of the crown. AU designs against Hast-
mgs were dropped ; and, when his original term ofl996
five years expired, he was quietly reappointed.
The truth js, that the fearful dangers to which the
public interests in every quarter were now ex-
posed made both Lord North and the Company
unwilling to part with a governor whose talents.2000
experience, and resolution, enmity itself was com'
pelled to acknowledge.

, The crisis was indeed formidable. That great and
victorious empire, on the throne of which George the
Ihird had taken his seat eighteen years before, with2005
brighter hopes than had attended the accession of

142

WAKIIKN HASTINGS.

any of the loni? line of English sovereigns, harl, by
the most sonsoless misgovernment, been brought U
the verge of ruin. In America, mUliona of English

20 1 Omen were at w with the country from which their
blood, their language, their religion, and their insti-
tutions were derived, and to which, but a short
time before, tliey had been as strongly attached as
the inhabitants of Norfolk and Loicest'Tshire. The

2015great powers of Europe, humbled to the dust by the
vigor and genius which had guided the councils of
George the Second, now rejoiced in the prospect of a
signal revenge. The time was approaching when our
i&land, while struggling to keep down the United

2020State8 of America, and pressed with a still nearer
danger by the too just discontents of Ireland, was to
be assailed by France, Spain, and Holland, and to be
threatened by the armed neutrality of the Baltic ;
when even our maritime supremacy was to be in

2025jeopardy ; when hostile fleets Avere to command the
Straits of Calpe and the Mexican Sea ; Avhen the Brit-
ish flag was to be scarcely able to protect the British
Channel. Great as were the faults of Hastings, it
was happy for our country that at that conjuncture,

2030the most terrible through which she has ever passed,
he was the ruler of her Indian dominions.

An attack by sea on Bengal was little to be appre-
hended. The danger was that the European ene-
mies of England might form an alliance with some

2035native power, might furnish that power with troops,
arms, and ammunition, and might thus assail our
possessions on the side of the land. It was chiefly
from the Mahrattas that Hastings anticipated dan-
ger. The original seat of that singular people was

2040the wild range of hills which runs along the western
coast of India. In the reign of Auruiigzebe the in-
habitants of those regions, led by the great Sevaje?*,
began to descend on the possessions of their wealthier
and less warlike neighbors. The energ;. , ferocity,

WARRFN HASTmnS.

143

and cunning of the Mahrattaa soon made them thcmr.
most conspicuous amon^ the new powers wliich were
generated by the corruption of the decaying In
arohy M hrst they were only robbers, ^hey soon
rose to the dignity of conquerors. fFalf ihfpro^.
mces of the empire were turned into Maliratta prin-2050
cpalities. Freebooters, spruni. from low castesf and

raTh« Th '?. "^T*"^ en^Ployments, became m ghty
rajahs. Ihe Bonslaa, at the heaa ai a band of plun-
derers, occupied the vast region of Berar. The

m^rZnld th!ff' ^^^"S/^^-I-pr^ted, the Herds.2055
man, founded that dynasty which still reigns in
Guzerat. The houses of Scindia and Holkar waxed
great m Malwa. One-adventurous captain ma^e'lTis
nest on the impregnable rock of Gooti. Another
became the lord of the thousand villages which are20C0
scattered among the green rice-fields of Taniore

Ihat was the time, throughout India of double
government. The form and the power were every
where separated. The Mussulman nabobs who had
become sovereign princes, the vizier in Onde, and the2005
Nizam at Hyderabad, still called themselves the vice-
roys of the house of Tamerlane. In tlie same man-
ner the Mahratta states, though really independent
of each other, pretended to be members of one em-
pire. They all acknowledged, by words and cere.2070
monies, the supremacy of the heir of Sevajee, a rai
famSant who chewed bang and toyed with dancing-
girls m a state-prison at Sattara, and of his Peshwf .
or mayor of the palace, a great hereditary magistrate'
who kept a court with kingly state at Poonah, and2075
whose authority was obeyed in the spacious provinces
of Aurungabiidand Bejrpoor.

Some months before war was declared in Europe
the Government of Bengal was alarmed by the news
that a French adventurer, who passed for a man of 2080
quality, had arrived at Poonah. It was said that h-
had been received there with great distinction, that

144

WARBBN HASTINGS.

he had delivered to the Peshwa letters and presents
from Lewis the Sixteenth, and that a treaty, hostile

2086to England, had been concluded between France and
the Mahrattas.

Hastings immediately resolved to strike the first
blow. The title of the Peshwa was not undisputed.
A portion of the Mahratta nation was favorable to a

2090pretender. The governor-general determined to es-
pouse this pretender's interest, to move an army
across the peninsula of India, and to form a close
alliance with the chief of the house of Bonsla, who
ruled Berar, and who, in power and dignity, was

2095inferior to none of the Mahratta princes.

The army had marched, and the negotiations with
Berar were in progress, when a letter from the Eng-
lish consul at Cairo brought the news that war
had been proclaimed both in London and Paris. All

2100the measures which the crisis required were adopted
by Hastings without a moment's delay. The French
factories in Bengal were seized. Orders were sent to
Madras that Pondicherry should instantly be occu-
pied. Near Calcutta, works were thrown up which

2105were thought Co render the approach of a hostile force
impossible. A maritime establishment was formed
for the defense of the river. Nine new battalions of
sepoys were raised, and a corps of native artillery
was formed out of the hardy Lascars of the Bay of

2110Bengal. Having made these arrangements, the gov-
- emor-general, with calm confidence, pronounced his
presidency secure from all attack, unless the Mah-
rattas should march against it in conjunction with
the French.

2115 The expedition which Hastings had sent westward
was not so speedily or completely successful as most
of his undertakings. The commanding officer pro-
crastinated ; the authorities at Bombay blundered ;
but the governor-general persevered. A new com-

2120mander repaired the errors of his predecessor. Sev^

WARKBN HASTINGS.

145

?h!^Tr. 1- J'^u*"*'''?* "P^®*^ ♦'^^ military renown of
the English through regions where no ELropeanflag
hAd ever been seen. It is probable tliat if a new
and more formidable danger Ld not compelled Hast
hf Mahr^ri!" "^'^^ Pf ^^^' ^i« plans' respectt42125
X^efe'tfe'ct"^"'"^ "^"^^^ ^^^ ^-» ^-^ ^nt?

T^I^!!*"*^"*"*'^' "'i ®"«^*"^ ^»^ ^«ely sent oat to
Bengal, as commander of the forces and Member of

ofthatfZ'T^J the most distinguished 8oldier82130
of that time. Sir Eyre Coote had, many years before
been conspicuous among the founders of^the British
Empire m the East. At the council of war which
preceded the battle of Plassey, he earnesUy r^com

cTrse ;Wch 'T^^'" *' '^' .'"^j^^^y' '^^^ dariS^2135
a^5 \- u ^' *^*®'' ^^™® hesitation, was adopted
He 7^"^ ™ crowned with such splendid success.'
5!in.wt?T"^ commanded in the South of India
against the brave and unfortunate Lally, gained the
decisive battle of Wandewash over the^Kench and 2140
EnlT'""' *"'''' *°«k Pondicherry, and made the ^
SfxST ' '"P'r" '" *^" ^^^"^*i«- Since those
C n!^^ ' ru'''l ^v?''*^ y^^^« ^^^ elapsed. Coote
in earllirr' *^* bodily activity which he had shown

gether unimpaired He was capricious and fretful,

mnnr 1, ^1 """"*' ""^ ^^*^' ^^ ^^^^^^ ^^^t the love of
mZ^T.^? S'^'^'n "P^'' ^^"'' ^^^ ^^*<= ^« thought
t^n mtU ^'' *"«^^n^^«' ^ndjes3 about his duties,2150
tha^ might have been expected from so eminent a

W f^ If^/'^S^ ^ profession. Still he was per-
haps the ablest officer that was then to be found in

nat. w '""^ ^T^"- Among the native soldiers his
TsZ^r?? ^''®?** ^""^ ^i" i»^fl"ence unrivalled. ISror2155
hPMr/^ forgotten by them. Now and then a white-

tall nf V^^l 'T^ "^^l «*^" ^« f^"^^^ who loves to
talk of Porto NoTo and Pollilore. It is but a short

s I

f !

♦•-fi

III

14G

WAKRBN HASTINGS.

tim^ ainoe one of those aged men came to present a

2100meinorial to au English oflicer whoholdaone of the high-
est employments in India. Aprintof Coorehungin the
room. The veteran recognized at once that face and
figure which he had not seen for more than half a
century, and, forgetting his salam to the living, halt-

2105ed, drew himself up, lifted his hand, and with solemn
reverence paid his military obeisance to the dead.

Coote, though he did not, like Barwell, vote con-
stantly with the governor-general, was by no means
inclined to join in systematic opposition, and on most

21'?0questions concurred with Hastings, who did his best,
by assiduous courtship, and by readily granting the
most exorbitant allowances, to gratify the strongest
passions of the old soldier.

It seemed likely at this time that a general recon-

-'175ciliation would put an end to the quarrels which had,
during some years, weakened and disgraced the
government of Bengal. The dangers of the empire
might well induce men of patriotic feeling — [f,nd of
patriotic feeling, neither Hastings nor Francis was

2180de3titute — to forget private enmities, and to co-oper-
ate heartily for the general good. Coote had never
been concerned in faction. Wheler was thoroughly
tired of it. Barwell had made an ample fortune,
and, though he had promised that he would not leave

2J86Calcutta while his help was needed in Council, was
most desirous to return to England, and exerted him-
self to promote an arrangement which would set him
at liberty.

A compact was made, by which Francis agreed to

■2190desist from opposition, and Hastings engaged that
the friends of Francis should be admitted to a fair
share of the honors and emoluments of the service.
During a few months after this treaty there was ap-
parent harmony at the Council-board.

2195 Harmony, indeed, was never more necessary ; for

^lOiuent internru

iiiui'u lOriiiluuiiJiu

WABRBK HAflTINOa.

147

than war itself, menaced Bengal. The authors of
the Regulating Act of 1773 had 'established two inde-
pendent powers— the one judicial, the other political ;
I and, with a carelessness scandalously common in2200

English legislation, had omitted to define the limits of
either. The judges took advantage of the indistinct-
ness, and attempted to draw to themselves supreme
authority, not only within Calcutta, but through the
whole of the great territory subject to the Presidency2205
of Fort William. There are few Englishmen who
will not admit that the English law, in spite of modern
improvements, is neither so cheap nor so speedy as
might be wished. Still, it is a system which has
grown up amonsj us. In some points it has been22lO
fashioned to suit our feelings ; in others, it has gradu-
ally fashioned our feelings to suit itself. Even to
its worst evils we are accustomed ; and therefore,
though we may complain of them, they do not strike
us with the horror and dismay which would be pro-2215
duced by a new grievance of smaller severity. In
India the case is widely different. English law,
transplanted to that country, has all the vices from
which we suffer here ; it has them all in a far higher
degree ; and it has other vices, compared with which2220
the worst vices from which we suffer are trifles.
Dilatory here, it is far more dilatory in a land where
th« help of an interpreter is needed by every judge
and by every advocate. Costly here, it is far more
costly in a land into which the legal practitioners must2225
be imported from an immense distance. All English la-
labor in India, fr 3m the labor cf the governor-general
and the commander-in-chief down to that of a groom
or a watchmaker, must be paid for at a higher rate
than at home. No man will be banished, and ban-2230
ished to the torrid zone, for nothing. The rule holds
good with respect to the legal profession. No English
barrister will work, fifteen thousand miles from all
his friends, with the thermometer at ninety-six in the

14S

WARREN HASTINGS.

2235shade, for the emolumenta which will content him in
chambers that overlook the Thames. Accordingly,
the fees at Calcutta are about three times as great as
the fees of Westminster Hall ; and this, though the
people of India are, beyond all comparison, poorer

2240than the people of England. Yet the delay and the ex-
pense, grievous as they are, form the smallest part of
the evil which English law, imported without modi-
fications into India, could not fail to produce. The
strongest feelings of our nature— honor, religion

2245female modesty— rose up against the innovation!
Arrest on mesne process was the first step in most
civil proceedings : and to a native of rank arrest was
not merely a restraint, but a foul personal indignity.
Oaths were required in every stage of every°suit";

2250and the feeling of a Quaker about an oath is hardly
stronger than that of a respectable native. That the
apartments of a woman of quality should be entered
by strange men, or that her face should be seen by
them, are, in the East, intolerable outrages— outrages

2255 which are more dreaded than death, and which can
be expiated only by the shedding of blood. To these
outrages the most distinguished families of Bengal,
Bahar, and Oriasa were now exposed. Imagine what
the state of our own country would be if a jurispru-

2260dence were on a sudden introduced among us which
should be to us what our jurisprudence was to our
Asiatic subjbots. Imagine what the state of our
country would be if it were enacted that any man
by merely swearing that a debt was due to him'

2265should acquire a right to insult the persons of men
of the most honorable and sacred callings, and of
women of the most shrinking delicacy ; to horsewhip
a general oflicer, to put a bishop in the stocks, to treat
ladies in the way which called forth the blow of Wat

2270Tyler. Something like this was the efiect of the
attempt which the Supreme Court made to extend its
jurifldiction orer the whole of the Company's territory.

WARREN HASTINGS.

A reign of terror began, of terror heightened by
mystery ; for even that which was endured was less
orrible than that which was anticipated. No man3275

tribunal It came from beyond the black water-as
the people of India, with mysterious horror, call the
sea It consisted of judges not one of whom wa^
amiliar with the usages of the mil] ions over whom2280
they claimed boundless authority. Its records we^
kept in unknown characters; its sentences were pro!
nounced m unknown sounds. It had already collected
round Itself an army of the worst part of the nat ve
population : informers, and false wit^iesses, and com-2285
mon barrators, and agents of chicane, and, above aH
a banditti of bailiffs' followers, compared vkh whom
the retainers of the worst English spun^ing-hoiise^
in the worst times, might be^considLd as upS
^mnil^t!;. ^^'*f • M^^y natives, highly con8ide?ed2290
among their countrymen, were seized, hurried up to
Calcutta, flung mto the common jail, not for any
crime even imputed, not for any debt that had been '
proved, but merely as a precaution till their cause
should come to trial. There were instances in which2295
men of the most venerable dignity, persecuted with-
out a cause by extortioners, died of rage and shame
m the gripe of the vile alguazils of Impey The
harems of noble Mahommeda ns, sanctuaries respected
m the Jiast by governments whicli respected nothing2300
else, were burst open by gangs o( bailiffs. The Mus-
sulmans, braver and less aocustomed to submission
than the Hindoos, sometimes stood on their defense •
and there were instances in which they shed their '
blood m tne door-way, while defending, sword in2305
hand, the sacred apartments of their women Nav
it seemed as if even the faint-hearted Bengalee, who
had crouched at the feet of Surajah Dowlah, who had
been mute during the administration of Vansittart,
would at length find courage in despair. No Mah-2310

* 'i

150

WARRKN HASTINGS.

ratfa invasion had ever spread through the province
such dismay ar> this inroad of English lawyers. All
the injustice of former oppressors, Asiatic and Euro-
pean, appeared us a blessing when compared with the

23ir)ju8tice of the supremo Court.

Every class of the population, English and native,
with the exception of the ravenous pettifoggers who
fattened on the misery and terror of an immense
community, cried out loudly against this fearful

2320oppression. But the judges were innnovable. If a
bailiff was resisted, they ordered the soldiers to be
called out. If a servant of the Company, in con-
formity with the orders of the Government, withstood
the miserable catchpoles who, with Impey's writs in

2325fcheir liands, exceeded the insolence and rapacity of
gang-robbers, he was Hung into prison for a contempt.
The lapse of sixty years, the virtue and wisdom of
many eminent magistrates who have during that
time administered justice in the Supreme Court, have

2330not etiaced from the minds of the people of Bengal
the recollection of those evil days.

The members of the Government were, on this
subject, united as one man. Hastings had courted
the judges ; he had found them useful instruments ;

2335but he was not disposed to make them his own
masters, or the masters of India. His mind was
large ; his knowledge of the native character most
accurate. He saw that the system pursued by the
Supreme Court was degrading to the Government

2340and runioui to the people, and he resolved to oppose
it manfully. The consequence was, that the friend-
ship, if that be the proper word for such a connection,
which had existed between him and Iwipey, was for a
time completely dissolved. The Government placed

2345itself firmly between the tyrannical tribunal and the
people. The chief -justice proceeded to the wildest
excesses. The governor-general and all the Members
of Council were served with writs calliniv on them to

WARREN HASTINGS.

161

appear before the king's justices, and to answer for
their public acts. This Vas too much 1 JstmS 2350
witli just scorn, refused to obey the call, set at liborTv
the persons wrongfully detained by the couiiand
took measures for resisting the outrageous nioceed

TZa' BuVh^f^ •'"^'^«' '' necfsr^^brtt
sword. But ho had ni view another device whic)i2'^fifi
might prevent the necesssity of an appellto Irm ^ ^^
He was seldom at a loss for an expedient and he
knew I.npey well. The expedient, l til ca'e "s
a very snnple one-neitlier more nor less than -tbribe
Impey was, by act of Parliament, a iudi/e ^ndenend's'^fin

s'aiiv of^' uT"""^5, ^^ ^^"^^^' -d^:v«ttrto?'''

salary of eight thousand a year. Hastings proposed
to n.tke him also a udgo in the Company ssS

I7"^ul\ "' '^' PJ^"^"^-^' "^ '^'' GoveiimeVt of Ben:
gal , and to give him, m that capacity, about ei£rht23G-,
thousand a year more. It was unders ood tha? in
consideration of this new salary, Impoy would desist
from urging the high pretensions of his court If he
did urge these pretensions, the Government could, at
a moment's notice, e ect him from the new placc2370
which had been created for him. The bargain^was
struck ; Bengal was saved ; an appeal to for^e was
rnlmoii'"^ the chief-justice wi/ rich, quiet' a7d

Of Impey's conduct it is unnecessary to speak. It'J375
was of a p.ece with almost every part of his co due
that comes under the notice of history. No other
such judge has dishonored the English ermine since
Jetferies drank himself to death in the Tower fiSt

iWnr"?lf^r' ""'*?• ^^^'%y^^ have blamed' Hast-2380
mgs for this transaction. The case stood thus The
negligent manner in which the Regulating Act had

tothrnr'"^ P".* '^ in the power of' the chief-justice
to throw a great country into the most dreadful con-

uZn«; „?f ""T '^^*^^^«^if\^d t« use his power to the2385

Uimoat, linlnHa ho iw.qo nn{^^ f^ U^ n^-" J -TT . .

152

WABBBN HASTINGS.

consented to pay him. The necessity was to be de-
plored. It is also to be deplored that pirates should
be able to exact ransom by threatening to make their

2390captives walk the plank. But to ransom a captive
from pirates has always been held a humane and
Christian act ; and it would be absurd to charge the
payer of the ransom with corrupting the virtue of
the corsair. This, we seriously think, is a not unfair

2395illustration of the relative position of Impey, Hast-
ings, and the people of India. Whether it was right
in Impey to demand or to accept a price for powers
which, if they really belonged to him, he could not
abdicate, which, if they did not belong to him, ho

2400ought never to have usurped, and which in neither
case he could honestly sell, is one question. It is
quite another question whether Hastings was not
right to give any sum, however large, to any man,
however worthless, rather than either surrender mil-

24051iona of human beings to pillage or rescue them by
civil war.

Francis strongly opposed this arrangement. It
may, indeed, be suspected that personal aversion to
Impey was as strong a motive with Francis as regard

2410for the welfare of the province. To a mind burning
with resentment, it might seem better to leave Ben-
gal to the oppressors than to redeem it by enriching
them. It is not improbable, on the other hand, that
Hastings lay have been the more willing to resort to

tMlSan expsd nt agreeable to the chief- justice, because
that high functionary had already been so service-
able, and might, when existing dissensions were
composed, be serviceable tigain.
But it was not on this point alone that Francis

2420wa8 now opposed to Hastings. The peace between
them proved to be only a short and hollow truce,
during which their mutual aversion wa,8 constantly
becoming stronger. At length an explosion took
place. Haating* publicly charged Fsancis wit& hay-

WARRinr KAKn.

Jnjr decefred Wm, and with having induced BarweU

to quit the service by insincere promises. Thon2425
came a dispute, such as frequently arises even between
honorable men when they may make important a^ree-
ments oy mere verbal communication. An impartial
historian will probably be of opinion that they had
misunderstood each other ; but their minds were 802430
much embittered that they imputed to each other
nothing less than deliberate villany. " I do not "
said Hastings^ in a minute recorded on the consult^,
tions of the Government ~ "I do not trust to Mr
Francis s promises of candor, convinced that he i82435
incapable of it I judge of his public conduct by
his private which I have found to be void of truth
and honor After the Council had risen, Francis
put a challenge into the governor-generara hand.
^rZ^l *"«*^i:*ly accepted They met, and fired.2440
Francis was shot througli the body. He was carried
to a neighboring house, where it appeared that the
wound, though severe, was not mortal. Hastmffs
inquired repeatedly after his enemy's health, and
proposed to call on him ; but Francis coldly declined2445
tue visit. He had a proper sense, he said, of the
governor-general s politeness, but could not consent
to any private interview. They could meet only at
the Council-board. "^

In a very short time it was made signally mani.2450
fest to how great a danger the j^^overnor-general
Had, on this occasion, exposed his conntrv. A
crisis arrived with which he, and he alone, was
competent to deal. It is not too much to say that,

^nof}'''^^^''^^^ ^'^^^^ *^^« head of affairs, the2456
years 1780 and 1781 would have been as fatal to
our power in Asia as to our power in America.

The Mahrattas had been the chief obiects of an-
prehension to Plastings. The measures which he
had adopted for the purpose of breaking their2460
power had at first been fnwtratod bv the errors

154

WARRBN RASTINOa

of those whom he was compeUea to employ ; but
his perHeverance and abihty seemed likely to be
crowned with success, when a far more formidable
2465(langer showed itself in a distant quarter

About thirty years before this time, a* Mahom-
raedan soldier had begun to distinguish himself in
the wars of Southern India. His education had
o^7nP n" noRlected; his extraction was humble. His
2470fatlier had l)een a petty officer of revenue; his
grandfather a wandering dervise. But thouch
thus meanly descended, though ignorant even ol
the alphabet, the adventurer had no sooner been
placed at the head of a body of troop.s than he ap-
2475proved himself a man born for conquest and com-
niand. Among the crowd of chiefs who were
struggling for a share of India, none could com-
pare with him m the qualities of the captain and
the statesman He became a general ; he became
2480a sovereign. Out of the fragments of old princi-
pahties, which had gone to pieces in the general
wreck, he formed for himself a great, compact,
and vigorous empire. That empire he ruled with
94QrT?i® ability, severity, and vigilance of Lewis the
24S.)Kleventh. Licentious m his pleasures, implacn])lo
ill his revenge, he had yet enlargement of mind
enough to perceive how much the prosperity of
subjects adds to the strongtli of governments He
OAon^'"'^' ^^°,.^PPF^«sor ; ^ut he had at least the merit of
2490prooecting his people against all oppression except
Ills own. He was now in extreme old age ; but lus
intellect was as clear, and his spirit as high, as in
the prime of manhood. Such was the great Hvder
o^Q^^r ' ^® fo^^jder of the Maliommedan kingdoi of
2495Mysore, and the most formidable enemy with
whom the English conquerors of India have ever
had to contend.

Had Hastings been governor of Madras, Hvdet
would have been either made a friend, oi* vigor

WARRRN HASTINGS.

155

ously eucounfcered as an enemy. Unhapoilv theiiSfid
EnghBh authorities in tlie South provoSttieir
powertul neighbor's hostlHty, without being pre'
pared to repel it On a sudden, an army ot ninety
thousand men, far superior in discipline and ct^
hciency to any other native force that could be2506
found in India, came pouring through those wild
passes whicli, worn by mountain torrents, and dark
with .luiigle, load down from the tab e -land o1
Mysore to the plains of the Carnatic. This grea
army was accompanied by a hundred piecis of2510
cannon ; and its movements were guided by mam

S^Europf '''' *'''"'^ ''' '''' best'mihtaryLa
Hyder was everywhere triumphant. The senov^
in many British garrisons flung down their arms 2515
Some foits were surrendered by treachery. am\
some by despair. In a few days the whole open
country north of the Coleroon had submitted. The
English inhabitants of Madras could already see
by night from the top of Mount St. Thomas, tho2520
eastern sky reddened by a vast semicircle of blaz-
ing villages. The white villas, to which our coun-
trymen retire after the daily labors of government
and of trade, when the cool evening breeze sprinjis
up from the bay, were now left without inhabit-2525
ants ; for bands of the fierce horsemen of Mysore
had already been seen prowling among the tulip-
trees, and near the gay verandas. Even the town
was not thought secure, and the British merchants
and pubhc functionaries made haste to crowd2o30
tliemselves behind the cannon of Fort ot. George

There were the means, indeed, of assembling an
army which might have defended the presidency
and even driven the invader back to his moun'
tains. Sir Hector Muaro was at the head of one2535
considerable force ; Bciillie was advancing with an-
other. United, they might have presented V for-

u '1,1

156

WARREN HASTINGS,

midable front even to such an enomy as Hyrler.
But the Englii^h commanders, neglecting those fan.

2640damental rules of the military art of which the
proprioty is obvious even to men who had never
received a military education, deferred their junc-
tion, and were separately attacked. Bailiie's de-
tachment was destroyed. Muuro was forced to

2545abaudon his baggage, to fling his guns into the
tanks, and to save himself by a retreat which might
be called a flight. In three weeks from the com-
mencement of the war, the British Empire in
Southern India had been brought to the verge of

2550ruin. Only a few fortified places remained to us.
The glory of our arms had departed. It was
known that a great French expedition might soon
be expected on the coast of Coroma.ndel. England,
beset by enemies on every side, was in no condition

2555to protect such remote dependencies.

Then it was that the fertile genius and serene
courage of Hastings achieved their most signal
triumph. A swift ship, flying before the south-
west monsoon, brought the evil tidings iu a few

2560days to Calcutta. In twenty-four hours the gov-
ernor-gene i^al had framed a complete plan of policy
adapted to the altered state of affairs. The strag-
gle with Hydcr was a struggle for life and death.
All minor objects must be sacrificed to the prcser-

2565vation of the Carnatic. The disputes witli the
Mahrattas must be accommodated. A large mili-
tary force and a supply of mouey must be instantly
sent to Madras, But even these measures would
be insufficieut, unless the war, hitherto so grossly

2570mismanage(l, were placed under the direction of a
vigorous mind. It wa^ no time for trifling. Hast-
ings determined to resort ■'•o an extreme exercise of
power, to suspend the incapable governor of Fort

St. George,
2575Hvderj i

with the whole

1 tn i

send Sir
trust th
administration of the war,

Ooote to
dist'incfuished

yre

d, rlist.incfiii

oppose
cfeneral

WARRBN nASTINGS.

157

In ftpite of the sullen opposition of Francis, who "
had now recovered from his wound, and had returned
Zunt ^''''"°'^' ^^« ,JJOvernorjxe„ oral's wise and firm
ThlLZTf ^PP'°^^^ ^'y *h« majority of the board. 2580
The re-enforcements were sent off with i?reat expedi-
tion, and reached Madras before the French arma-
ment arrived in the Indian seas. Coote, broken by
age and disease, was no longer the Coote of Wande-
wash ; but he was still a resolute and skilful com-2585
mander. The progress of Hyder was arrested ; and
Z A.TI^^^ the great victory of Porto Novo re-
trieved the honor of the English arms.

In the meantime Francis had returned to Enc^land

wLw\" !?^' r'n'T ^^^\ ^'^'^'"^^^y "nfettered.'2500
Wheler had gradually been relaxing in his opposition,
and, after the departure of his vehement and impla-
cable colleague, co-operated heartily with the gov-
ernor-general, whose influence over the British in

ItltfT^^ ^''^^*' u^^' ^y *^« ^^g«^ ^"d "access of259c
his recent measures, been considerably increased.

wi^'Jn li'^'f^ *^M ^^ffi«"l*i^'« arising from factions

l'm»JiP7^'''^ "^^"^^ ^* ^^ ®^<^' ^"other class of
di&culties had become more pressing than ever. The

tmancial embarrassment was extreme. Hastings had 2G0O
to hnd the means, not only of carrying on the gov-
ernment of Bengal but of i )aintaining\ most costly
war against both Indian and European enemies in the
Uirnatic, and of making remittances to England A
tew years before this lime hu had obtained relief byi^G05
plundering the Mogul and enslaving the RohiUas ;
nor were the resources of his fruitful mind by any
means exhausted. ^ ^

His first des'gn was on Benares, a city which in
wealth, population, dignity, and sanctity was among2(n0
the foremost of Asia. It was commonly believed that
Jialf a million of human beings was crowded into that
labyrinth of lofty alleys, rich with shrines, and min-
arets, aziu lialcuiues, and carved oriels, to which the

}

i m

168

WARRISK HA8TIN0&

2616sacred apes olun^ by hundreds. The traveller could
scarcely make iiis way through the press of holy
mendicants and not less holy bulls. The broad and
stately flights of steps which descended from these
swarming haunts to the bathing-places along the

2620Gange8 were worn every day by the footsteps of an
innumerable multitude of worshippers. The schools
and temples drew crowds of pious Hindoos from
every province where the Brahminical faith was
known. Hundreds of devotees came thither every

2625month to die ; for it was believed that a peculiarly
happy fate awaited the man who should pass from
the iacred oity into the sacred river. Nor was su-
perstition the only motive which allured strangers to
that great metropolis. Commerce had as many pil-

2630grims as religion. All along the shores of the vener-
able stream lay great fleets of vessels laden with rich
merchandise. From the looms of Benares went
forth the most delicate silks that adorned the balls of
St. James's and of Versailles ; and in the bazaars,

3G35the muslins of Bengal and the sabres of Oude were
mingled with the jewels of Golconda and the shawls
of Cashmere. This rich capital, and the surrounding
tract, had long been under the immediate rule of a
Hindoo prince, who rendered homa'^e to the Mogul

2040emperors. During the great anprcLy of India, the
lords of Benares became independent of the court of
Delhi, but were compelled to submit to the authority
of the Nabob of Oude. Oppressed by this formidable
neighbor, they invoked the protection of the English.

2645The English protection was given ; and at length the
nabob vizier, by a solemn treaty, ceded all his rights
over Benares to the Company. From that time the
rajah was the vassal of the Government of Bengal,
acknowledged its supremacy, and engaged to send an

2650annual tribute to Fort William. This tribute Cheyte
Sing, the reigning prince, had paid with strict punc-
tuality.

WAiatEN IIAaTINUS.

169

About the prccisG nature of the legal relation be-
twoon tho Compn.y and tlio Knjah of Bonares there

nn« «!!" Tf "^f "" ""^ ''''"^^ controversy. On the2656
one side, it has been maintained that Cheyte Sinir
was merely a great subject on whom the superio?
power had a riglit to call for aid in the necessities of
the empire. On the other side, it has been contend-
ed that ho was an independent prince, that the only2C60
claim which the Company had upon him was for a
hxed tribute and that, while th. (ixed tribute was
reirnlarly paid, as it assuredly was, tlie Enirlish had
no more right to exact any further contribution from

^ri; "ir m'^®"'''"'^ subsidies from Holland or Don-2G(i6
n ark. Nothing is easier than to find precedents and
analogies m favor of either view.

Our own impression is that neither view is correct.
tlZZ f '""'^ the habit of English politicians to

and definite constitution by which questions of this

kind were to be decided. The truth is that, during

the interval which elapsed between the fall of thi

house of Tamerlane and the establishment of the

l^ritish ascendency there was no such constitution. 2G75

The old order of things pad passed away ; the new

order of things was not yet formed. All was transi-

lon confusion, obscurity. Everybody kept his head

if ?^ V^^^ ^"^ scrambled for whatever lie

u.uia get. There have been similar seasons in2G80

vinJJ^nTT^^'" *•"'" ^.^ *^" dissolution of the Carlo-
vmgian Empire is an instance. Who would think of
seriously discussing the question, what extent of
pecuniary aid and of obedience Hugh Capet had a
constitutional right to demand from the Duke of 2685
Brittany or the Duke of Normandy ? The words
constitutional right " had, in that state of society,

j,|;

s I

U Hugh Capet laid hands on all the

=>• V ^^"o"^i*p«i' laia nanas on all the

possessions of the Duke of Normandy, this might be
unjust and immoral ; but it would nut be illegal, in2690

160

WARREN HASTINGS.

\::\

the senae in which the ordinances of Charles the
Tenth were illei^al. If, on tlie other hand, the Duke
of Normandy made war on Hugh Capet, thh might be
unjust and immoral ; but it would not be illegal in
2G96the sense in whicli the expedition of Prince Louis
Bonaparte was illegal.

Very similar to this was the state of India sixty
years ago. Of the existing governments not a single
one could lay claim to legitimacy, or could plead any
2700other title than recent occupation. There wa!s
scarcely a province in which the real sovereignty and
the nominal sovereignty were not disjoined? Titles
and forms were still retained which implied that the
heir of Tamerlane was an absolute ruler, and that the
2705nabobs of the provinces were his lieutenants. In re-
ality, he was a captive. The nabobs were in some
places independent princes. In other places, as in
Bengal and the Carnatic, they had, like their master,
become mere phantoms, and the Company was su-
2710preme. Among the Mahrattas, again, the heir of
Sevajee still kept the title of rajah ; but he was a
prisoner, and his prime minister, the Peshwa, had
become the hereditary chief of the State. The
Peshwa, in his turn, was fast sinking into the same
2715degraded situation into which he had reduced the
rajah. It was, we believe, impossible to find, from
the Himalayas to Mysore, a single government which
was at once a government de facto and a government
de jure, which possessed the physical means of mak
2720mg itself feared by its iioighbors and subjects, and
which had at the same time the authority derived
from law and long prescription.

Hastings clearly discerned, what was hidden from
most of his contemporaries, that such a state of
272othings gave im.mense advantages to a ruler of great
talents and few scruples. In every iaternational '
question that could arise, he had his option between
the de facto sround and the de iur» amnnA . ^r^A ^u^

WARREN HASTINGS.

161

probability was that one of those grounds would sua
tam any claim that it miglit be convenient for him to2730
make, and enable him to resist any claim madrby
others In every controversy, accordingly, he re^
sorted to the p ea which suited his immediate purpose
without troubling himself in the least about consis'
tency ; and thus he scarcely ever failed to find what 2735
to persons of short memories and scanty informaron
seemed to be a justification for what he waS?o do!
Sometimes the Nabob of Bengal is a shadow, some!
times a monarch. Sometimes the vizier is a mere
deputy sometimes an independent potentate If imd(\

title to the revenues of Bengal, the gr ,t under the
seal of the Mogu is brought forward as an instru!
ment of the highest authority. When the Mogul
asks for the rents which were reserved to him by 2745
that very grant he is told that he is a mere pageant
that the English power rests on a very different foun-
dation from a charter given by him, that he is wel-
come to play at royalty as long as he likes, but that

India." ^""^ '"'' ^ ^''''^ *^® """^^ "^*«*«" «f2750

It is true that it was in the power of others as
Lt in' fl Hastings, to practise this legerdemain ;
t.v .f^*^?^^ controversies of governments, sophis-
tic is of little use unless it be backed by nower 275'=i
There IS a principle which Hastings was fond of assert
ing in the strongest terms, and on which he acted with
musrown^ Bteadiness. It is a principle which, we
SA ^- ^?§^. 'x,'"^^ ^® ^"^^^^^y abused, can

It^« fht^ ?{.T*^;! '" ^^^ ^'^l^^^ «*^*^ ^* Public law. 2760 '
It is this that where an ambiguous question arises

between two governments, there is, if they cannot

agree, no appeal except to force, and that the opinion

ot the stronger must prevail. Almost every question

was ambiguous in India. The English GovernmanL7fi5

»vaa ihe Btruiigest m India. The consequences are"' "

'kfl

162

WARREN HASTINGS.

iir

I'l 1

obvious. The English Government might do exactly
what it chose.

The English Government now chose to wring

2770money out of Cheyte Sing. It had formerly been
convenient to treat him as a sovereign prince ; it
was now convenient to treat him as a subject.
Dexterity inferior to that of Hastings could easily
find, in the general chaos of laws and customs, ar-

2775guments for either course. Hastings wanted a
great supply. It was known that Cheyte Sing had
a large revenue, and it was suspected that he had
accumulated a treasure. Nor was he a favorite at
Calcutta. He had, when the governor-general was

2780in great difficulties, courted the favor of Francis
and Clavering. Hastings, who, less perhaps from
evil passions than from policy, seldom left an injury
unpunished, was not sorry that the fate of Cheyte
Sing should teach neighboring princes the same

2785lesson which the fate of Nuncomar had already
impressed on the inhabitants of Bengal.

In 1778, on the first breaking-out of the war with
France, Cheyte Sing was called upon to pay, in
addition to his fixed tribute, an extraordinary con-

2790tribution of fifty thousand pounds. In 1779, an
equal sum was exacted. In 1780, the demand was
renewed. Cheyte Sing, in the hope of obtaining some
indulgence, secretly offered the governor-general a
bribe of twenty thousand pounds. Hastings took the

2795money, and his enemies have maintained that he
took it intending to keep it. He certainly conceal-
ed the transaction, for a time, both from the Coun-
cil in Bengal and from the Directors at home ; nor
did he ever give any satisfactory reason for the

2800concealment. Public spirit, or the fear of detection,
at last determined him to withstand the tempta-
tion. He paid over the bribe to the Company's
treasury, and insisted that the raj ah should instantly
comply with the demands of the English Govern-

WARREN HASTINGS.

163

The money was paid. But tliis was not enoneh ^^^°
th« fin! ""^I*' •" i''^ S°»«> of I^dia had inc?eafed

words of HaBting3?^seIf-.nlli -ferua?
the means of relief of the CompanVs dXesses to
make him pay largely for his pSrdon, oi to eTot a
severe vengeance for past delinqueuov " The nI»^9S0K

strate then J^!irj'^'' '^°°''' ''« •1"^'^° to remon.

hUc^nlT' 'it matt:™-^"^ '°'^ ^'?'">'">«^ andTo'2885
uucuna. xne matter was one which could nnf hn

To^TtTeltt''''^^'^"-^ -^H-Cleae'l
Cheyte Sing received his liege lord with everv

^^s^'trn^-t-^dTco^^^^^^^^^^^^

md expressed his deep concern atThe di'spleruw

164

WARREN HASTINaa

of the English. He even took off his turban, and
laid it in the lap of Hastings, a gesture which in

2845India marks the most profound submission and de-
votion, Hastings behaved with cold and repulsive
severity. Having arrived at Benares, he sent to
the rajah a paper containing the demands of the
Government of Bengal. The rajah, in reply,

2850attempted to clear himself from the accusations
brought against him. Hastings, who wanted money
and not excuses, was not to be put off by the ordi-
nary artifices of Eastern negotiation. He instantly
ordered the rajah to be arrested and placed under

2855the custody of two companies of sepoys.

In taking these strong measures, Hastings scarcely
showed his usual judgment. It is possible that,
having had little opportunity of personally observino
any part of the population of India except the Ben-

2860galces, he was not fully aware of the difference be-
tween their character and that of the tribes which
inhabit the upper provinces. He was now in a land
far more favorable to the vigor of the human frame
than the Delta of the Gauges ; in a land fruitful of

2865soldiers who have been found v/orthy to follow
English battalions to the charge and into the breach.
The rajah was popular among his subjects. His
administration had been mild ; and the prosperity
of the district which he governed presented a strik*

2870ing contrast to the depressed state of Bahar under
our ruk, ''ti ^ a still more striking contrast to the
misery of tne provinces which were cursed by the
tyranny of the nabob vizier. The national and re-
ligious prejudices with which the English were

2875regarded throughout India were peculiarly intense
in the metropolis of the Brahminical superstition.
It can therefore scarcely be doubted that the gov-
ernor-general, before he outraged the dignity of
Cheyte Sing by an arrest, ought to have assembled
ipable of bearinj^ down all opposition.

J880a

'i-i-

WARREN HASTINGS.

165

This had not been done. The handful of sepoys
who attended Hastings would probably have been
sufiicient to overawe Moorshedabad, or the Black

conflict with the hardy rabble of Benafes. The2885
streets surrounding the palace were filled by an im-
mense multitude of whom a large proportion, as is
usual m Upper India, wore arms. The tumult be-
came a fight, and the fight a massacre. The Ent^lish
oflicers defended themselves with desperate cou''rage2890
against overwhelming numbers, and fell, as became
them, sword m hand. The sepoys were butchered.
The gates were forced. The captive prince, neglect-
ed by nis jailers during the confusion, discovered an
outlet which opened on the precipitous bank of the2895
Changes, let himself down to the water by a string
made of the turbans of his attendants, found a boat
and escaped to the opposite shore. '

If Hastings had, by indiscreet violence, brought
himself into a diflicult and perilous situation,' it is2900
only just to acknowledge that he extricated himself
with even more than his usual ability and presence of
mmd. He had only fifty men with him. The build-
ing m which he had taken up his residence was on
every side blockaded by the insurgents. But his for-2905
titude remained unshaken. The rajah from the other
side of the river sent apologies and liberal ofiers
Ihey were not even answered. Some subtle and en^
terprising men were found who undertook to pass
through the throng of enemies, and to convey the2910
intelligence of the late events to the English canton-
ments. It is the fashion of the natives of India to
wear large ear-rings of gold. When they travel, the
rings are laid aside, lest the precious metal should
tempt some gang of robbers, and, in place of the2915
ring, a quill or a roll of paoer is inserted in the orifice
to prevent it from closing. Hastings placed in the
ears of his messengers letters rolled un in the small-

iil;

150 WARREN HA8TIN0S,

est compass. Some of these letters . were addrossed

2920to the commanders of English troops. One was writ-
ten to assure his wife of his safety. One was to the
envoy whom he had sent to negotiate with the Mah-
rattas. Instructions for the negotiation were needed ;
and the governor- general framed them in that situa-

2925tion of extreme danger with as much composure as if
he had been writing in his palace at Calcutta.

Things, however, were not yet at the worst. An
English officer of more spirit than judgment, eager
to distinguish himself, made a premature attack on

2930tho insurgents beyond the river. His troops were
entangled in narrow streets, and assailed by a furious
populatlun. He fell, with many of his men, and the
survivors were forced to retire.

Thiseventproduced the effect which has never failed

2935to follow evoiy check, however slight, sustained in
India by the English arms. For hundreds of milea
round, the whole country was in commotion. The
entire population of the district of Benares took
arms. The fields were abandoned by the husband-

2940men, who thronged to defend their prince. The in-
fection spread to Oude. The oppressed people of
that province rose up against the nabob vizier, refused
to pay their imposts, and put the revenue ofticers to
flight. Even Bahar was ripe for revolt. The hopes

2945of Cheyte Sing began to rise. Instead of imploring
mercy in the humble style of a vassal, he began to
talk the language of a conqueror, and threatened, it
was said, to sweep the white usurpers out of the land.
But the English troops were now assembling fast.

2950The officers, and even the private men, regarded the
governor-general with enthusiastic attachment, and
flew to his aid with an alacrity which, as he boasted,
had never been shown on any other occasion. Major
Popham, a brave and skilful soldier, who had highly

2955distinguished himself in the Mahratta war, and in
whom the governor-general reposed the greatest con-

Li. ■ ^"T*

Warren Hastings.
8torm«/l T„ „T ^1 . ^' -^^^ fastnesses were

Bsappomted m his expectations from BenarP. 90^-
Hastings was more violpnf f>.o». 1, 11 ■'^enares,2i)7o

between torpid repose ^TL m^ "Xu^^'^itf'''"

gressions of neighbors who despised his weaknesf
~~°"' '"^ •^'"'' " *^^ »*« ioae Uie advantage which

1«B

WAURBN HASTINGS.

2995he had thus gaine.i. The nabob soon pegan to com-
plain of the burden which he had undertaken to bear.
His revenues, he said, were falling off; his servants
were unpaid ; he could no longer support the expense
of the arrangement which he had sanctioned. Hast-

SOOOings would not listen to these representations. The
vi?ier, he said, had invited the Government of Ben-
gal to send him troops, and had promised to pay for
them. The troops had been sent. How long the
troops were to remain in Oude was a matter not set-

3005tled by the treaty, it remained, therefore, to be
settled between the contracting parties. »ut the
contracting parties differed. Who then must decide (

The stronger. v u «

Hastings also argued that, if the English force

SOlOvvas withdrawn, Oude would certainly become a prey
to anarchy, and would probably be overrun by a Mah-
ratta army. That the finances of Oude were embar-
rassed, he admitted. But he contended, not without
reason, that the embarrassment was to be attributed

3015to the incapacity and vices of Asaph-ul-Dowlah him-
self and that, if less were spent on the troops, the
only effect would be that more would be squandered
on worthless favorites.
Hastings had intended, after settling the affairs ot

3020Benares, to visit Lucknow, and there to confer with
4saph-ul-Dowlali. But the obsequious courtesy of
the nabob vizier prevented this visit. With a small
train, he hastened to meet the governor-general.
An interview took place in the fortress which, from

3025the crest of the precipit' r-^a rock of Chunar, looks
down on the waters of the Ganges.

At first sight it might appear impossible that the
negotiation should come to an amicable close. Hast-
ings wanted an extraordinary supply of money.

S030Asaph-ul-Dowlah wanted to obtain a remission ot
what he already owed. Such a difference seemed to
admit of no compromise. There was, however, « no

WARREN HA8TIN08.

169

course aatisfactory to both sides, one course by which

iT*"/??''^^^, *"* '^l^^^^ *^^ fi"^^°«« both of Oude
and of Benga ; and that course was adopted It3035
V- as simply this, that the governor-general^nd the
nabob vizier should join to rob a third party ; and
he third party whom they determined to rob wan
the parent of one of the robbers.

The mother of the late nabob, and his wife, who3040
was the mother of the present nabob, were kno^Hs
the Begums or Princesses of Oude. They had pes-
sessed great influence over Surajah Dowlah, and had,
at his death been left in possession of a splendid
cU)tation The domains of which they received the3045

lltir^'v^^''T'^''''^ l^''' government were of wide
extent. The treasure hoarded by the late nabob a
treasure which was popularly estimated at near three
niilhons sterling was in their hands. They continu'
TilnHf^lT^ir'' favm;ite palace at Fyzabad-theSO
.nw • liP'^f"/';"T^^'^^ A«aph-ul-DowIah held hi.
court in the stately Lucknow, which he had built for

u^h n^? *^' '^^'"' "^ .*^" ^^«"^*^' '-^"^ ^^d adorned
with noble mosques and colle<'es.

Asaph-ul-Dowlah had already' extorted considera-15055
ble sums from his mother. She had at length an
pealed to the English, and the English had interfered.
A solemn compact had been made, by which she
consented to give her .on some pecuniary assistance,
and he in his turn promised never to commit any fur-30r,0
ther invasion o her rights. The compact was formally
guaranteed by the Government of Bengal. But times
had changed ; money was wanted ; and the power
which had given the guarantee was not ashamed to

sSfk ?rom Zt' '" '"''"'' '"^^ *^^* '^'^ ^^^^^'^

It was necessary to find some pretext for a confis-
cation uiconsistent, not merely with plighted faith,
not merely w;th the ordinary rules of humanity and
justice, but also with that great law of liiial piety3070

170

'WARBBN HA8TINGI.

wTi^ch, eyen In the wildest tribes of savages, even in
those more degraded communities which wither under
the influence rf .1. « "rupt half-civilization, retains a
certain authority c^iu the human mind. A pretext

3075was the Uiar. tliwig ihat Hastings was likely to want.
The insurrection at Benares had produced distur-
bances in Oude. These disturbances it was con-
venient to impute to the princesses. Evidence for
the imputation there was acnrcely any, unless re-

3080ports wandering froni one mouth to another, and
gaining something by every transmission, maybe called
evidence. Theaccused were furnished with no charge ;
they were permitted to make no defense ; for the gov
ernor-general wisely considered that, if he tried tliom,

3085ho might not be able to find a ground for plundering
them. It was agreed between him and the nabob
vizier that the noble ladies should, by a sweepmg act
of confiscation, be stripped of their domains and
treasures for the benefit of the Company, and that

3090the sums thus obtained should be accepted by the
Government of L mgal in satisfaction oi its claims on
the Government of Oude.

While Asaph-ul-Dovvlah was at Chunar, he was
completely subjugated by the clear and communding

3095intellect of the English statesman ; but, when they
had separated, the vizier began to reflect with un-
easiness on the engagements into which he had enter-
ed. His mother and grandmother protested and
implored. His heart, deeply corrupted by absolute

3100power and licentious pleasures, yet not naturally un-
feeling, failed him in this crisis. Even the English
resident at Lucknow, though hitherto devoted to
Hastings, shrunk from extreme measures. But the
governor-general was inexorable. He wrote to the

3105resident in terms of the greatest severity, and de-
clared that, if the spoliation which had been agreed
upon were not instantly carried into eflect, he would
himself go to Lucknow, anci do that from which

WARREN TrASTINHS.

171

feeblor minds rocoilod with dismay. The roHul.ui
and immediate effect. Asaph uID?>wkh v^l f

a.ta„^oe of ti.e, we cannot .plj'^tZLt f„'|
There were at Fyzsbad two ancient .nen belong

thus ,«trang. ! from sympathy with their kind «r»
those whom pr.nces may most safely trust -SurafahSlSO
Dowlnh had been of this oninion Ho I,n^ ?«rajah^l30
entire confidence to the two Lunuchs • andS l"°

hti^idt^ "'"'''""'' "' '''<• ^--^ " 'he hi:Ki

These men were, by the orders of tho British Onv ^i^k
rnh' f^^^i^^r^Boned, ironed, sLrvd'almoI;^^
to de.ith, m order to extort money frox fhp r^?«

^ C^ trxtdThj^itxr^eri't:^

not the smaiiost cb noe of their esc'aS and thS
their irons really added nothing to ?f; seonriti
»? *•. *"''°'ly in which they Vrc kent hJ<»^k
did not nnder.t»d the plan of LTuperiX Th^fr^"^

172

WARREN HASTINGS.

1 1

object in these inflictiona was not aeourity, but tor-
turo ; and all mitigation was refused. Yet this was
not the worst. It was resolved by an English Gov
!3150rrnmont that those two infiiui old men should be de-
livered to the tormentors. For that purpose they
were removed to Lucknow. What horrora their dun-
geon there witnessed can only be guessed. But there
remains on the records of Parliament this letter,
3155written by a British resident to a British soldier :

•* Sir, the nabob having determined to inflict cor-
poral punishment upon the prisoners under your
guard, this is to desire that his oflicers, when they
shall come, may have free access to tho prisoners,
aiOOand bo permitted to do with them as they shall see
proper."

While these barbarities were perpetrated at Luck-
now, the princeBsos were still under duress at Fyza-
bad. Food was allowed to enter their apartments
3165only in such scanty quantities that their female attend-
ants were in danger of perishing with hunger.
Month after month this cruelty continued, till at
length, after twelve hundred thousand pounds had
been wrung out of tho princesses, Hastings began to
3l70think that he had really got to the bottom of their
coffers, and that no rigor could extort more. Then
at length the wretched men who were detained at
Lucknow regained their liberty. When their irons
were knocked off, and the doors of their prison open-
3l75ed, their quivering lips, the tears which ran down
their cheeks, and the thanksgivings which they pour-
ed forth to the common Father of Mussulmans and
Christians, melted even the stout hearts of the Eng-
lish warriors who stood by.
3180 But we must not forget to do justice to Sir Elijah
Impey's conduct on this occasion. It was not indeed
easy for him to intrude himself into a business so
entirely alien from all his official duties. But there
was something inexpressibly alluring, we must sup-

I f

WARREN IIASTINcl.

173

pose, in the peculiar ranknens of the infamy whichSJft-.
was then to be g.fc at Lucknow. He hurrir/tlTitlTer ^^
.•13 fast as relays of palanquin-bearers could carry him
A crowd of people came before him with aflklavits

Tlini!; ffl f ^,^g"""«' .r«''^^^y drawn in their hands.
I hose affidav. 8 he di.l m.t read. Some of them,3190
ndoed ho could not road ; for they were in the dfa-
lects of Northern India, and no*^ interpreter was
employed He admmistered the oath to the depo-
nents with all possible expedition, and asked not a "
single question, not oven whether they had perusedSlOfi
he statements to which they swore. This work per
tormed, ho got again into his palanquin, and posted
back to Calcutta, to be in time foj the open^ngof
term Tlie cause was one which, by his own confes-
sion, lay altogether out of his jurisdiction. Under the3200
charter of justice, he had no more right to inquire
into crimes committed by Asiatics in Oude than the
Lord President of the Court of Session of Scotland
to hold an assize at Exeter. He had no right to try
the Begums, nor did he pretend to try them WitMSOf;
what object, then, did h^ undertake llon^- a ^ur ^^^^
ney ? Evidently in order that he might give, in an
irregular manner, that sanction which in a regular
manner he could not give, to the crimes of those who
had recently hired him ; and in order that a confused 3210
mass of testimony which he did not sift, which he dW
not even read, might acquire an authority not pro-
perly belonging to it, from the signature of the high-
est judicial functionary in India. ^

fnb^Vflf^T.^T?''^?'^' ^,«^ever, when he was3215
to be stripped of that robe which has never, since
the Revolution been disgraced so foully as b^ him.
The state of India had for some time occupied much
of the attention of the British Parliament. Toward
the close of the American war, two committees of 3220
the Commons sat on Eastern affairs. In one Ed-
mund Burke took the lead. The other was under

WARUEN HASTINGS.

the presidency of the able and versatile Henry Dun-
das, then Lord Advocate of Scotland. Great as are

8225the changes which, during the last sixty years, have
taken place in our Asiatic dominions, the reports
which those committees laid on the table of the
House will still be found most interesting and in-
structive.

3280 There was as yet no connection between the Com-
pany and either of the great parties in the State.
The ministers had no motive to defend Indian abuses.
On the contrary, it was for their interest to show, if
possible, that the government and patronage of our

S2350riental Empire might, with advantage, be transfer-
red to .' emselves. The votes, therefore, which, in
consequence of the reports made by the two com-
mittees, were passed by the Commons, breathed the
spirit of stem and indignant justice. The severest

3240epithet8 were applied to aeveral of the measures of
Hastings, especially to the Rohilla war ; and it was
resolved, on the motion of Mr. Dundas, that the
Company ought to recall a governor-general who had
brought such calamities on the Indian people, and

3246such dishonor on the British name. An act was

gassed for limiting the jurisdiction of the Supreme
iourt. The bargain which Hastings had made with
the chief -justice was condemned in the strongest
terms ; and an address was presented to the king,

3250praying that Impey might be summoned home to
answer for his misdeeds.

Impey was recalled by a letter from the Secre-
tary of State. But the proprietors of India stock
resolutely refused to dismiss Hastings from their

8255service, and passed a resolution affirming, what was
undeniably true, that they were intrusted by law
■with the right of naming and removing their gover-
nor-general, and that they were not bound to obey the
directions of a single branch of the legislature with

3260re8pect to such nomination or removal.

WARREN HASTINGS.

176

ed^at^ZCd !ff ^l ^n «°»P'«y««»» Hastings remain-
rprinVof 1785 R-^' CJoyernment of Bengal till the
jpnng of 1785 His admmistration, so eventful and

c 1 thL'^""''^ '" ^^™?^* P«^^^°* ^"i«t- In the Coun

cil there was no regular opposition to his measures 3265

fererXtr' '^ '"'^'- '^^^ MahrattrrTad''''
ceased. Hyder was no more. A treaty had been

been ev^lli*^. ^^' T' ^^^^^^ ' ^"^ '^^ Carnatic ha'S
been evacuated by the armies of Mysore. Since the

tormmationof the American war/England had no3270
European enemy or rival in the Eastern se^. ^^^^

Ha«SniT' .^^^^«^.^f the long administration of
Hastmgs, it is impossible to deny that, against the
great crimes by which it is blemished, w; hTve to set
off great public services. England had passed through3275
a perilous crisis. She still, indeed, maintained her
place m the foremost rank of European poworsl and

fearfToddVL^^-'^ ?he had defended herself against
teartul odds nad inspired surrounding nations with a
high opinion both of her spirit and of her 2engVh 3280
«^rri'l^'''' m every part of the world, ezcept one

n«nl^ . ^T ^ ^?T ?"^ °"^y had she beeS com'
pelled to acknowledge the independence of thirteen

thlTrsh^bf :^ -^^ her children, and to concHiate
lhlJ.t ,^ .f ''S^ .".P *^® ^^^ht of legislating for3285
hem ; but in the Mediterranean, in the Gulf of Mex-
ico^ on the coast of Africa, on the Continent of
' ^f Terii'^' had.heen compelled to cede the ?rui?8
of her victories in former wars. Stain regained
Minorca and Florida ; France regained Senegd 3290
Goree, and several West Indian islands. The onlv

?nrw:« 1*^' T^^> \^^^^ ^rit^in had lost no^h^
ing was the quarter m which her interests had been
committed to the care of Hastings. In spite of the

Ss'thrnT""' r*' '' ^"^^P '^» -^ Alrc'ene!3295
Z^nli ^^""^"^ ""J """J^ ^^"nt^y in the East had been
greatly augmented. Benares was subjected ; the na-
bobviaer reduced to vassalage. That our nfluence

176

WARREN HASTINGS.

i h

had been thus extended— nay, that Fort William and

3300Fort St. George had not been occupied by hostile

armies — was owin^, if we may trust the general voice

of the English in India, to the skill and resolution of

Hastings.

His internal administration, with all its blemishes,

3305gives him a title to be considered as one of the most
remarkable men in our history. He dissolved the
double Government. He transferred the direction of
affairs to English hands. Out of a frightful anarchy,
he educed at least a rude and imperfect order. The

3310whole organization by which justice was dispensed,
revenue collected, peace maintained throughout a
territory not iuferior in population to the dominions
of Lewis the Sixteenth or of the Emperor Joseph,
was formed and superintended by him. He boasted

3315that every public office, without exception, which ex-
isted when he left Bengal, was his creation. It is
quite true that this system, after all the improve-
ments suggested by the experience of sixty years,
B^ill needs improvement, and that it was at first far

3320more defective than it now is. But whoever se-
riously considers what it is to construct from the
beginning the whole of a machine so vast and com-
plex as a government, will allow that what Hastings
effected deserves high admiration. To compare the

3325most celebrated European ministers to him seems to
us as unjust as it would be to compare the best baker
in London with Robinson Crusoe, who, befort, he
could bake a single loaf, had to make his plough and
his harrow, his fences and his scarecrows, his sickle

3330and his flail, his mill and his oven.

The just fame of Hastings rises still higher, when
we reflect that he was not bred a statesman ; that he
was sent from school to a counting-house ; and that
he was employed during the prime of his manhood

3335as a commercial agent, far from all intellectual
society.

WARRBN HASTINGS.

177

Nor must we foPKet that all, or almost all, to whom,
when placed at the head of affairs, he could apply for
•ssistance, were persons who owed as little as himself
or less than himseli to education. A minister in3340
Europe finds himself, on the first day on which he
commences his functions, surrounded by experienced
public servants, the depositaries of official traditions
Hastings had no such help. His own reflection his
own energy, were to supply the place ot all Downing 3345
Street and Somerset House. Having had no faciH-
tiesfor learnnig, he was forced to teach. He had
firso to form himself, and then to form his instru-
ments ; and this not in a single department, but in
all the departments of the administration. 3350

It must be added that, while engaged in this most
arduous task, he was constantly trammelled by orders
froin liome, and frequently borne down by a maiori^
ty m Council. The preservation of an empire from
a formidable combination of foreign enemies, the3355
construction of u government in all its parts, were ac
complisaed by him, while every ship brou'^Lt out
bales of censure from his employers, and while the
records of every consultaticn were filled with acri-
monious minutes by his colleagues. We believe that3360
there never was a public man whose temper was so
severely tried ; not Marlborough, when thwarted by
the Dutch deputies ; not Wellington, when he had to
deal at once with the Portuguese regency, the Span-
ish juntas, and Mr. Pereival. But the temper of 3365
Hastings was equal to almost any trial. It was not
sweet ; but it was calm. Quick and vigorous as his
intellect was, the patience with which he endured the
most cruel vexations, till a remedy could be found
resembled the patience of stupidity. He seems to3370
have been capable of resentment, bitter and long en-
during ; yet hia resentment so seldom hurried him
into any blunder, that it may be doubted whether
what appeared to be revenge was anything but policy

17R

WARREN HASTIXns.

3375 The effect of this singular enuanimity was that he
always had the full command of all the resources
of one of the most fertile minds that ever existed
Accordmgly, no complication of perils and embarrasai
oooa"^^"** °^"^^ perplex him. For every difficulty he
ddSOiiad a contrivance ready ; and, whatever may be
thought of the justice and humanity of some of his
contrivances, it is certain that they seldom failed to
serve the purpose for which they were designed.
oooK- ^^^g^^^^-'T ^'*'^^ ^his extraordinary talent for devia-
JJ85ing expedients, Hastings possessed, in a very high
degree, another talent scarcely less necessary to a
man in his situation; we mean the talent for con-
ducting political controversy. It is as necessary to
oonA^^^ En^ hsh statesman in the East that he should be
3390able to write, as it is to a minister in this country
that he should be able to speak. It is chiefly by the
oratory of a public man here that the nation judges of
his powers. I*- is from the letters and reports of a
public man in India that the dispensers of patronage
3396form their estimate of him. In each case, the talent
which receives peculiar encouragement is developed,
perhaps, at the expense of the ofcuer powers, la
this country, we sometimes hear men speak above
their abilities. It is not very unusual to lind gentle-
3400men in the Indian service who write above their
abilities. The English politician is a little too much
of a debater ; the Indian politician a little too much
of an essayist.

Of the numerous servants of the Company who
3405have distinguished themselves as framers of minutes
and despatches, Hastings stands at the head. He
was indeed the person who gave to the official writing
of the Indian governments the character which it
still retains. He was matched against no common
3410antagoni8t. But even Francis was forced to acknowl-
edge, with sullen and resentful candor, that there was
no contending against the pen of Hastings, And, in

WARREN HASl'INGS.

179

truth, the governor-general s power of ma]dn« rut
a case, of perplexing what it wa^ inconvenient" that
people should understand, and of Betting in the3415
clearest point of view whatever would bear the vJht
was incomparable. His style must be praised with
some reservation. It was in general forcible, pure, and
polished; but It was sometimes, though nSt often
turgid, and, on one or two occasions, even bombastic.'3420
Perhaps the fondness of Hastings for Persian liter-
ature may have tended to corrupt his taste.

And since we have referred to his literary tastes,
it would be most unjust not to praise the judicious

studies and curious researches. His patronaire was
extended, with prudent generosity, to voya-ea, travels
experiments, publications. He did little, it is true'
toward mtroducing into India the learning of the
S Miu"" "^^^«/hj y^^^g^'iatives of Bengal familiar3480
with Milton and Adam Smith, to substitute the
geography astronomy, and surgery of Europe for the
dotages of the Brahminical superstition, or for the
imperfect science of ancient Greece transfused through
Arabian expositions, this was a scheme reserved ^^03435
crown the benehcent administration of a far more '

virtuous ruler. Still, it is imp ssible to refuse high
commendation to a man who, taken from a ledger to
govern an empire, overwlielmed by public business,
surrounded by people as busy as himself, and .epar-3440
ated by thousands of leagues from almost all literarv
society, gave, both by his example and by his murii-
hcence, a grefat impulse to learning. In Persian and
Arabic hterature he was deeply skilled. With the
Sanscrit he was not himsell acquainted ; but thu8e3445
who first brought that \au.u^<re to the knowledge of
^uropean students owed much to his encouragernent
it w&s under his protection that the Asiatic "Suc.etv
commonced ^ts ; .j^orable career. That distinguished
body selectee- hi^-i to be its first president ; but, with3450

' -.t'i

180

WARRKN ITASTINOS.

excellent taste and feeling, he declined the honor in
favor of Sir William Jones. But the cliiof advan-
tage which the students of Oriental letfcord derived
from hia patronage remains to be mentioned. The

3455Pundits of Bengal had always looked with great
jealousy on the attempts of foreigners to pry into
those mysteries which were locked up in the sacred
dialect. The Brnhniinical religion had been perse-
cuted by the Maliommedans. What the Hindoos

3'iOOkncw of the spirit of the Portuguese government
might warrant them in apprehending persecution
from Christians. That appK liension the ^^ isdom and
moderation of Hastings removed. He ^7as the first
foreign ruler who succeeded in gaining theconijdence

34()5of the hereditary priests of India, and w*ho induced
them to lay open to English scholars the secrets of
the old Er;.ihmin.ical theology and jurisprudence.

It is indeed ini possible to deny that, in the great
art of inspiring Liige masses of human beings with

o470confidence and attachment, no ruler ever surpassed
Hastings. If he had made himself popular with the
English by giving up the Bengalees to extortion and
depression, or if, on the other hand, he had concilia-
ted the Bengalees and alienated the English, there

3475would have been no cause for wonder. What is pe-
culiar to him is that, being the chief of a sma'' band
of strangers who exercised boundless powe over a
gre:\t indigenous population, he made himself beloved
both by the subject many and the dominant few.

3480The affection felt for him by the civil service was
singularly ardent and constant. Through all his dis-
asters and perils, his brethren stood by him with
steadfast loyalty. The army, at the .same time, loved
him as armies have seldom loved any but the greatest

3485chiefs who have led them to victory. Even in his
disputes with distinguished military men, he could
always count on the support of the military profes-
sion. While such was his empire over the hearts of

WARREN HASTINGS.

181

hiB countrymen, he enjoyed among the natives "a
popularity such as other governors have perhaps bet-.'1400
ter merited, but such as no otlier governor has been
able tp attain. He spoke their vernacular dialects
with lacihty and precision. He was intimately ac-
quamted with their feelings and usages. On one or
two occasions, for groiit ends, he deliberately actedOlOn
in dehance of their opinion ; but on such occasions ho
gained more in their respect than ho lost in their
love. In general, ho carefully avoided all that could
shock their national or religious prejudices. His
administration was indeed in many respects faulty ; 13500
but the Bengalee standard of good government was
not high. Under the nabobs, the hurricane of Mah-
ratta cavalry had passed annually over the rich allu-
vial plain. But even the Mahratta shrunk from a
conflict with the mighty children of the sea ; and the;?505
immense nee harvests of tho Lower Ganges were
safely gathered in, under tho protection of "the Engl
lish sword. The first English conquerors hud been
more rapacious and merciless even tlian the Mahrat-
taa ; but that generation had passed away. Defective3510
as was the police, heavy as were the public burdens,
it IS probable that the oldest man in Bengal could not
recollect a season of equal security and prosperity.
For tho first time within living memory, the province
was placed under a government strongenough to pre-.3515
vent others from robbing, and not inclined to play
the robber itself. These things inspired good-will.
At the flame time, the constant success of Hastings
and the manner in which he extricated himself from
every difiiculty made him an object of supersti-3520
tious admiration ; and the more than regal splendor
wnich he sometimes displayed dazzled a pe'^ple who
have much in common with children. Even now,
^J*®r the lapse of more than fifty years, the natives
?ti^ still talk of hiin as the greatest of the Eug-3525
Huh ; and nurses sing children to sleep with a jingliiig

,;*

182

WARREN HASTINGS.

* •

ballad about the lieet horses and richly caijurisoncd
elephants of Sahib Warren Hostein.

QK.>nTP^"^^^^®®* ollenseof which Hastings was guilty
d5dUdid not alfect his popularity with the people of Ben-
gal ; for those offenses were committed against neigh-
JDoring states. Those offenses, as our readers must
have perceived, we are not disposed to vindicate ; yet,
o-ok1" f, ^ ^^^^^ *'^® censure may be justly apportioned
dodSto the transgression, it is fit that the motive of the
criminal should be taken into consideration. The
motive which prompted the worst acts of Hastings
was misairected and ill-regulated public spirit. The
o^./V?^f ^i justice, the sentiments of humanity, the
do40pliglited faitli of treaties, were in his views as noth-
ing, when opposed to the immediate interest of the
State. This is no justification, according to the
principles either of morality, or of what we believe
o..K*^",.^® identical with morality— namely, far-sighted
.iD45p(.licy. Nevertheless, the common-sense of man-
kind, which in questions of this sort seldom goes far
wrong, will always recognize a distinction between
crimes which originate in an inordinate zeal for the
„^^ commonwealth, and crimes which originate in selfish
3550cupidity. To the benefit of this distinction Hastings
is fairly entitled. There is, we conceive, no reason
to suspect that the Rohilla war, the revolution of
Benares, or the spoliation of the Princesses of Oude

OKRK^^*^®^ * ^"P^® *^ ^^® fortune. We will not affirm
3555that, m all pecuniary dealings, he showed that
punctilious integrity, that dread of the faintest ap-
pearance of evil, which is now the glory of the Indian
civil service. But when the school in which he had
been trained and the temptations to which he was
3560exposed are considered, we are more inclined to
praise him for his general uprightness with respect
to money than rigidly to blame him for a few trans-
actions which would now be called indelicate and
Irregular, but which even now would hardly be de-

WARREN HASTINGS.

183

3«if TT^'^^i^Pv- ^ 'apacioua man he certaiulv3565
was not. Had he been so, he would infallibly have
wturned to his country the richest subject in Europe,
we speak within compass, when we say that, without
applying any extraordinary pressure, he misrht easily
have obtaraed from the zemindars of the Company'83570
provinces and from neighboring princes, in the cc.urse
ot thirteen years, more than three millions sterling,
and might have outshone the splendor^of Carlton
House and of the Palais Royal. He brought home
a tortune such us a governor-general, fond of state3575
and careless of thrift, might easily, during so long a
tenure of olhce, save out of his legal salary. Mrs.
Hastings, wc are afraid, was less scrupulous. It was
generally behoved that she accepted presents with
great alacrity, and that she thus formed, without tlR-3580
connivance of her husband, a private hoard amount-
ing to several lacs of rupees. We are the moie inclin-
ed to give credit to this story, b.x-ause Mr. Gleia, who
cannot but have heard it, does not, as far as we have
observed, notice or contradict it. 3535

The influence of Mrs. Hastings over her husband
was indeed such that she might easily have obtained
much larger smns than she was ever accused of receiv-
ing. At length her health began to give way ; and
the governor-general, much against his will, was com-3590
pelled to send her to England. He seems to have
loved her with that love which is peculiar to men of
strong minds, to men whose affection is not easily won
or widely diffused. The talk of Calcutta ran for some
time on the luxurious manner in which he fitted up3595
the round-house of an Indiaman for her accommoda-
i.^^^ J profusion of sandal-wood and carved ivory
which adorned her cabin, and on the thousands of
rupees which had been expended in order to procure
for her the society of an agreeablo female companion3600
aurmg the voyage. We may remark here that the
letters of Hastings to his wife are exceedingly charac-

184

WAURBN HASTINQS.

teriatio. They are tender, and full of indications of
esteem and confidence ; but, at the same time, a little

3606more ceremonious than is usual in so intimate a rola-
tion. The solemn courtesy with which he compliments
*• his elegant Marian" reminds us now and then of
the dignified air with which Sir Charles (iiandison
bowed over Miss Byron's hand in the cedar parlor.

3610 After some months, Hastings prepared to follow his
wife to England. When it was announced that he
was about to quit his office, the feeling of the society
which he had so long governed manifested itself by
many signs. Addresses p©ured in from Europeans

3615and Asiatics, from civil functionaries, soldiers, and
traders. On the day on which he de ivered up the
keys of office, a crowd of friends and admirers formed
a lane to tho quay where he embarked. Several bar-
ges escorted him far down tho river ; and some

3620attached friends refused to quit him till the low coast
of Bengal was fading from the view, and till the pilot
was leaving the ship.

Of his voyage little is known, except that he am-
used himself with books and with his pen ; and that,

3025among the compositions by which he beguiled the
tediousness of that long leisure, was a pleasing imita-
tion of Horace's " Otium Divos rogat. " This little
poem was inscribed to Mr. Shore, afterward Lord
Teignmouth, a man of whose integrity, humanity, and

3630honor it is impossible to speak too highly, but who,
like some other excellent members of the civil service,
extended to the conduct of his friend Hastings an
indulgence of which hi 3 own conduct never stood in
need.

3635 The voyage was, for those times, very speedy.
Hastings was little more than four months on the
sea. In June, 1785, he landed at Plymouth, posted
to London, appeared at court, paid his respects in
Leadenhall Street, and then retired with his wife tc

3640CheU«nham.

VVABREN HASTINGS.

185

He wnB greatly pleased with hia reception. The
king treated him with marked distinction. The
queen, who had alrta ly incurred much censure on
account of the favor v, hich, in spite of the ordinary
bdverity of her virtn^^, she 1 shown to the " elegant3645

Marina," was no^

av.i(>u8 to Hastings. The

Directors received inui in a solemn sitting ; and their
chairman read to him a vote of thanks which they
had passe' without one dissentient voice. **I find
myself," b d Hastings, in a letter written about a3650
quarter of a year after his arrival in England— "I
find myself everywhere, and universally, treated with
evidence i, apparent even to my own observation, that
I possess the good opinion of my country."

The confident and Iting t. ne of his corre8pon-3655
dence about this time is the moro remarkable, because
he had already received ample noticu )f the attack
which was in preparation. Withn a week after he
landed at Plymouth, Burke gave notice in the House
of Commons of a motion serio sly affecting a gentle-3660
man lately returned from India. The session, how-
ever, was then so far advanced that it was impossible
to enter on so extensive and important a subject.

Hastings, it is clear, was not sensible of the danger
of his position. , Indeed, that sagacity, that judg-36G5
ment, that readiness in devising expedients, which
had distinguished him in the East, seemed now to
have forsaken him ; noi that his abilities were at all
impaired ; not that he was not still the same man who
had triumphed over Francis and Nuncomar, who had3670
made the chief -justice and the nabob vizier his tools,
who had deposed Cheyte Sing, and repelled Hyder
Ali. But an oak, as Mr. Grattan finely said, should
not be transplanted at fifty. A man wllo, having left
England when a boy, returns to it after thirty or forty3675
^years passed in India, will find, be his talents what
they may, that he has much both to learn and to un-
learn before he can take a place among English

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WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4503

Ws^. "^i

i^7

Warren HASTmoa

Qnonfi^*®"^"^®"; '^^^ working of a representative system,
3680the war of parties, the arts of debate, the influence
ot the press, are startling novelties to him. Sur-
rounded on every side by new machines and new
tactics, he is as much bewildered as Hannibal would
opoe:?t-^® ^®" ** Waterloo, or Themistocles at Trafalgar.
ob85Hi6 very acuteness deludes him. His very victor
causes hnn to stumble. The more correct his max-
ims, when applied to the state of society to which he
IS accustomed, the more certain th'ey are to lead him
QAonf ^V'^J- T*"'^ """f strikingly the case with Hastings.
3690In India he had a bad hand ; but he was master of
the game, and he won every stake. In England he
held excellent cards, if he had known how to play
theni ; and it was chiefly by his own errors that he
was brought to the verge of ruin
3695 Of all his errors the most serious was perhaps the
choice of a champion. Clive, in similar circumstances,
had made a singularly happy selection. He put him-
self into the hands of Wedderburn, afterward Lord

QoAni'^^^^r'^?"^^' ^^® ^^ *^® ^e^ great advocates who
^TOOhave also been great in tha House of Commons. To
the defense of Clive, therefore, nothing was wanting,
neither learning nor knowledge of the world, neither
forensic acuteness nor that eloquence which charms
q^akP ^^^*^*^ assemblies. Hastings intrusted his interests
d705to a very difi-eront person, a major in the Bengal
army, named Scott. This gentleman had been sent
over from India some time before as the agent of the
governor-general. It was rumored that his services
Q»Tin?'®v*^ rewarded with Oriental munificence ; and we
d710believe that he received much more than Hastings
could conveniently spare. The major obtained a seat
in Parliament, and was there regarded as the organ
of his employer. It was evidently impossible that a
ot,it=^l^ l®?^" ^° situated could speak with the authority
3715which belongs to an independent position. Nor had
the agent of Hastings the talenta necessary for ob-

WARREN HASTINGS,

187

talnfng the ew of an assembly which, accustomed to
listen to great orators, had naturally become fasti-
dious. He was always on his legs ; he was very
tedious ; and he had only one topic, the merits and3720

nZfJr ^''*"'^'- ,,E^«rybody who knows the
House of Commons will easily guess what followed.
1 he major was soon considered as the greatest bore
ot his time. Hia exertions were not confined to Par-
liament. 1 here was hardly a day on which the news-3725
papers did not contain some puflf' upon Hastino-s,
signed *;Asiaticus"or " Bengalensis," but known
to be written by the indefatigable Scott ; and hardly
a month m which some bulky pamphlet on the same
subject, and from the same pen, did not pass to the3730
trunk-makers and the pastry-cooks. As to this Ven
man s capacity for conducting a delicate question
through Par lament, our readers will want no evi-
dence beyond that which they will find in letters pre-
served m these volumes. We will give a sina]e3735
specimen of his temper and judgment. He desla-

Mr Burke^''^^*^^* °'^'' ^^^"^ ^'™^ ^^ '' ^^""^ ""^P*^^®
In spite, however, of this unfortunate choice, the
general aspect of aflfairs was favorable to Hastiness 3740
The king was on his side. The Company and Its
servants were zealous in his cause. AmoL public
men he had many ardent friends. Such we^e Lord
Mansfield, who had outlived the vicjor of his bodv
but not that of his mind ; and Lord Lansdowne, who 3745
though unconnected with any party, retained the
importance which belongs to great talents and knowl-
edge. The ministers were generally believed to be
tavorable to the lato governor-general. Thev owed
their pc»wer to the clamor which had been raided ^'7^0
against Mr. Fox's East India Bill. The avithors of ^
that bill, when accused of invading vested rights
and of setting up powers unknown to the cons'titn-
tion, had detended themriolves by pointing to tU«

188

WARREN HASTINGS.

3755crime8 of Hastings, and by arguing tliat abuses so
extraordinary justified extraordinary measures.
Those who, by opposing that bill, had raised them-
selves to the head of aHliirs, would naturally be in-
clined to extenuate the evils which had been made

3760tho plea for administering so violent a remedy ; and
such, in fact, was their general disposition. The
Lord Chancellor Thurlow, in particular, whose great
place and force of intellect gave him a weight in the
Government inferior only to that of Mr. Pitt, es-

3765poused the cause of Hastings with indecorous vio-
lence. Mr. Pitt, though he had censured many parts
of the Indian system, had studiously abstained from
saying a word against the late chief of the Indian
Government. To Major Scott, indeed, the young

3770minister had in private extolled Hastings as a great,
a wonderful man, who had the highest claims on the
Government. There was only one objection to grant-
ing all that so eminent a servant of the public could
ask. The resolution of censure still remained on the

3775journala of the House of Commons. That resolu-
tion was, indeed, unjust ; but, till it was rescinded,
could the minister advise the king to bestow any mark
of approbation on tho person censured ? If Major
Scott is to be trusted, Mr. Pitt declared that this was

3780the only reason which prevented the advisers of the
crown from conferring a peerage on the late governor-
general. Mr. Dundas was the only important mem-
ber of the administration who was deeply committed
to a different view of the subject. He had moved

3785the resolution which created the difficulty j but even
from him little was to be apprehended. Since ho
had presided over the committee on E cistern affairs,
great changes had taken place. He was surrounded
by new allies ; he had fixed his hopes on new objects ;

3790and whatever may have been his good qualities — and
he had many — flattery itself never reckoned rigid
consistency in tho number.

WAUnRN HASTINGS.

189

From tho miiiistiy, therefore, Hastinga had every
reason to expect support ; and the ministry was very
powerful. Tho opposition was loud and vehoraent3705
against him. But the opposition, though formidable
from the wealth and induence of some of its mem-
bers, and from the admirable talents and eloquence
of others, was outnumbered in Piirliumont, and odious
throughout the country. Nor, as far as we can judge, 3800
was the opposition generally desirous to engage in so
serious an undertaking as the impeachment of an
Indian governor. Such an impeachment must last
for years. It must impose on the chiefs of the party
an immense load of labor. Yet it could scarcely, in3805
any manner, affect the event of tho great political
game. The followers of tho coalition were therefore
more mclined to revile Hastings than to prosecute
him. They lost no opportunity of coupling his name
with the names of the most L^l jful tyrants of whomSSlO
history makes mention. The wits of Brooks's aimed
their keenest sarcasms both at his public and at his
domestic life. Some fine diamonds which he had
presented, as it ^as rumored, to the royal family, and
a certain richly carved ivory bed which tho queen had3815
done him the honor to accept from him, were favor-
ite subjects of ridicule. One lively poet proposed
that the great acts of the fair Marian's present hus-
band should be immortalized by tho pencil of his
predecessor ; and that Imhoff should be employed too820
embellish the Housf? of Commons with paintings of
the bleeding Rohillas, of Nuncomar swinging, of
Cheyte Sing letting himself down to the Ganges.
Another, in an exquisitely humorous parody of Vir-
gil's third eclogue, propounded the question, what3825
that mineral could be of which the rays had power to
make the most austere of princesses the friend of a
wanton. A third described, with gay malevolence,
the gorgeous appearance of Mrs. Hastings at St.
James's, the galaxy of jewels, torn from Indian Be-383G

190

WARREN HASTINGS.

gums, which adorned her head-dreas, her necklace
gleaming with future votes, and the depending quea-
tions that shone upon her ears. Satirical attacks of
this description, and perhaps a motion for a vote of

3835censure, would have satisfied the great body of the

opposition. But there were two men whose indit^-

nation was not to be so appeased, Philip Francis an^d

Edmund Burke.

Francis had recently entered the House of Oom-

3840mons, and had already established a character there
for industry and ability. He labored indeed under
one most unfortunate defect, want of fluency. But
he occasionally expressed himself with a dignity and
energy wortliy of the greatest orators. Before he

3845had been many days in Parliament, he incurred the
bitter dislike of Pitt, who constantly treated him
with as much asperity as the laws of debate would
allow. Neither lapse of years nor change of scene
had mitigated the enmities which Francis had

3850brought back from the East. After his usual fashion,
he mistook his malevolence for virtue, nursed it, as
preachers tell us that we ought to nurse our good dis-
positions, and paraded it, on all occasions, with
Pharisaical ostentation.

3855 The zeal of Burke was still fiercer ; but it was far
purer. Men unable to understand the elevation of
his mind have tried to find out some discreditable
motive for the vehemence and pertinacity v'uch he
showed on this occasion. But they have aivOgether

3860f ailed. The idle story that he had some private
slight to revenge has long been given up, even by the
advocates of Hastings. Mr. Gleig supposes that
Burke was actuated by party spirit, that ho retained
a bitter remembrance of the fall of the coalition, that

3865he attributed that fall to the exertions of the East
India interest, and that he considered Hastings as
the head and the representative of that interest.
This explanation seems to be suftlciently refuted by a

WARREN HASTINGS.

191

reference to dates. Tlie hostility of Burke to Hast-
K^XriT'l ^^^ u'^°^^ *^^ coalition, and lastedSSTO
oAwi K K® ^1u ^^^^"^^ * strenuous supporter
of those by whom the coalition had been defeated.
It began when Burke and Fox, closely allied toaether
were attacking the influenced the'^.rown aM-
mg for peace with the American republic. It con 3875

wkhlhef ^-^'.^""-^^^^ ^^''"^ ^'-' and loaded
with the favors of the crown, died, preaching a cru-

Bade against he French Republic. We nurely cannot

attribute to the events of 1784 an enmity which be-

W«Tnn; ff/ ""^'^i* ''^**^"®^ undimini8hed3880

IZ^ ir ?• ^- Pfu''^''' ^^^ "^^^'^ ^^^^P^y implicated
than Hastings m the events of 1784 had been cor-
d ally forgiven. And why should we look for any
other explanation of Burke's conduct than that which
we find on the surface? The plain truth is that3885
Hastir gs had committed some great crimes, and that
tlie thought of those crimes made the blood of Burke
boil m his veins. For Burke was a man in whom
compassion for suffering, and hatred of injustice and
tyranny were as strong as in Las Casas or Clarkson 38')0
And although in him, as in Las Casas and in Clark-
son, these noble feelings were alloyed with the in-
farmity which belongs to human nature, he is, like
them, entitled to this great praise, that he devoted
years of intense labor to the service of a peoole with'^fiQ'i
whom he had neither blood nor language, neither '
religion nor manners, in common, and from whom no
requital, no thanks no applause, could be expected,
.u tT"'"'^^®^^^ ""^ ^"^^a was such as few, even of
those Europeans who have passed many yeara in that390O
country have attained, and such as certafnly w^
never attained by any public man who had not quit-
ted Europe. He had studied the history, the laws
and the usages of the East with an industry such as
IS seldom found united to po much genius and so much3905
sensibility. Others have been perhaps equaUy la^ori-

192

WARREN IIASTINOB.

0U8, and have collected an equal mass of materials ;
but the maniior in which Burke brought his higher
powers of intellect to work on statements of facts
3910and on tables of figures was peculiar to himself. In
every part of those huge bales of Indian information
which repelled almost all other readers, his mind, at
once philosophical and poetical, found something to
instruct or to delight. His reason analyzed and di-
3915gested those vast and shapeless masses ; his imagina-
tion animated and colored them. Out of darkness,
ftnd dulness, and confusion, he formed a multitude
of ingenious theories and vivid pictures. He had,
in the highest degree, that noble faculty whereby
3920man is able to live in the past and in the future, in
the distant and in the unreal. India and its inhab-
itants were not to him, as to most Englishmen, mere
names and abstractions, but a real country and a real
ono-P'^^P^®* '^^^ burning sun ; the strange vegetation of
392othe palm and the cocoa tree ; the rice-tield ; the tank ;
the huge trees, older than the Mogul Empire, under
which the village crowds assemble ; the thatched
roof of the peasants hut ; the rich tracery of the
mosque where the imaum prays with his face to
3930Mecca ; the drums, and banners, and gaudy idols •
the devotee swinging in the air ; the graceful maiden,'
with the pitcher on her head, descending the steps
to the riverside ; the black faces ; the long beards ;
the yellow streaks of sect ; the turbans and the flow-
3935ing robes, the spears and the silver maces ; the ele-
phants with their canopies of state ; the gorgeous
palanquin of the prince, and the close litter of the
noble lady— all these things were to him as objects
amidst which his own life had been passed, as the
3940objects which lay on the road between Beaconsfield
and St. James's Street. All India was present to the
eye of his mind, from the halls where suitors laid
gold and jierfumes at the feet of sovoreit,'ns to the
wild moor where the gypsy camp was pitched, from

WARREN HASTINGS.

193

the baaar, humming like a beehive with the orowd3945

thrhvenaa H^^ iron rings to scare away

Burrectioii at Benares as of Lord Geortze Gordnn'.

Won """'.*'''"« " "PP^^^'"" i" the .tfeeJS
He saw that Hastings had been guilty of some
most unjustifiable acts. All that followed was natSsflBfi
md necessary in a mind like Burke's HMi^S
tion and his passions, once excited, hurried ff b^
yond the bounds of justice and good sense wf.'

LTwhiTu'sl' li'J""' ''^'^-e ^e »lave 'of t^l
ings which It sliould- have controlled. His indiana ftOfiA
tion, virtuoas in its origin, acquired too mS^roMhe
character of personal aversion. He could see no

^irira^d-^o-v^raSte

a perfidious court and a deluded people. In Parlia-
ment his e oquence was out of date.^ A yoSng geni^^^
eration. which knew him not, had filled the House
Whenever he rose to speak, hi» voice was drowned
by the unseemly interruption of lads who wZ in
their crades when his orations on the Stamn Act

Sam' 'S^^rhi^^rf '' '}"' great \\rur?5ht*3975
ham Ihese things had produced on his proud and
sensitive spiri an effect at which we cannot wonder

?e^8 oi rk^'^^r ^"°"^! "^y ^"««*i°" with S
^T'- 'SS''® allowance for honest differenceTof
opinion. Tlio.e who think that he was more W^lenf ^Qftn

^:rr m ii^f '^'t^ -bout Indite rot:f ""

occasions are lil-informed respecting the last years of

I9i

w Arm ION iiAHTiNr.S.

his lite. Tn the discussions on the Oommorcial Treaty
with the Court of Vorsnilles, on tlie Regency, on the
3986French Revolution, he showed oven more virulence
than in conducting the imj)eachment. Indeed, it may
be remarked that the very persons who called him a
mischievous maniac, for condemning in burning words
the Rohilla war and the spoliation of the Begums,
.'iOOOexaited him into a pre phet as soon as ho began to
declaim, with greater vehemence, and not with
greater reason, against the taking o'f the Bastile and
the insults ofi'ered to Marie Antoinette. To ua ho
appears to have been neither a maniac in the former
3995case, nor a prophet in the latter, but in both cases a
great and good man, led into extravagance by a sen-
sibility which domineered over all his faculties.

It may be doubted whether the personal antipathy
of Francis, or the nobler indignation of Burke, would
4000have led their party to adopt extreme measures
against Hastings, if his own conduct had been ju-
dicious. He should have felt that, great as his pub-
lic services had been, he was not faultless, and should
have been content to make his escape, without aspir-
4005ing to the honors of a triumph. He and his agent
took a different view. They were impatient for the
rewards which, as they conceived, were deferred only
till Burke's attack should be over. They accordingly
resolved to force on a decisive action with an enemy
4010for whom, if they had been wise, they would have
made a bridge of gold. On the first day of the ses-
sion of 1786, Major Scott reminded Burke of the
notice given in the preceding year, and asked whether
it was seriously intended to bring any charge against
4015the late governor-general. This challenge left no
course open to the opposition, except to come forward
as accusers, or to acknowledge themselves calumnia-
tors. The administration of Hastings had not been
BO blameless, nor was the great party cA^ Fox ane
4020North so feeble, that it could be prudent to venturd

WARRRN HA8TINf*8.

196

ou BO bold a defiance. The leaders of the opposition
instantly returned the only answer which they could
with honor return ; and the whole party was irre-
vocably pledged to a prosecution.

Burke began his operations by applying for papera. 4025
borne of the documents for which he asked were re-
fused by the ministers, who, in the debate, held
language such as strongly confirmed the prevailing
opinion, that they intended to support Hastings. In
April, the charges were laid on the table. They had4030
been drawn by Burke with great ability, though in a
form too much resembling that of a pamphlet. Hast-
ings was furnished with a copy of the accusation •
and it was intimated to him that he might, if he
thought fit, be heard in his own defense at the bar of 4035
the Commons.

Here again Hastings was pursued by the same fa-
tality which had attended him ever since the day
when he set foot on English ground. It seemed to
be decreed that this man, so politic and so succes8ful4040
m the East, should commit nothing but blunders in
Europe. Any judicious adviser would have told him .
that the best thing which he could do would be to
make an eloquent, forcible, and aflfecting oration at
the bar of the House ; but that, if he could not tru8t4045
himself to speak, and found it necessary to read, ho
ought to be as concise as possible. Audiences accus-
tomed to extemporaneous debating of the highest
excellence are always impatient of long written com-
positions. Hastings, however, sat down as he would4050
have done at the government-house in Bengal, and
prepared a paper of immense length. That paper,
if recorded on the consultations of an Indian admin-
istration, would have been justly praised as a veiy
able minute. But it was now out of place. It fell4055
flat, as the best written defense must have fallen flat,
on an assembly accustomed to the animated and
strenuous conflicts of Pitt and Fox. The members

196

WARRBN HASTINOS.

^A^n*! '^^ ** ®^'' °""<»^*y »^oat the 'ace and demeanor

40t)0of so eminent a stranger was satisfied, walked away
to dinner, and left Hastings to tell his story till raid-
night to the clerks and the sergeant-at-arrns.

All preliminary steps having been duly taken, Burke
• ..A^e*", • ''^'''""•"K of June, brought forward the charge
4065relating to the Rohilla war. Ue acted discreetly in
placing this accusation in the van ; for Dundaa had
formerly moved, and the House had adopted, a resolu-
tion, condemning, in the most severe terms, the
^A^TA^"^*?^ followed by Hastings with regard to Rohil-
4070cund. Dundas had little, or rather, nothing, to say
in defense of his own consistency ; but he put a bold
face on the matter, and opposed the motion. Among
other things, he declared that, though he still thought
jrxHK- ^^^^^''^ w*^"* unjustifiable, he considered the ser-
4076vice« which Hastings had subsequently rendered to
the State as sufficient to atone even for so great an
oflense. Pitt did not speak, but voted with Dundas •
and Hastings was absolved by a hundred and nine-
teen votes against sixty seven.
•4080 Hastings was now confident of victory. It seemed,
indeed, that he had reason to be so. The Rohilla
war was, of all his measures, that which his accusers
might with greatest advantasje assail. It had been

^Aot°""^®'""®^ ^y **^® ^^"'* ^^ Directors. It had been

4085condemned by the House of Commons. It had been

condemned by Mr. Dundas, who had since become

the chief minister of the crown for Indian affairs.

Yet Burke, having chosen this strong ground, had

^AAAu " <;^"^P^^**^Jy defeated on it. That, having failed

4090here, he should succeed on any point, was generally

thought impossible. It was rumored at the clubs and

coffee-houses that one or perhaps two more chargei

would be brought forward ; that if, on those charges,

pe sense of the House of Commons should be agaFnst

4095impeachment, the opposition would let the matter

drop, that Hastings would be immediately raised to

TARRBN HA8TIN08.

197

the peerage, decorated with the Star of the Bath
■worn of the Privy Council, and invited to lend the
aasmtance of his talents and exporience to the India
Jioard. LordThurlow, indeed, some month*. hof,.re,410(')
had spoken with contempt (»f the scruples which i)rol
vented Pitt from calling Hastings to the HousL of
Lords ; and had even said that, if the Chancellor of
the Exchequer was afraid of the Commons, there was
nothing to prevent the Keoj.er of the Great SeaUlOo
from taking the royal pleasure about a patent of peer-
age The very title was chosen. Hastings was to be
Lord Daylesford For, through all chanifes of scene
and changes of fortune, remained unchanged his at-
tachment to the spot which had witnessed the gnat-4110
ness and the fall of his family, and which had borne

bitfo * ^^^'^ '" *^® ^"^ ^''''''''^ ""^ ^"^ y^""S »«!•
But in a very few days these fair prospects were
overcast. On the 13th of June, Mr!^ Fox l)rou;!lu4n5
forward, with great ability and eloquence, the charge
respecting the treatment of Cheyte Sing. Francis
followed on the same side. The friends of Hastings
were m high spirits when Pitt rose. With his usual
abundance and felicity of language, the minister gave4120
his opimon on the case. He maintained that the
governor-general was justified in calling on the Rajah
of Benares for pecuniary assistance, and in imposing a
tno when that assistance was contumaciously with-
Held. He also thought that the conduct of the412r)
governor-general during the insurrection had been
distinguished by ability and presence of mind. He
censured, with great bitterness, the conduct ofTran-
cis both in India aiid in Parliament, as most dishonest
and malignant. The necessary inf( rence from Pitt's4J30
arguments seemed to be that Hastini^s ought to be
honorably acquitted ; and both the friends and the
opponents of the minister expected from him a
declaration to that oflcct. To the astonishment of all

198

WARRBN HASTINGS.

4135partiea, he concluded by saying that, though he
thought it right in Hastings to fine Cheyte Sing for
contumacy, yet the aniount of the fine was too great
for the occasion. On this ground, and on this ground
alone, did Mr. Pitt, applauding every other part of

4140the conduct of Hastings with regard to Benaroa,
declare that he should vote in favor of Mr. Fox's
motion.

The Houso was thunderstruck ; and it well might
ha so. For the wrong done to Cheyte Sing, even had

4145it been as flagitious as Fox and Francis contended,
was a trifle when compared with the horrors which
had been inflicted on llohiJcund. But if Mr. Pitt's
view of the case of Cheyte Sing wore correct, there
was no ground for an impeachment, or even for a vote

4150of jensure. If the ofl'onse of Hastings was really no
more than this, that, having a right to impose a
n\jilct, the amount of which mulct was not defined,
but was left to be settled by his discretion, iie had,
not for his own advantage, but for that of the State,

4Jr>5demanded too much, was this an offense which re-
quired a criminal proceeding of the hij.5hest solemnity
— a criminal proceeding, to which, during sixty
years, no public functionary had been subjected ?
Wo can see, we think, in what way a man of sense

4100and integrity might have boen induced to take any
course respecting Hastings, except the course which
Mr. Pitt took. Such a man might have thought a
great example necessary, for the preventing of in-
justice, and for the vindicating of the national honor,

41G5and niight, on that ground, have voted for impeach-
ment both on the Rohilla charge and on the Benares
charga. Such a man might have thought that the
ofi'onsea of Hastings had been atoned for by great
services, and might, on that ground, have voted

41V0against the impeachmient on both charges. With
great diflidence, we give it as our opinion thut the
most correct course would, on the whole, have been

178

WARREN HASTINOa

199

to impeach on the RuLilla charge, and to acqnU on
the Benares charge. Had the Benares char-e ap-
MrPif'." "' >n the same liglit in wJiich it appeared to4175
Mr. Pitt we should, witliout hesitation, liave voted
for acquittal on that charge. The one course which
p1! "*T?v '"'^''^'^'^' that any man of a tenth part of Mr
{:• 1 1 i \^ can have honestly taken was the course
which he took. He acquitted Hastings on the Ilc,-4180
nla charge. He softened down the Benares charge
till It be.-ame no charge at all ; and then he pro-
nounced that it contained matter for impeachment

Nor must It be forgotten that the principal reason
assigned by the ministry for not impeaching Hastinos418r>
on account of th^ Rohilla war was this, that the de
uiquencies of the early part of his administration had
been atoned fo- by the excellence of the later part
Mas it not most extraordinaiy that men who had
held this language could afterward vote that the later4190
part of his adnnniHtration furnished matter for no
leas than twenty articles of impeachinout ? Tliev
tirst represented the conduct of Hastings in 1780 and
1/81 as so highly meritorious that, like works of su-
penn-ogation in the Catholic theology, it ouglit to be4195
efficacious for the cancelling of former olienses ; and
they then prosecuted him for his conduct in 1780 and
1781.

The general astonishment was the greater, because
only twenty-four hours before, the members on whoin4200
the minister coiild depend had received the usual
notes irom the Treasury, begging them to be in their
places and to vote against Mr. Fox's motion. It was
asserted by Mr. Hastings, that, early on the morning
of the very day oii which the debate took place, 4205
Dimdas called on Pitt, woke nim, and was closeted
with him many hours. The result of this conference
was a determination to give up the late governor-
general to the vengeance of the opposition. It was
impoasibl© even for th« most powerful minister to421Q

li'i
ill

soo

WARREN HASTINGS.

carry all his followers willi him in so strange a course,
bevenii persons high in ofiice— the attorney-general
Mr. Grenville, and Lord Mulgrave— divided against
-ioiK?r^' f J r"* ^^^^ devoted adherents who stood by
4J16the head of the Government without aakintr ques-
tions were sufiiciently numerous to turn the scale.
A hundred and nineteen members voted for Mr
l^ox's motion; seventy-nine against it. Dundas si~
lently followed Pitt.
4220 That good and great man, the late William Wilber-
force, otten related the events of this remarkable
night. He described the amazement of the House
and the bitter reflections which were muttered against
.00^ c^^ Minister by some of the habitual support-
422oer3 of Government. Pitt himself appeared to feel
that his conduct required some explanation. He left
w®,u ^^""^^ Bench, sat for some time next to Mr
Wilberforce, and very earnestly declared that he had
^no^ r ^^ ^"'Pf'^sible, as a man of conscience, to stand
4230any longer by Hastings. The business, he said, was
too bad. Mr. Wilberforce, we are bound to add,
tully believed that his friend was sincere, and that the
suspicions to which this mysterious affair gave rise
were altogether unfounded.
4235 Those suspicions, indeed, were such as it is painful
to mention. The friends of Hastings, most of whom
it IS to be observed, generally supported the admin-
istration, affirmed that the motive of Pitt and Dun-
.o.n^^\^^^ jealousy. Hastings was personally a favorite
i240with the king. He was the idol o£ the East India
Company and of its servants. If he were absolved
by the Commons, seated among the Lords, admitted
to the Board of Control, closely allied with the stron<y.
^o.K*^*" • *"^ imperious Thurlow, was it not almost
4246certain that he would soon draw to himself the entire
management of Eattern affain ? Was it not possible
th*t he might become a formidable rivnl in the cabi-
net ? It had probably got abroad that very singular

WARRBK HAtTIHCW.

SOI

coramunicationii had taken place between Thurlow
and Major Scott, and that, i! the First Lord of thT4250
Treasury was afraid to recommend Hastings for a
peerage the chancellor was ready to take the resoonsi-

walf]:f /^n'rl'r? ^''T^^' ^^ ^" ministerBrS
was tlie least likely to submit with patience to such an
encroachment on his functions. If the Commms42V.
impeached Hastings, all danger was at .m end The
proceeding, however it might terminate, would pro!
bubly last some years In the mean time the accused
person would be excluded from honors and pubHo

his duty at court. Such were the motives attributed
by a grea part of the public to the young nuuister
whose ruling passion was generally believed to be
avarice of power.

The propagation soon interrupted the discussions42Gr,
respecting Hastings. In the following year, those
discussions were resumed. The charge touching tZ
spoiia ion of the Begums was brought forward by
Sheridan in a speech which was so imperfectly re-
ported that It may be said to be wholly lost. but4270
which was without doubt, the most elaborate y bril
W of all the productions of his ingenious mind.
The inipression which it produced was such as has
never been equalled. He sat down, not merely
adm.dst cheering but amidst the loud clapping of4275
hands, in which the Lords below the bar and the
strangers in the gallery joined. The excitement of
the House was such that no other speaker could ob-
tain a hearing ; and the debate was adjourned. The
ferment spread fast through the town. Within4"80
four-and-twenty hours, Sheridan was olfered a thou
sand pounds for the copyright of the speech, if he '
would himself correct it for the press. The impres
sion made by this remarkable display of eloquence on
severe and experienced critics, whose discernment4285
may be supposed to have been quickened by emula

202

WABEBN HASTINCHk

tion, was deep and permanent. Mr. Windham, twenty
years later, said that the speech deserved ali its fame,
and was, in spite of some faults of tasto, such aa

4290 were seldom wanting either in the literary or in the
parliamentary performances of Sheridan, the finest
that had been delivered within the memory of man.
Mr. Fox, about the same time, being asked by the
late Lord Holland what was the best speech ever

4295made in the House of Commons, assigned the first
place, without hesitation, to the great oration ot Sheri-
dan on the Oude charge.

- When the debate was resumed, the tide ran so
strongly against the accused that his friends were

4300coughed and scraped down. Pitt declared himself
for Sheridan's motion ; and the question was carried
by a hundred and seventy-five votes against sixty-
eight.
The opposition, flushed with victory and strongly

4305supported by the public sympathy, proceeded *to
bring forward a succession of charges relating chiefly
to p(3cuuiary transactions. The friends of Hastings
were discouraged, and having now no hope of be-
ing able to avert an impeachment, were not very

4310strenuous in their exertions. At length the House,
having agreed to twenty articles of charge, directed
Burke to go before the Lords, and to impeach the
late governor-general of high crimes and misdemean-
ors. Hustings was jit the same time arrested by the

4315sergeant-at-arms, and carried to the bar of the Peers.

The session was now within ten days of its close. It

was, therefore, impossible that any progress could be

made in the trial till the next year. Hastings was

admitted to bail; and further proceedings were

4320postponed till the Houses should reassemble.

When Parliament met in the following winter, the
Commons proceeded to elect a committee for manag-
ing the impeachment. Burke stood at the head ; and
with him were associated most of the leading members

!
li

Warren iiahtinqs.

203

of the opposition. J3ut wlion the name of Francif^43'>5
was read a fierce contention arose. It was said that
trancis and Hastings wore notoriously on bad terms ;
tliat they had been at feud during many years : that
on one occasion tlieir mutual aversion had impelled
them to seek each other's lives ; and that it would be4330
improper and indelicate to .select a private enemy to
be a public accuser. It was urged on the other side
with great force, particularly by Mr. Windham, that
impartiality, though the ihnt duty of a judge had
never been reckoned among the qualities of an advo-4335
cate ; that in the ordinary administration of criminal
justice among the English, the aggrieved party, the
very last person who ought to be admitted into the
jury-box, is the prosecutor ; that what was wanted in
a manager was, not that he should be free from bia8,4340
but that he should be able, well-informed, energetic
and active. The ability and information of Francis
were admitted ; and the very animosity with which
he was reproached, whether a virtue or a vice, was at
least a pledge for his energy and activity. It seem843i5
ditfacult to refute these arguments. But the inveter-
ate hatred borne by Francis to Hastings had excited
general disgust. The House decided that Francis
should not be a manager. Pitt voted with the ma-
jority, Dundas with the minority. 435Q

In the mean time, the preparations for the trial '
f^'oo^T®^^^'^'^ rapidly ; and on the 13th of February
1788, the sittngs of the court commenced. There
have been spectacles more dazzling to the eye more
gorgeous with jewellery and cloth of gold, more at-4355
tractive to grown-up children, than that which was
then exhibited at Westminster ; but, perhaps, there
never was a spectacle so well calculated to strike a
highly cultivated, a reflecting, an imaginative mind
All the various kinds of interest which belong to the4360
near and to the distant, to the present and to the
past, were collected on ^i i spot and in on* Hnnr,

111

204

WARREN HASTIN08.

All the talents ond all the accompliahments which are
developed by liberty and civilization were now dis-
i305played, with every advantage that could be derived
both from co-opei-ation and from contrast. Every
step in the proceedings carried the mind either back-
ward, through many troubled centuries, to the days
when the foundations of our constitution were laid ;
4o70or far away, over boundless seas and deserts, to dusky
nations living under strange stars, worshipping
strange gods, and writing strange characters from
right to left. The High Court of Parliament was to
sit, according to forms handed down from the days
4375of the Plantagenets, on an Englishman accused of
exorcising tyranny over the lord of the holy city of
Benares, and over the ladies of the princely house of
Oude.

The place was worthy of such a trial. It was the
4380great hall of William Rufus, the hall which had re-
sounded with acclamations at the -nauguration of
thirty kings, the hall which had witnessed the just
sentence of Bacon and the just absolution of Som'ers,
^the hall where the eloquence of Strafford had for a
4385moment awed and melted a victorious party inflamed
with just resentment, the hall where Charles had
confronted the High Court of Justice with the placid
courage which has half redeemed his fame. Neither
military nor civil pomp was wanting. The avenues
4390were lined with grenadiers. The streets were kept
clear by cavalry. The peers, robed in gold and
ermine, were marshalled by the heralds under Garter
King-at-arms. The j udges in their vestments of state
attended to give advice on points of law. Near &
4395hundred and seventy lords, three-fourths of the
Upper House as the Upper House then was, walked
in solemn order from their usual place of assembling
to the tribunal. The junior baron present led the
way, George Eliott, Lord Heathfield, recently en-
4400nobled for his memorable defense of Gibraltar a<»ain«t

WARIIEN HASTINGS.

205

the fleets arifl armies of France nnri <5no;« mu i

person and noble beali ' Tr'P'"""",'?^ ,!"» fi"««06
huns with scarJet tK ^''®,P'»;y "'d walls were
by an audience suoh^lV""^ ^l"'"''"'? ''«" ""''ded
the emulSn of "m or.W "-""'y «^<=ited the fears or
' gether, from aH mrtf „f „ /""I'V^" gathered to-
tnd pr'o«i>e.o„. emXe LI^^a' ,f""'',«"«ghtened,4410

present. There SirlrJnn« ^"^"5"^ I" *^e world could
beauty/ looked w^thlS- *^^ ^"^"^^ °^ ^«^ "^^J^stic

the Roman Empire thought of flf ^*^® historian of4420
pleaded the cause of Sfn^f • *^ ® ^^^^ when Cicero

beforeaseLte wh^Ll- f T'"'^.^^""^' ^""^ ^hen,
dom T«Pif nffi, i ®V^^ retained some show of free-

ct 'S" Vere^se'e'n^ l^T't the oppressor of Afl
painter and the ^rZ'J'^\^J side the greatest4426

[pectaclehadlnLfdt tLtt ^^t .^\«

has preserved to u^ f^/fi l.r , *^^* ®'^^®^ ^^ich
many writers an^ J J thoughtful foreheads of ao

so mL7n:We nntron^^ ^f- *> 'T'' «^il«« ^i

pend hfs labors^ thT'^.i^ ^'^^ "''^"^'^^ I*^^^ to sus.4430
which he Cd exTractPd « ^ . ^''^^^""^ ^"^^^ ^^««^

a treasure too otefbuSedl^^^^^^^ ?"^^*^^"'

paraded with iniudinmno ^^ ?® ®^''*^^' too often
but still Soui mn^ ^^^^^"^ «^ant ostentation,

xw too wL^He! t^h:i:s'.^:ii^?ff '•"^t^:

ill

»■

■

206

WARHKN HASTINGS.

44Anr"Vr*5®' *^u ^i'''"* ^^'^''^''^ ^^^^^«" ^^licate features
4440 ighted up by love and music, art has rescued irom

hrflS"'''" -"^r^y-i . T^"'^ ^'"'^ t^^^ "'^"^b«rs of that,
brilliant society which quoted, criticised, and ex-

o? Mf« M ^'Z^'"'' "".^'^!" ^'^" '''^ Peacock-hangin^.8

^.^r; ''• M^^»^ag»e And there the ladies whose lips

444omore persuasive than those of Fox himself, had civ-

Tied the Westminster election against palace and

treasury, shone round Georgiana, Duchess of Devon-

AAKn. '''^^^ s<^rgeants made proclamation. Hastinas ad-

4450vanced to the bar, and bent his knee. The c^ulpr t

was indeed not unworthy of that great presence. He

had ruled an extensive and populous country, had

set up and pulled down princes. And in his hi^h
445oplace he had so borne himself that all had feared h m
that most had loved him, and that hatred itself could
deny him no title to glory, except virtue. Ho looked
like a great man, and not like a bad man. A person
^.^..^^ ^^. emaciated, yet deriving dignity from a car
44C0riage which, while it indicated deferlnce^tothl court
indicated also habitual self-possession and self-respect
a high and intellectual forehead, a brow pensive,Tut
nl! r^' ^r.""^^ •^^ inflexible decision, a face
difijpifn """^'S' ^ii '^'.^"^' ^" ^hi^h was written, as
4465Iegib ly as under the picture in the council-chamber

tV WK ?' 5*"" ""^r '"^ '*'"^'*''^' ' «"°h ^^'as the aspect
his fudges ^ proconsul presented himself to

AA^(^ ^'^ counsel accompanied him, men all of whom

4470were afterward raised by their talents and leaTS

to the highest posts in their profession— the bold and

strong-minded Law, afterward Chief-jusUce^ the

E mg s Bench ; the more humane and eloquent Dallas,

ll^KP ''^'^^^'^^■J"'^^"^ °^ **^« Common Pleas : and

4475Plomer who, near twenty years later, successfuH; con-

ducted m the same high court the defense of W

WARRRN HASTINGS,

2or

Melville and subsequently became Vice-chancellor
and Master of the Rolls. t»"oenor

But neither the culprit nor his advocates attracted
so much notice as the accusers. In the midst of the4480
blaze of red drapery, a space had been fitted up with
green benches and tables for the Commons. The

dres7''ThroH1^7''' i '^'''' \'^^' geared in full
dress. The collectors of gossip did not fail to remark-
that even Fox, generally so regardless of his appear-4485
ance had paid to the illustrious tribunal the cEi-
ment of weanng a bag and sword. Pitt had refused
to be one of tho conductors of the impeachment •
and his commanding, copious, and sonoroiSs eloquence
was wanting, to that great muster of various tients 4490
Age and blindness had unfitted Lord North for the
duties of a public prosecutor ; and his friends were
lef without the help of his excellent sense, his tact!
and his urbanity. But, in spite of the absence of
these two distinguished members of the Lower House 4495

arrlv 'f '" l^''^ '^^ "^^-^"^^"^^^ «*«^^ contained an
array of speakers auch as perhaps had not appeared
together since the great age of Athenian eloquence
There were Fox and Sheridan, the English iemos
thenes and the English Hyperides. There was Burke 4500
Ignorant, indeed, or negligent, of the art of adapting
his reasonings and his style to the capacity and taste
of his hearers but in amplitude of' comprehension
and richness of imagination superior to every orator
ancient or modern. There, with eyes reverentially4505
fixed on Burke, appeared the finest gentleman of the

?£!: ^' •''"' ^^:!;:^«P^^^ ^y ^^^^y manly exercise, his
face beaming with intelligence and spirit, the inge
nious, the chivalrous, the high-souled Windham. Nor
though surrounded by such men, did the youngest4510
manager pass unnoticed. At an age when most of
those who distinguish themselves in life are still con-
wl f"^ r P'if ^"^ fellowships at college, he had
won for himself a conspicuous place in plrli«.m.nt

208

WARREN HASTINQS.

4615No advantage of fortune or connection was wantinjj
that could set off to the height his splendid talents
and his unblemished honor. At twenty-three he
had been thought worthy to be ranked with the vet-
eran statesmen who appeared as the delegates of the

4520Briti8h Commons at the bar of the British nobility.
All who stood at that bar, save him alone, are gone —
culprit, advocates, accusers. To the generation
which is now in the vigor of life he is the sole repre-
sentative of a great age which has passed away. But

4525tho8e who, within the last ten years, have listened
with delight, till the morning aun shone on the
tapestries of the House of Lords, to the lofty and
animated eloquence of Charles Earl Grey, are able
to form some estimate of the powers of a race of men

4630among whom he was not the foremost.

The charges and the answers of Hastings were first
read. The ceremony occupied two whole days, and
was rendered less tedious than it would otherwise
have been by the silver voice and just emphasis of

4536Cowper, the clerk of the court, a near relation of the
amiable poet. On the third day Burke rose. Pour
sittings were occupied by his opening speech, which
was intended to be a general introduction to all the
charges. With an exuberance of thought and a

4540splendor of diction which more than satisfied the
highly raised expectation of the audience, he described
the character and institutions of the natives of India,
recounted the circumstances in which the Asiatic
empire of Britain had originated, and set forth the

4545constitution of the Company and of the English pre-
sidencies. Having thus attempted to communicate to
his hearers an idea of Eastern society as vivid as that
which existed in his own mind, he proceeded to
arraign the administration of Hastings as systemati-

4550cally conducted in defiance of morality and public
law. The energy and pathos of the great orator ex-
torted expressions of unwonted admiration from the

WABRIN HASTINGS.

209

stern uid hostile chancellor, and, for * moment,
leeraed to pierce even the resolute heart of the de-
fendant. The ladies in the galleries, unaccu8tomocl4555
to such displays of eloquence, excited by the solemnity
of the occasion, and perhaps not unwilling to dis-
play their taste and sensibility, were in a state of
uncontrollable emotion. Handkerchiefs were pulled
out; smelling-bottles were handed round; hysterical4560
sobs and screams were heard ; and Mrs. Sheridan was
carried out in a fit. At length the orator concluded. .
Raising his voice till the old arches of Irish oak re-
sounded, '-Therefore," said he, "hath it with all con-
fidence been ordered by the Commons of Great Britain, 45G5
that I impeach Warren Hastings of high crimes and
misdemeanors. 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 English •
nation, whose ancient honor he has sullied. I ini-4570
peach him in the name of the people of India, whoso
rights he has trodden underfoot, 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, 14575
impeach the common enemy and oppressor of all !"

When the deep murmur of various emotions ha.
subsided, Mr. Fox rose to address the lords respect-
ing the course of proceeding to be followed. The
wish of the accusers was that the court would brir 1^4580
to a close the investigation of the first charge before
the second, was opened. The wish of Hastings and of
his counsel was that the mana.G;ers should open all the
charges, and produce all the evidence for the prosecu-
tion, before the defense began. The Lords retired tG4585
their own House to consider the question. The
chancellor took the side of Hastings. Lord Lough-
borough, who was now in opposition, supported the
demand of the managers. The division showed which
way the inclination of the tribunal leaned. A major- 4590

210

WARRBN HABTINGB.

Ity of near three to one decided in favor of the oourae

for which Hastings contended.

When the court eat again, Mr. Fox, assisted by Mr.
Grey, opened the charge respecting Cheyto Sing, and

45958everal days were spent in reading papers and hear-
ing witno8808. The next article was that relating to
the Princesses of Oudo. The conduct of this part of
the case was intrusted to Sheridan. The curiosity of
the public to hear him was unbounded. His sparkling

4600and highly finished declamation lasted two days , but
the Hall was crowded to suUocation during the whole
time. It was said that fifty guineas had been paid
for a single ticket. Sheridan, when he concluded,
contrived, with a knowledge of stage effect which his

4605father might have envied, to sink back, as if ex-
hausted, into the arms of Jjurke, who hugged him with
• the energy of generous admiration.

June was now far advanced. The session could not
last much longer ; and the progress which had been

4G10made in the impeacliment was not very satisfactory.
There were twenty charges. On two only of these
had even the case for the prosecution been heard ;
and it was now a year siuco Hastings had been ad-
mitted to bail.

4(>15 The interest taken by the public in the trial was
great when the court began to sit, and rose to the
height when Sheridan spoke on the charge relating
to the Begums. From that time the excitement went
down fast. The spectacle had lost the attraction of

4fi20novelty. The great displays of rhetoric were over.
What was behind was not of a nature to entice men
of letters from their books m the morning., or to
tempt ladies who had left the masqueraae ... tv. » to
be out of bed before eight. There remair. :•.. u la-

4625tion8 and cross-examinations. There remamed state-
ments of accounts. There remained the reading of
papers, filled with words unintelligible to English
ears, '^ith lacs and crores, zemindars and aumilsj

WAHUKN HASTINGS.

211

Bunnuds and porwaiuialis, jaghires and mizzurs.
Thoro remained bickerings, not always carried on witli4C30
Hie best taste or vith the best temper, Ijtitween the
inanaiLrt'ra of the impeachment and tlio counwol for
the defense, particularly between Mr. Burke and Mr.,
Law. There remained the endless marches and'
countermarches of tlio Peers between tlieir House4G35
and the Hall : for as often as a point of law was to be
discussed, their Lordships retired to discuss it aprrt ;
and the consequence was, as a peer wittily said, that
the judges walked and the trial stood still.

It is to be added that, in the spring of 1788, when4640
the trial commenced, no important question, either
of domestic or foreign policy, occupied the public
mind. The proceeding in Westminster Hall, there-
fore, naturally attracted most of the attention of
Parliament and of the country. It was the one great4045
event of that season. But in the following year the
king's illness, the debates on the Regency, the ex-
pectation of a change of ministry, completely divert-
ed public attention from Indian' affairs ; and within
a fortnight after George the Third had returned4650
thanks in St. Paul's for his recovery, the States-gene-
ral of France met at Versailles. In the midst of the
agitation produced by these events, the impeachment
was for a time almost forgotten.

The trial in the Hall went on languidly. In the4C55
session of 1788, when the proceedings had the inter-
est of novelty, and when the Peers had little other
business before them, only thirty-five days were given
to the impeachment. In 1789, the Regency Bill oc-
cupied the Upper House till the session was far ad-4660
vanced. When the king recovered, the circuits were
beginning. The judges left town ; the Lords waited
for the return of the oracles of jurisprudence ; and
the consequence was that during the whole year only
seventeen days were given to the case of Hastings. 4665
It waa dear that the matter would be protracted to

212

WARREN HASTINGS.

a length unprecedented in the annals of criminal
law.

In truth, it is impossible to deny that impeach-

1670kVjnt, though it is a fine ceremony, and though it
may have been useful in the seventeeth century, is
not a proceeiling from which much good can now be
expected. Whatever confidence may be placed in
the decision of the Peers on an appeal arising out of

4675ordinary litigation, it is certain that no man has the
least confidence in their impartiality, when a great
public functionary, charged with a great state crime,
IS brought to their bar. They are all politicians.
There is hardly one among them whose vote on an

4680impeachment may not be confidently predicted before
a witness has been examined ; and, even if it were
possible to rely on their justice, they would still be
quite unfit to try such a cause as that of Hastings.
Tliey sit only during half the year. They have to

4685transact much legislative and much judicial business.
The law-lords, whose advice is required to guide the
unlearned majority, are employed daily in adminis-
tering justice elsewhere. It is impossible, there-
fore, that during a busy session the Upper House

4G90should give more than a few days to an impeachment.
To expect that their lordships would give up partridge-
shooting, in order to bring the greatest delinquent to
speedy justice, or to relieve accused innocence by
speedy acquittal, would be unreasonable indeed. A

4695well-c(mstituted tribunal, sitting regularly six days in
the week, and nine hours in the day, would have
brought the trial of Hastings to a close in less than
three months. The Lords had not finished their
work in seven years,
4700 The result ceased to be matter of doubt from the
time when the Lords resolved that they would be
guided by the rules of evidence which are received
in the inferior courts of the .realm. Those rules, it

!■ WaU known. «7alnHA mimyi inf<-ki*m«firkn nrK^/tk 'n.^^.'.l

WARREN HASTINGS.

213

be quite sufficient to determine the conduct of any4705
reasonable man in the most important transactions of
private life. These rules, at every assizes, save scores
of culprits whom judges, jury, and spectators firmly
believe to be guilty. But when those rules were
rigidly applied to offenses committed many years be-4710
fore, at the distance of many thousands of miles,
conviction was, of course, out of the question. We
do not blame the accused and his counsel for availing
themselves, of every legal advantage in order to obtain
an acquittal. But it is clear that an acquittal so ob-4715
tained cannot be pleaded in bar of the judgment of
history.

Several attempts were made Tby the friends of
Hastings to put a stop to the trial. In 1789 they
proposed a vote of censure upon Burke, for some4720
violent language which he had used respecting the
death of Nuncomar and the connection between
Hastings and Impey. Burke was then unpopular in
the last degree both with the House and with the
country. The asperity and indecency of some ex- 4725
pressions which he had used during the debates on
the Regency had annoyed even his warmest friends.
The vote of" censure was carried ; and those who had
moved it hoped that the managers would resign in
disgust. Burke was deeply hurt. But his zeal for4730
what he considered as the cause of justice and mercy
triumphed over his personal feelings. He received
the censure of the House with dignity and meekness,
and declared that no personal mortification or humilia-
tion should induce him to flinch from the sacred duty4735
which he had undertaken.

In the following year the Parliament was dissolved ;
and the friends of Hastings entertained a hope that
the new House of Commons might not be disposed
to go on with the impeachment. They began by4740
maintaining that the whole proceeding was termina-

A.J 1 Ai- - ji 1.-J.; T\_c__i._j i.u:_ :_i. xi

WiiX UJ Uiti UiSiSUiUliiUU. J^UiUcSilUU VU (.iUS ^Ulill/| bUOJT

214

WARREN HASTINGS.

made a direct motion that the impeachment .Iiould be
dropped ; but they were defeated by the combined

4745 forces of the Gov.ernment and the opposition. It was,
however, resolved that, for the sake of expedition,
many of the articles should be withdrawn. In truth,
had not some such measure been adopted, the trial
would have lasted till the defendant was in his

4750grave.

At length, in the spring of 1795, the decision was
pronounceil, near eight years after Hastings had been
brought by the Sergeant-at-arms of the Commons to
the bar of the Lords. On the last day of this great

4755procedure the public curiosity, long suspended, seem-
ed to be revived. 'Anxiety about the judgment there
cor'd be none ; for it had been fully ascertained that
there was a great majority for the defendant. Never-
theless, many wished to see the pageant, and the Hall

4760was as much crowded as on the first day. But those

who, having been present on the first day, now bore

a part in the proceedings of the last, were few ; and

most of those few were altered men. ^

As Hastings himself said, the arraignment had

4765taken place before one generation, and the judgment
wao pronounced by another. The spectator could
not look at the wool-sack, or at the red benches of the
Peers, or at the green benches of the Commons,
without seeing something that reminded him of the

4770instability of all human things, of the instability of
power and fame and life, of the rcore lamentable
instability of friendship. The great seal was borne
before Lord Loughborough, who, when the trial com-
menced, was a fierce opponent of Mr. Pitts Govern-

4775ment, and who was now a member of that Govern-
ment ; while Thurlow, who presided in the court
when it first sat, estranged from all his old allies, sat
scowling among the junior barons. Of about a hun-
dred and sixty nobles who walked in the procession

4780on the first day, sixty had been laid in their family

WARREN HASTINGS,

215

vaults. Still more affecting must have been the sisht
of the managers* box. What had become of that
fair fellowship, so closely bound together by public
and private ties, so resplendent with every talent and
accomplishment ? It had been scattered by Qalami-4785
ties more bitter than the bitterness of death. The
great chiefs were still living, and still in the full vigor
of their genius. But their friendship was at an end.
It had been violently and publicly dissolved, with
tears and stormy reproaches. If those men, once so4790
dear to each other, were now compelled .o meet for
the purpose of managing the impeachment, they met
as strangers whom public business had brought to-
gether, and behaved to each other with cold and dis-
tant civility. Burke had in his vortex whirled away4795
Windham. Fox had been followed by Sheridan and
Grey.

Only twenty-nine Peers voted. Of these only six
found Hastings guilty on the charges relating to
Cheyte Sing and to the Begums. On other charges, 4800
the majority in his favor was still greater. On some
he was unanimously absolved. He was then called to
the bar, was informed from the wool-sack that the
Lords had acquitted him, and was solemnly discharg-
ed. He bowed respectfully and retired. 4805

We have said that the decision had been fully ex-
pected. It was also generally approved. At the com-
mencement of the trial there had been a strong and
indeed unreasonable feeling against H istings. At the
close of the trial there was a feeling equally strong4810
and equally unreasonable in his favor. One cause vl
the change was, no doubt, what is commonly called
the fickleness of the multitude, but what seems to us
to be merely the general law of human nature. Both
in individuals and in masses violent excitement is al-4815
ways followed by remission, and often by reaction.
We are all inclined to depreciate whatever we have
overpraised, and, on the other hand, to show undue

216

WAUtnr HASTINGS.

jo'/.^" ^^®^®® where we have shown undue rigor. Il
48:i0wa!! thus in the case of Hastings. The length of his
trial, moreover, made him an object of compassion.
It was thought, and not without reason, that, even if
he was guilty, he was still an ill-used man, and that
>.ooe*" impeachment of eight years was more than a suffi-
4825eient punishment. It was also felt that, though in
the ordinary course of criminal law, a defendanris
not allowed to set off his good actions against his
crimes, a great political cause should be tried on dif-
QoJ^^^^^ principles, and that a man who had governed an
4830ompire during thirteen years might have done some very
reprehensible things, and yet might be, on the whole '
deserving of rewards and honors rather than of fine
and imprisonment. The press, an instrument ne».
^oo«., °*^^. ^^ ^^^ prosecutors, was used by Hastings an*d
4835his friends with great effect. Every ship, too, that
arrived from Madras or Bengal brought a cuddy full
of his admirers. Every gentleman from India spoke
of the late governor-general as having deserved bet-
^«. J*^^' ^^^ liaving been treated worse, than any man
48401iying. The effect of this testimony unanimously
given by all persons who knew the East was naturally
very great. Retired members of the Indian services
civil and military, were settled in all corners of the
kingdom. Each of them was, of course, in his own
4845Iittle circle, regarded as an oracle on an Indian ques-
tion, and they were, with scarcely one exception,
the zealous advocates of Hastings. It is to be added
that the numerous addresses to the late governor-
general which his friends in Bengal obtained from
4850the natives and transmitted to England made a con-
siderable impression. To these addresses we attach
little or no importance. That Hastings was beloved
by the people whom he governed is" true ; but the
.Q> /"^^^Sies of pundits, zemindars, Mahommedan doc
48o5tors, do not prove it to be true. For an English
collector or judge would have found it easy to induce

WAKBBN HASTINGS.

2ir

any native who could write to sign a panegyric on
the most odious ruler that ever was in India. It was
said that at Benares, the very place at which the acts

common.!? .if ''^ f.rt.cle of impeachment had been4860
committed, the natives had erected a temple to

i^^T Tn' 1^" 1.*^!' f^""? ^^°^*^^ ^ «^^«»g sensation *
m ±. gland. Burke's observations on the apotheosis
were admirable. He saw no reason for aston^hmenJ'
as so stiHna Tt""^ which had been represented4865
Tf th!n ^^'- ^®^"«w something of the mythology
of the Brahmins He knew that as they worshippid
some gods from love, so they worshipped others from
tear ±le knew that they erected shcines, not only to
the benignant deities of light and plenty, but also to4870
dtn h! / who preside over small-pox and murder ; nor
t/Jn'^A ^.",^^«P"*« the claim of Mr. Hastings to be
admitted mo such a Pantheon. This reply has
always struck us as one of the finest that ever was

T.tt Z '^Tu^\J^ '' ^ grave and forcible argu-4875
ment, decorated by the most brilliant wit and fancy
Hastings was, however, safe. But in everything
except character he would have been far better off if
when first impeached, he had at once pleaded guilty

ruteTmr„^^%f f ^ ^^^ousand pounSs. He^ara4880
ruined man. The legal expenses of his defense had
been enormous The expenses which did not appear
m his attorney's bill were perhaps larger still. Great

hZ't^ ^T P^^l'." ^"^^^ ^'^''' ^reatsums had
been laid out m bribing newspapers, rewarding pam-4885

1790 Z% "i ^^''^%^S tracts.^ Burke, so e?i?;^ ^^
1790, declared m the House of Commons that twenty
thousand pounds had been employed in corrupting
f rlf ?i!'' ^^ '' ?'''^^''' *^^* '^^ controversial weapon,
™ 1 Jf „f ^""'f ^ reasoning to the coarsest ribaldry 4890
was left unemployed. Logan defended the accused
governor with great abiUty in prese. For tLToye„
of verse, the speeches of the managers were buries-

_^ ._ _--__-_ _5j,.^jj^ incu*.

218

WARREN HASTINGS.

4895putahle that Hastings stooped so low as to court the
aid of that malignant and filthy baboon John Wil-
liams, who called himself Anthony Pasquin. It was
necessary to subsidize such allies largely. The pri-

.nn.^^'^-*? ^i'^'^^^f ^^ ^*'^- ■'i^^t'^gs had disappeared. It is
.4U0Usaid that the banker to whom they had been intrust-
ed had failed. Still, if Hastiiii,^s had practised strict
economy, he would, after all his losses, have had a
moderate competence ; but in the management of his

4r akP"^,.**® ^^'"^^ ^^ ^'^^ imprudent. The dearest wish of

4y05his heart had always been to ro^Miu Daylesford. At
length, m the very year in which his trial commenced,
the wish was accomplished ; and the domain, alien-
ated more than seventy years before, returned to the
descendant of its old lords. But the manorhouse was

4910a rum ; and the grounds round it had, during many
years, been utterly neglected. Hastings proceeded
to build, to plant, to form a sheet of water, to exca-
vate a grotto ; and, before he was dismissed from the
bar of the House of Lords, he had expended more

4915than forty thousand pounds in adorning his seat.

The general feeling both of the Directors and of the
proprietors of the East India Company was that he
had great claims on them, that his services to them
had been eminent, and that his misfortunes had

4920been the effect of his zeal for their interest. His
friends in Leadenhall Street proposed to reimburse
him the costs of his trial, and to settle on him an
annuity of five thousand pounds a year. But the
consent of the Board of Control was necessaiy ; and

4925at the head of the Board of Control was Mr. Dundas,
who had himself been a party to the impeachment',
who had, on that account, been reviled with great
bitterness by the adherents of Hastings, and who,
therefore, was not in a very complying mood. He

4930refused to consent to what the Directors suggested.
The DirectorB remonstrated. A long controversy
foUowedo Hastings, in the mean time, was reduced

fill

WARREN HASTINQ8.

219

to such distress that he could hardly pay his weekly
bills. At length a compromise was made. An an-
nuity for life of four thouq^nd pounds was settled on4935
Hastings ; and in order to enable him to meet press-
ing demands, he was to receive ten years' annuity in
advance. The Company was also permitted to lend
him fifty thousand pounds, to be repaid by instal-
ments without interest. This relief, though given in4940
the most absurd manner, was sufficient to enable the
retired governor to live in comfort, and even in lux-
ury, if he had been a skilful manager. But he was
careless and profuse, and was more than once under
the necessity of applying to the Company for as8ist-4945
ance, which was liberally given.

He had security and affluence, but not the power
and dignity which, when he landed from India, he
had reason to expect. He had then looked forward
to a coronet, a red ribbon, a seat at the Council-4950
board, an ofhce at Whitehall. He was then only
fifty- two, and might hope for many years of bodily
and mental vigor. The case was widely difi'erent
when he left the bar of the Lords. He was now too
old a man to turn his mind to a View class of studies4955
and duties. He had no chance of receiving any mark
of royal favor while Mr. Pitt remained in power •
and, when Mr. Pitt retired, Hastings was approach*
mg his seventieth year.

Once, and only once, after his acquittal, he inter-49G0
tered in politics ; and that interference was not much
to his honor. In 1804 he exerted himself strenu-
ously to prevent Mr. Addington, against whom Fox
and Pitt had combined, from resigning the Treasury.
It is difficult to believe that a man so able and ener-49G5
getic as Hastings can have thought that, when Bona-
p^irte was at Boulogne with a great army, the defense
of our island could safely be intrusted to a ministry
which did not contain a single person whom flatterv
could describe as a great statesman. It is also certain4970

■

220

WARRBN HASTINGS.

that, on the Important question which hai5 raiaed Mr.
Addington to power, and on wkich he differed from
both Fox and Pitt, I3a8tingE,.a8 might have been ex-
pected, agreod with Fox^nd Titt, and was decidedly
4975»>ppo8ed to Addington. Religious intolerance has
never been the vice of the Indian service, and cer-
tainly was not the vice of Hastings. But Mr. Ad-
dington had treated him with marked favor. Fox
had been a principal manager of the impeachment.
4980To Pitt it WHS owing that there had been an impeach-
nient ; and Hastings, we fear, was on this occasion
guided by personal considerations rather than by a
regard to the public interest.
The last twenty-four years of his life were chiefly
4985passed at Daylesford. He iimused himself with em-
bellishing iiis grounds, riding tine Arab horses, fat-
tening prize-cattle, and trying tt) rear Indian animals
and vegetables in England. He sent for seeds of a
A ..ry fine custard apple, from the garden of what had
4990once been his own villa, among the green hedge-rows
of Allipore. He tried also to naturalize in Worces-
tershire the delicious leechee, almost the only fruit
of Bengal which deserves to be regretted even amidst
the plenty of Covent Garden. The Mogul emper-
4995(jrs, in the time of their greatness, had in vain at-
tempted to introduce into Hindostan the goat of the
table-land of Thibet, whose down supplies the looms
of Cashmere with the materials of the finest shawls,
Hastings tried, with no better fortune, to rear a breed
5000at Daylesford ; nor does he seem to have succeeded
better with the cattle of Bootan, whose tails are in
■ high esteem as the best fans for brushini> away the
mosquitoes.
Literature divided his attention with his conserva-
5005tories and his menagerie. He had always loved books,
and they were now necessary to him. Though not a
poet, in any high sense of the word, he wrote reajj
and polished lines with great facility, and was fond^of

WARRSK nAST.NCa.

221

•xerclBing thU talent. Indeed, if we must speak oat,
he seems to have been more of a Trissotin than was5010
to be expected from the powers of his mind, and from
the great part which he had played in life. We are
assured in these Memoirs that the first thing which
h^ did in the morning was to write a copy of verses.
When the family and guests assembled, the poem5015
made its appearance as regularly as the eggs and rolls ;
and Mr. Gleig requires us to believe that, if from
any accident Hastings came to the breakfast-table
without one of his charming performances in his
hand, the omission was felt by all as a grievous dis-5020
appointment. Tastfes dififcr widely. For ourselves,
we must say that, however good the breakfasts at
Daylasford may have been— and we are assured that
the tea was of the most aromatic flavor, and that
neither tongue nor venison-pasty was wanting— we5025
should have thought the reckoning high if we had
been forced to earn our repast by listening every day
to a new madrigal or sonnet composed by our host.
We are glad, however, that Mr. Gleig has preserved
this little feature of character, though we think it by5030
no means a beauty. It is good to be often reminded
of the inconsistency of human nature, and to learn
to look without wonder or disgust on the weaknesses
which are found in the strongest minds. Dionysius
m old times, Frederic in the last century, with capa-5035
city and vigor equal to the conduct of the greatest
aflairs, united all the little vanities and affectations of
provincial blue-stockings. These great examples may
console the admirers of Hastings for the affliction of
seeing him reduced to the level of the Hayleys and5040
oewards.

When Hastings had passed many years in retire-
ment, ard had long outlived the common age of men,
he again became for a short time an object of gene-
ral attention. In 1813 the charter of the East India5045

333

WARRBN HA8TIN08.

Indian affairs took place in Parliament. It was de-
termined to examine witnesses at the bar of the Com-
mons, and Hastings was ordered to attend. He had

ROSOappeared at that bar once before. It was when he read
his answer to the charges which Burke had laid on
the table. Since that time twenty-seven years had
elapsed ; public feeling had UiiJergone a complete
change ; the nation had now forgotten his faults, and

6056remembered only his services. The reappearance,
too, of a man who had been among the most dis-
tinguished of a generation that had passed away, who
now belonged to history, and who seemed to have
risen from the dead, could not but produce a solemn

5060and pathetic effect. The Commons received him

with acclamations, ordered a chair to be set for him,

and, when ho retired, rose and uncovered. There

were, indeed, a few who did not sympathize with the

^general feeling. One or two of the managers of the

5065impeachment were present. They. sat in the same
seats which they had occupied when they had been
thanked for the services which they had rendered in
Westminster Hall ; for, by the courtesy of the House,
a member who has been thanked in his place is con-

50708idered as having a right al' /ays to occupy that place
These gentlemen were not disposed to admit that
they had employed several of the best years of their
lives in persecuting an innocent man. They accord-
ingly kept their seats, and pulled their hats over

5075their brows ; but the exceptions only made the pre-
vailing enthusiasm more remarkable. The Lords re-
ceived the old man with similar tokens of respect ;
the University of Oxford conferred on him the de-
gree of Doctor of Laws ; and in the Sheldoniau

5080Theatre, the undergraduates welcomed him with tu-
multuous cheering.

These marks of public esteem were soon followed
by marks of royal favor. Hastings was sworn of the

privy council, and was admitted t

WAKUEN HASTINGS.

223

audience of the prince recrent, who treated him very5085
graciously. Whon the Emperor of Russia and the
King of Prussia visited England, Hastings appeared
m their train both at Oxford and in the Guildhall of
London, and, though surrounded by a crowd of
princes and great warriors, was everywhere received50iMJ
with marks of respect and admiration. He was pre-
sented by the prince regent both to Alexander and to
Frederic William ; and his royal highness went so far
as to declare in public that honors far higher than a
seat 111 the privy council were due, and would soon5005
be paid, to the man who had saved the British
dominions in Asia. Hastings now confidently ex-
pected a peerage ; but, from some unexplained cause,
he was again disappointed.

He lived about four years longer, in the enjoymentSlOO
of good spirits, of faculties not impaired to any pain-
ful or degrading extent, and of health such as is rarely
enjoyed by those who attain such an age. At len«'th,
on the 22d of August, 1818, in the eighty-sixth year
of his age, he met death with the syine tranquil and5105
decorous fortitude which he liad opposed to all the
trials of his various and eventful life.

With all his faults— and they were neither few nor
small— only one cemetery was worthy to contain his
remains. In that temjile of silence and reconciliationSllO
where the enmities of twenty generations lie buried,
in the Great Abbey which has during many ages
afforded a quiet resting-place to those whose minds
and bodies have been shattered by the conteniions of
the Great Hall, the dust of the illustrious aceusedSllS
should have mingled with the dust of the illustrious
accusers. This was not to be. Yet the place of in-
terment was not ill chosen. Behind the chancel of
the parish church of Daylesford, in earth which al-
iready held the bones of many chiefs of the house of6l20
Hastings, was laid the coffin of the greatest man who

n.M

and

widely extended

224

WARRSN HASTINOA.

liarae. On that very spot probably, fouriooro yoam
KioKr i°'?' the little Warren, meanly clad aud acantiiy
5125fod, had played with the children of ploughmei^
Even then Ins young mind had revolved plani which
might be called romantic. Yet, however romantic, it
IS not likely that they had been so strange ai the truth.

Kionc °"'^ *^*^ ^^^ P^"' orphan retrieved the fallen
5180fortune8 of his lino. Not only had he repurchased the
old lands, and rebuilt the old dwelling. He had
preserved and extended an empire. He had founded
a polity. He had administered government and war
with more than the capacity of Richelieu. He had
5135patroni«ed learning with the judicious liberality of
Cosmo. He had been attacked by the most^formid-
able combination of enemies that ever sought the
destruction of a single victim ; and over that combin-
P 1 ^ A?I^°?' *^*^®' * struggle of ten years, he had triumphed.
6140He had at length gone down to his grave in the fu).
ness of age in peace, after so many troubles ; in honor,
after so much obloquy.

Those wlio look on his character without favor or
malevolence will pronounce that, in the two great
ol45element8 of all social virtue, in respect for the rights
of others, and in sympathy for the suflterings of
others, he was deficient. His principles were some-
what lax. His heart was somewhat hard. But
th()ugh we cannot with truth describe him either as
5150a righteous or as a merciful ruler, we cannot regard
without admiration the amplitude and fertility of his
intellect, his rare talents for command, for admin-
istration, and for controversy, his dauntless courage,
his honorable poverty, his fervent zeal for the inter-
51656sts of the State, his noble equanimity, tried by both
extremes of fortune, and never disturbed by either.

NOTES.

THE ENGLISH IN INDIA,

In the year 1600 Queen Elizabeth granted a chartev to
East India Company. At first there was no trade directly to
India, but in 1613 permission was given by the Emperor to
establish four factories or trading posts. Two years later the
important factory at Surat was obtained ; some years after-
wards important commercial privileges were secured, and
among other places Madras was obtained and fortified, becom-
ing in 1653 a presidency or factory, having oversight of neigh-
boring factories. Bombay was given to Chas. II. by Portugal
as part of the dowry of his queen, Catherine ; but Charles
made it over to the Company in 1653, and it then became a
presidency.

Factories were established on the Ganges and elsewhere ;
in 1696 the site of Calcutta was purchased and Fort William
erected, whereupon Calcutta became another presidency.
From this time to the appearance of Clive on the scene, the
history of Calcutta is the history of the English in India ; it
is one of continuous and rapid growth in numbers and influ-
ence, and also of almost continuous disputes with the rulers of
the Province of Bengal.

(For the rest of the history of the English in India see
Greene's History of the English People ; also Edith Thomp-
son's or Collier's History of England,"

REMARKS OX COMPOSITION.

There is no essential diflFerence between speaking and
writing; differencfcs exist, but they arise naturally from the
dissimilarity of th^ modes of communication. The founda-
tion, however, of writing is speaking.

Id speaking, we have something to communicate to others j
a thought in our mind is to be placed in the mind of another ;
the medium is language ; and this language, whether spoken
or written, must be adequate, else the end ia not reached—
the thought has not been communicated.

If language ia a necessary attendant of thought, then, if
the thought is clear, the language in which the thought is
clothed will be clear to others as to ourselves ; but if thought
may exist independent of language, we must first transfer it
into language before we can communicate it.

In speaking we have aids to our words— tone of voice,
accentuation of word or syllable, expression, or language of
the face and eye ; movements of the body, rapid or deliberate
utterance, checks or turns— that are of necessity lacking in
the written language. Hence in the latter a greater reliance
must be placed upon the words themselves, and consequently
a greater choice or care in aelectiug and arranging them. In
speaking, when a thought is not grasped through one set of
words, it may be presented at once in a new sec ; explanations
aMd amendments of expression may at any moment be given.
But since explanations cannot be given where language is
written, a careful inspection of the significance of the words
and phrases and constructions we employ becomes a matter of
necessity. . .

The one fundamental principle, therefore, in composition is
clear expression, or the use of such words and combinations as
will transfer to the mind of otliers the thought that is in the

If the subject or idea is clearly thought out, words will be

BBMARKS ON COMPOSITIOK.

227

found to txpress it if they are known ; if the oommand of
lauguage is not great enough, the only remedy is to read
widely. Composing will produce a facility in the use of such
words as we have at command ; it will not increase their
number.

Clearness of expression depends on several things :

1. The words must be apt; that is, they must convey the
writer's idea exactly. The greater the number of words a
person has at command, the better able will he be, other
things being equal, to express himself precisely. A wide
Tocabulary is obtained only by thoughtful reading.

2. The words must be such as are in ordinary use with
good writers and speakers ; that is, they must be good English
words. Clearness forbids foreign words, obsolete words, slang
expressions, etc. — everything that is foreign to pure English.
The language used must convey to others the same meaning
that it conveys to ourselves.

3. The words and combinations of words must be so ar«
ranged as to convey only one meaning. If any doubt
as to the meaning can arise the sentence is not clear. Ambi-
guity is the chief fault of beginners in composition. Great
cai'e is needed to avoid it.

4. Words, such as relative and demonstrative pronouns,
whose meaning is gained only by reference to other words,
require care in using. A relative word must be so us'sd that
it can refer to but one antecedent.

5. A fair degree of brevity is needful ; the mind does not
wish to be in suspense as to the meaning intended, nor does it
wish to labor in gathering tho meaning. Too great brevity,
however, is apt to cause obscurity, or to give rise to some
other error. Use words sufficient for tho purpose, but no
more. Hence Tautology, or the repetition of the same idea
in other words. Verbosity, or a roundabout style of expres-
sion, and pleonasm or redundancy, are opposed to clearness.

These are the leading features in Clearness, or Perspicuity ^
as it is sometimes called. The correct use of recognized gram-
matical forms might be added, but only in exceptional cases
would the meaning be obscured by neglect of these forms.

But language is capable not only of expressing thought
clearly, but also of expressing it vigorously. The features
indicated above are all necessary in a vigorous or strong style.

228

REMARKS ON COMPOSITION.

They are, moreover, to a great extent mechanical, and as such
call in play no higher faculty than imitation ; but to give the
additional elements of force or strength, or to give expression
to the emotions, requires something more than a mechanical
process. There must be what no rule can give — a feeling or
an appreciation of fitness between the thought with its accom-
panying emotion and the method cf expressing the thought.
As an illustration : — A pupil was requested by his teacher to
give a paraphrase of the stanza in the *'Lady of the Lake "
immediately preceding the one describing the combat. The
line "I thank thee, Roderick, for that word" v.as turned into
**I thank you, Roderick, /or that expressions^; continuing, he
rendered the line "Each looked to sun, to stream, and plain"
by "Each took a look at the surroundings." Now, unless
this pupil could have been made to feel the incongruity be-
tween these very commonplace words and the high-wrought
passions of the two men, it would be perfectly useless to tell
him that the words were out of place and failed to do their

duty.

The standard, or normal, sentence is one that contains the
expression of a thought free from any admixture of emotion.
It has a certain calm type of word, and a certain arrangement
of parts. If the emotional element is present in connection
with the idea to be expressed, there will be some change of
word or of order in the sentence.

Hence, in addition to conveying the thought clearly, the
word must convey the emotion also; therefore a knowledge of
what is termed ''synonyms'' is needful— especially in reference
to the emotional qualities they express— as in the synonymous
words asky beg, beseech, imptore. Such a knowledge cannot
well be called mechanical ; it is acquired almost, if not quite,
insensibly in learning the language itself.

Again : emotional impulses are accompanied "by an im-
patience to find utterance ; hence, whatever tends to retard is
apt to be omitted, except when obscurity would follow. Thus,
as long sentences naturally keep the meaning in suspense,
short sentences will be employed ; conjunctions will bo
sparingly used ; ellipses will be frequent; figurative language
will be employed ; straightforward statement will be made.
The word upon which most stress is laid, or rather which con-
tains the most prominent part of the emotional idea, is apt to

tlEMAHKS ON COMPOSITION.

229

be uttered first, as if the mind wished to reliere itself as soon
as possible ; or the usual order of words is changed, thereby
drawing special attention to the displaced words.

But it must be borne in mind that whatever peculiarities
may be saen in a sentence expressiiig emotion, it is not the
peculiarities that cause the emotion, but the emotion that
causes them. If a forcible word is in a certain position, it
does not follow that the position itself is an emphatic one.
No sentence will be an emphatic one merely from attention to
the peculiarities enumerated ; the vitalizing principle of emo-
tional thought must pervade it as a soul, else there is but
deadness.

The successful use of figurative language depends largely
upon taste and cultivation, and so is very widely removed
from the merely mechanical.

Good taste does not permit of figurative language unless
the subject is worthy of it ; good taste also requires the figure
to be suitable. It would not permit us to say that ' the
tremblings of the mouse Avere like the heavings of a mountain
amid the throes of an earthquake." Sir Walter Scott's com-
parison of Roderick Dhu tossing on his sick-bed, to a vessel
rolling about on the beach, is not a suitable one ; it is absurd.

It is only by natural taste, improved and developed by
cultivation that an elegant or polished style can be attained.
Clearness can be obtained by all who think clearly.

THEMES FOR ESSAYS.

1. " Tlio boy is father to the man."

. The boyhood of Hastings ; his f:;mily ; the family es-
tates ; character of the boy; if his subsequent career
was in accordance with them ; his success.

2. The value of definite aims in life.

Perseverance ; steadinesa of character : dancer ~ un-
torapuIoQsneBB.

230

THEMES FOR ESSAYS.

3. Hastings aa a ruler.

A ruler's duties; what the Company expected of Hast-
ings ; compatability of those two ; character of the gov-
erned; opportunitif^s for IncroaBO of power, and how
used ; general results.

4. Solf-dnfonco ; does it justify crime ?

Hastings, the Council, Nuncomar.

6. ** In order that the censure may be justly apportioned to the
transgression, it is fit that the motive of the criminal should
be taken into consideration."

Examine the statement, first "if the motive be private
gain;" send "if it b© public gain;" is public morality
different in kind from private morality ?

6. The value of India to England.

7. Has English rule been a blessing to India ?

8. Docs Macaulay defend Hastings ?

N.B. — Very many other themes might be suggested by a per-
usal of the essay ; the above are but examples. No themo oa
this essay should be given till the essay itself is carefully gone
over.

t.---

WAKKEN HASTINGS.

N.B.— -For Hiatorical allusions see Greeners History of Bnglish
Peoj)le.

It will be R6Pn that tlio book of the biopfrapher of Hafltings is
not noticed ; it serves as a mere suggestion for this Essay, which
is itself a biography.

Remark that before entering upon his subjoot the author sets
onr miud at rest as to what bin opinions are, and prepares us for
a not too hard judgment by stating that Hastij ga himself would
have acquienced in it.

Warren Haatinga sprunc/, (fee. The following reforenees to
noble houMOH are quite in Macaulay's way. Ue i« not a worship-
per of nobles, but he respects the nobiliSiy; and a long line of
illustriouH ancestors, or a wide connection among the iUustrious
adds an interest to the person with whom he is dealing — this
person is the centre in which all that is renowned in his family
connection meet : with Hastings and his ambition is united the
whole of his ancestry and family.

Notice throughout the essay the author's practice of beginning
a paragraph with a short sentence, and of giving a brief but
comprehensive view of the subject before developing it.

Ohamberlain. Lord Hastings, executed by Richard III.
Shakespeare introduces him in his play of Richard III.

He would be Hastings to die. Remark the climax here ;

Macaulay is fond of this structure in sentences.

With Cowper, &o. This fine introduction of Oowper is highly
artistic : ' Hastings could not be ©Bsentialiy base if Cowper, the
)ure-minded poet, was his friend and remained so. ' On the other
land, the introduction of Impey shows the other side of Hast-
;.ngK,— he would use as a tool any man who would further his
Bohemei. '• hua we have at once the two sides of Hastings' char-
acter presented to us.

In these Hastings. After describing rapidly the state ot

the coTUitry to which Hastings was sent, this short stat«meuf

232

WARRBN HASTINGS.

brings the author at once to his main subject. He states it and
then develops ;t. Compare this with the opening paragraph of
the Essay, And also remark it as a common practice of the
author.

On one aide oppression. These sentences are antithetical

in character, and parallel in construction — i.e. the phrases of
one corresponding to that of the other.

A tints comes mankind. Noti" "r^re and throughout the

Essay Macaulay's love for climact) ture of sentences and

for anaphora.

A war of Bengalees demons. This illustration makes de-
finite and concrete on what otherwise is abstract statement : a

frequent device in Macauiay, and one adding to the strength of
his style.

It ie certain — ; — guilt. Note the parallelism in these senten-
ces, and the antithetical character of the following paragraph.
Also that here the author anticipates the charge made against
Hastings at a later time — that he oppressed the people for pri-
vate gam.

Among the passengers. This paragraph admirably illustrates
Macaulay's employment of short sentences.

Olive system, Notice this form of epizeuxis— a repetition

that enables the sentence to be prolonged and thus to include the
whole thought without coniusion resulting ; it is, as it were, a
prop that sustains the sentence.

Augustulus, &c. See Gibbon's History of the Decline and Fall
of the Boman Empire (Student's edition), and Hallam's Middle
Ages,

What the Italian, &o. The nse of the concrete illustration
is marked throughout this paragraph.

Mucins. See the legend in the early period of Boman History.

Patna. Compare this reference to Schitab Boy with the ac-
count of Hastings' family and ancestors. The battle was fought
in 1763, against the Newab of Bengal, Mir Kasim,

The time struggle. Bemark how frequently Macauiay, in

a short sentence at the end of a paragraph, refers to future re-
sults from a present act, thus keeping up our interest, and so
making his narrative interesting.

Far from it. This whole passage is highly sarcastic.

Surajah Dowlah. Not the nabob of Bengal who was defeated
by Glive at Flabsey in 1767.

WARUEW HASTINGS.

233

Hyphasia Hystaspes. Eivers of the Punjab : the former

Is now called the Beeas or Ghalla ; the latt the Jehlum.

There ia reasoti it ia certain. This is a commou device of

the author: — he begins one Rentence with an ansertion, and re-
iterates it in the next, sometimes more, sometimes less forcibly.

The "people of Central Asia, &c. Remark again how the au-
thor surrounds his characters with an interest not belonging to
themselves alone. Cf. Hastings, &c. Also remark his very
common habit of referring to facts of a similar kind, but more
commonly known — " the warriors of the German forests : "
•fiefs of the spear."

Ghieni. One of the strongest fortresses in Asia; it is situated in
Afghanistan. In 1830 the British stormed this city, and Afghan-
istan was occupied. It was retaken by the Afghai ■ in March
1842, and recaptured by the British in September of the same
year.

I really cannot see, &c. This paragraph is an example of the
vigor, energy and impetuosity of Macaulay, when dealing with
an opponent, real or imaginary, when he feels he is defending the
right and denouncing guilt. Only short senlfences could give
this rapidity of movement. We have sarcastic statement of the
case, indignation, illustration by well known examples of the
same kind : indignant question and denunciatory answer, and
a close with that strongest of all arguments the argumentuni ad
hominem {anaccenosia of rhetoric) — "What would they have
said," &c., along with a characterization of the act and its de-
fence, which almost quivers with indignation and scorn.

But we beg pardon, &c. Notice the unexpected turn ; it is the
trick of an orator who seeks to win favor to his cause by clev-
erlj flattering his hearers regarding their supposed knowledge
of the subject with which he is dealing. Macaulay was always
the orator.

The paragraph following is thoroughly artistic, and contains a
touch of pathos, not often met with in Macaulay. Our feelings
are naturally enlisted in favor cf the Rohillas, and the exaggera-
tion in the description of their treatment, leaves the impression
that they all perished ; this paragraph relieves us : the Rohillas
still exist) and though deprived of independence, are as noble as
ever.

Junius. See Greene's "History of English "People."

On the mrrrovf, &c. Here again is a reference to future re*

_..ti.- * —

BU>U3 tJluxxt ^icacub avvat

.»«-•

ill

234

WARREN HASTINGS.

The iriumph of Nuncamar. The whole of this description
of the fate of Nuncomar is very animated.

Though the paragraph would lead us to expect what really
took place, yet we are not prepared for the abruptness of the
opening of the next paragraph.

It was unknown. Note the strondy climactio character of this
and the following sentences.

The head people. This sentence is a good oxample of what

is termed a periodic sentence — , one in which the verb or predi-
cate is near or at the close. When not too freely used it adds
force or strength to the style.

A sentence of an opposite character, one in which the verb or
predicate is near the beginning, is termed a loose sentence.

It is remarJcable India. Nothing could give a better idea

of the cool, intrepid character of Hastings than this paragraph,
wh'ch presents him quietly writing to a friend upon a literary
subject while India and England are in commotion over his acts.

Nor is he them. What a light the touching incident that

follows, throws around the character of Ooote 1 No elaborate
description could tell so much either about the personal charac-
ter of the man or the estimation in which he was held.

It is but another example of the author's introduction of con-
Crete illustration. In almost every page these are found ; if they
had not such an important influence on animation, they would
be a manneristn.

Apparent harmony. This variety of anadiploais, by which
the most important word of the last aentence of one paragraph
is repeated at the beginning of the next paragraph, is common in
Macaulay ; while it links one paragraph to another it does not
prevent each from having complete unity in itself,— dealing with
one subject and one alone.

Unity of paragraph is generally well preserved by Maoaulay.

Imagine what the state, <fec. This anaccenosis brings the quo-
tation forcibly home to ourselves. The animation is decidedly
increased thereby. The use of this device is not sufficiently
frequent in Macaulay to render it a mannerism.

Remark the evident exaggeration in this and ihs following
paragraph.

The bargain infamous. Notice the short ener^etio sen-
tences herft ; also thn last sentence note the anti-cltmax which
ii almost if not quite epigrammatic in character.

WARREN HASTINGS.

235

About thirty years, &c. In this paragraph is well illustrated
the " priuciple of suqpense," one of Manaulay's characteristica
as a writer. The reader is for a long time in Buspeuse as to
who or what ia referred to.

Then it was, &c. Observe the animation of what follows.

Porto Novo. Near the mouth of the Kolerun, not far from
Madras.

case of Tlastings when first

it is introdncfid in a most

city with its buildings and

His first dnsifjn, &c. As in the
introduced t) us, so wifcn BanarcH
picturesque ra>innor; the whole
crowds is before our eyes.

This is the special feature in Macanlay's writings that gives
them their picturesque character.

Tamarlane, or rather Timur. A celebrated Tartar conqueror,
• 1 o^ao" *^^® Moguls and Turkis ; he overran western Asia and
in 1393 invaded India and sacked Delhi, his army carrying away
f^oy^^^" ^°°*^y '*"^ ^^^^ numbers of the people as slaves. In
1524 Babar, one of the descendants of Taraarlane, invaded India
and two years later overthrew the Afghan emperor and estab-
hshed the Mogul or Tartar rule. The last of the house of Ta-
marlane was Shah Akm II., who was deposed and pensioned
by the British in 1803.

Sevajee [or Sivaji), was the founder of the Hindu Mahratta
power m India, becoming king in 1874. His grandson left the
administration of affairs to a Peshiva or minister, who soon ob-
tainod great power. The Peshwaa of succeeding kings held all
the power lu their own hands. & o

Laa OaaaS'—^Glarkson. The former was a Spanish priest
who wrote the history of the Spanish conquest of Mexico: the
latter one of the colleagues of Wilberforce in the struggle against
negro slavery. *^ e "o"

All preliminary steps, &c. All that the author has said re-
warding Hastings after his return from India, is in anticipation
of the great trial ; and this review of the career of Hastings is
mtemled to place the whole question clearly before the reader's
minfl BO that he may, as it werft, be present at the trial and form
nis judgment in accordance with all the facts.

In the meantims, «kc. The whole description of the trial is in
Maoftulay a finest atyla ; it contains all his leading characteris-
ticiat their bea*— aaimation, oleamesa, wealth of language, as.
aoclation of present persons and srenes with memories of the
past, gorgeous ooloriagi baUnoed MAteaoeB, olimax or oHmaotio

236

WARRRN HASTINOfl.

structure, antitheaia, epizeuxH, anaphora, the tondonny to ex-
aggeration, or hyperbole, and the short abrupt Beuteucea.

The balanced str- iure is very marked in the first paragra))h ;
it also ciMitiins " „no principlo of suspenso," — particuiiir refer-
ence is reserved to the last sentence.

Writin'j left. Seiaitio nations write from right to left :

th»' Chinese and Japanese, from top to bottom ; the ancient
Mexicans from bottom to top. The Afghan and Tartar conquer-
ors were Mohammedans and their learning was derived from the
Arabians.

The place trial, Bemark the unity of this paragrapli in

which the opening statement is fully illustrated. All tliat was
memorable in tlie past associated with the scone of the trial ;
tlie splendor of dross and of decoration ; eminence in rank and
achievement in literature, art, learning, beauty, celebrity of every
kind is made to pass vividly before our eyes, and the centre of
all is Hastings.

Somers. John, Lord Somers (1651 — 1710). An eminent states,
man of the Revolution, filled several high offices in the co\intry,
becoming chancellor in 101)7. In 1700 he was impeached for his
share in the Partition treaty, but the charge was withdrawn.

N.B.— See Greene's " History of the English People " for other
references.

King-at-arma, The chief officer of heraldry; he regulates
the arms of peers and Knights of the Bath. The garter king-
at-arms, attends upon Kniglits of the Garter at their solemnities,
marshals their friends and those of royal personages, and per-
forms other duties of ceremonial character.

Earl Marshal. An important office in feudal times ; at pre-
sent his duties relate to heraldry merely. The office is heredit-
ary in the family of the Duke of Norfolk.

Prince of Wales. Afterwards Geo. IV.

Siddom. Mrs. Sarah Siddous, the greatest actress of the time
She was especially great in tragedy ; in " Macbeth " she won her
greatest renown by her impersonation of Lady Macbeth.

Historian Empire. Edward Gibbon (1737—1794). He

wrote the great history "Decline and Fall of the Roman Em-
pire." His learning was very great.

Oicero-Verres freedom. See " Merivale's History of Rome."

(Student's Series.)

Tacitus. A celebrated Roman historian |born A.D. 61. Ha

WARREN HASTINGS.

237

was one of tho prosecutors of Marius, a Roman governor of
Africa.

Bei/nold», Sir Joshua, (1773 1792), the best portrait painter of
the time ; he lived ou torms of intimacy with the leading men of
his time.

Parr, Dr. Samuel, a noted scholar of the day.

There appeared faith. Mrs. Fitzherbert, to whom the

Prince of Wales was deeply attached. Geo. III. would not per-
mit tlie marriage.

Mrs. Montague, a coiebi'ated literary lady of the day, and a
leader in Loudon society.

Oeorgina, &c. Along with other ladies of rank she bribed
with a kiss electors to vote for Fox.

The Sergeants, &c. The scene of the trial and the spoctatorH
have been now described. With tlie entrance of Hastings came
the principal actors ; then the appearance of Hastings, who is
shown to bo wort)iy of tho place and scone, is given to us, after
which the prosecutors are ucscribed.

Bemark the antithesis in tho description of Hastings.

Age of Athenian eloquence. Beginning with Pericles, about
B. 0, 430, and reaching its greatest heignt with DemostlieneH
(died B. 0. 322). See Schinitz' Ancient History.

Sheridan, Kichard Brindley, (1751-1816), a cele])rated orator,
dramatist and actor. He wrote the Rivals, School for Scandal,
the Critic, and other plays. In 1780 he entered Parliament
through the influence of Fox, and proved a valuable addition to
the Whig party.

Demosthenes, Hypurides. See Schmitz' Ancient History,

What is the name of the figure here ?

Ignorant hearers. Burke's style of oratory was not suited

to the House of Commons ; whenever he rose to speak very
many of the members left the House. He was called in con-
sequence the ** dinner bell " of the House.

Windham. The Right Hon. William Windham, opposed Lord
North's administration, joined the " coalition " government, and
afterwards, along with Pitt and Burke strongly opposed the
French Revolution. He entered Pitt's cabinet at a later time
and introduced measures of radical reform. His style of elo-
quence was extremely "insinuating."

Tou7ige8t rnanager, 'Esivl Grey {nGi-i84:5); he took an active
part in all questions of reform ; his greatest measure was the
Reform Bill of 1831-2. **A more honourable man never existed."

238

WARREN HASTINGS.

Uemark the "principle of suspense" in the introduction of
Grey, and alao of wiudham, procodiug.

Hostile Ohanoellor, Lord Thurlow.

I impeach, Ac. Obaerve the iine effect of the anaphora uud
the climax.

States general, <feo. The allusion is to the beginning of the
French llevolution that dates vrith the calling of the states-ceu-
eral of France in 1789.

The trial in the Hall, «fcc. Remark the sarcasm in this and
the following paragraph, especially in tho latter. Macaulay had
no superior in the language of sarcasm, invective and scorn. See
other instances in this essay, in the case of Impey, &c.

It is certain. The use of this phrase and also ox •' it ia true,"
** it ia clear " and others of like import is so common with Ma-
caulay that it amounts to a mannerism.

Aa Hastinas, &o. See " Greene's History of England " for
allusions in this paragraph.

We have here another touch of pathos.

With all hia faults. This paragraph markedly illustrates
Maoaulay's tendency to surprises. We expect Westminster Ab-
bey to be the place of burial ;— we are greatly surprised to find
ourselves mistaken. Remark the short sentences that give the
abrupt character to Macaulay's style. Also note the highly anti-
thetical character of the close of the paragraph as well as the
marked balanced structure.

Bichielieu. The great minister of Louis XIII. of France.

Cosmo. Cosmo de Medici. Head of the celebrated family of
Medial in Florence in the middle and latter part of the fifteenth
century. He patronized men of letters, and collected a large
number of manuscripts, the works of the great writers ol the
best days of Classical literature.

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