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'"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 
 
8 
 
 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. 
 
 9 
 
 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^^^^ 
 
■%■:■ <•! 
 
 10 
 
 LIFE OF OOLBRIDQE. 
 
 Pi 
 
 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 
 
 11 
 
 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 
 
 I 
 
12 
 
 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. 
 
 13 
 
 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 
 
u 
 
 BIGHT i-BNTH OBNTURY, 
 
 yf 
 
 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. 
 
 15 
 
 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 ; 
 
16 
 
 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. 
 
 17 
 
 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 
 
18 
 
 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 
 
 I 
 
20 
 
 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 
 
 I 
 
n 
 
 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 
 
 23 
 
 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 
 
34 
 
 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. 
 
 25 
 
 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. 
 
 9 
 
I 
 
 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. 
 
 1. 
 
 2. 
 
 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. 
 
 27 
 
 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. 
 
 7. 
 
 a 
 
 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. 
 
 I 
 
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. 
 
 29 
 
 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 ! 
 
 8. 
 
 4. 
 
 6. 
 
 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 
 
 I 
 
^ 
 
 30 
 
 THE KIME OF THE ANCIENT MAHINER. 
 
 I 
 
 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. 
 
 61 
 
 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. 
 
 o 
 
 o. 
 
 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. 
 
 I 
 
I 
 
 S2 
 
 THE RIME OP THE ANCIENT MARINER. 
 
 5. 
 
 (J. 
 
 9. 
 
 10 
 
 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. 
 
 S3 
 
 12. 
 
 And its ribs 
 
 13. 
 
 14. 
 
 15. 
 
 16 
 
 17 
 
 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. 
 
H 
 
 THE RIME OP THE ANCIKNT MAUINEa 
 
 ' 
 
 m 
 
 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. 
 
 85 
 
 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. 
 
n 
 
 36 
 
 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. 
 
 2. 
 
 3. 
 
 I 
 
 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. 
 
 6. 
 
 6. 
 
 87 
 
 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. 
 
 8. 
 
 9. 
 
 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. 
 
 m 
 
 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. 
 
i 
 
 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. 
 
 S9 
 
 » 
 ;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 
 
40 
 
 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.' 
 
 \T 
 
 I 
 
 J 
 
 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. 
 
 41 
 
 nan? 
 
 o. 
 
 3.n 
 
 6. 
 
 done, 
 
 7. 
 
 8. 
 
 £tf 
 
 9. 
 
 ^ 
 
 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 : ' 
 
 I 
 
42 
 
 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. 
 
 I 
 
 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. 
 
 43 
 
 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. 
 
44 
 
 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 
 
 ? 
 
 1 
 
 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. 
 
 46 
 
 7. 
 
 8. 
 
 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 ! 
 
 I 
 
 46 
 
 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 
 
 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. 
 
 47 
 
 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 ! 
 
 // 
 
 c 
 
 ? 
 
 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 
 
 49 
 
 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 
 
 4 
 
 * 
 
 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. " ' 
 
 n. 
 
 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. 
 
 I 
 
50 
 
 NOTKH TO ANCIENT MARINER. 
 
 n. 
 
 I 
 
 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 
 
 61 
 
 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 
 
 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- 
 
 Ki 
 
 i 
 
 }£ 
 
-^^^v^« 
 
 
 ' 
 
 ., 
 
 ,1 
 
 ^ 
 
 M 
 
 hi 
 
 ! 
 i 1 
 
 ll 
 
 
 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. 
 
 V. 
 
 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. 
 
 53 
 
 ) 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. 
 
 L. 
 
 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. - . 
 
 I 
 
56 
 
 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. 
 
 57 
 
 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. 
 
 mm 
 
68 
 
 NOTES TO ODES. 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 |i 
 
 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. 
 
60 
 
 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. 
 
 61 
 
 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 
 
62 
 
 NOTES TO ODES. 
 
 ** 
 
 ii 
 
 m 
 
 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. 
 
 6a 
 
 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 
 
64 
 
 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. 
 
 67 
 
 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. 
 
 V. 
 
 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 
 
68 
 
 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, 
 
70 
 
 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. 
 
 I. 
 
 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. 
 
 n. 
 
 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. 
 
 71 
 
 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 ! 
 
72 
 
 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 ? 
 
 V. 
 
 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. 
 
 73 
 
 (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 
 
74 
 
 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 ! 
 
 V. 
 
 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. 
 
 VL 
 
 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. 
 
 75 
 
If : 
 k 1 
 
 1 1 
 
 •I 
 
 i, 
 
 fh 
 
 !• 
 
 iH 
 
 t '. 
 
 in 
 
 -, 
 
 Wt 
 
 ^m 
 
 Li 
 
 H 
 
 re 
 
 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. 
 
 77 
 
 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 
 
 k. 
 
I; 
 
 t 
 
 
 llf 
 
 i 
 
 78 
 
 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 
 
 
 -- -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. 
 
 81 
 
 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, 
 
M 
 
 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 
 
 84 
 
 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. 
 
 85 
 
 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. 
 
 
86 
 
 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. 
 
 87 
 
 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 
 
88 
 
 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.) 
 
 89 
 
 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 
 
90 
 
 i»' 
 
 30 
 
 35 
 
 40 
 
 45 
 
 50 
 
 55 
 
 CO 
 
 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. 
 
 01 
 
 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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0-: 
 
 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 
 
 93 
 
 165 
 
94 
 
 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. 
 
 95 
 
 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;^' 
 
96 
 
 WABRBN HASTINGS. 
 
 h 
 
 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 
 
98 
 
 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. 
 
 99 
 
 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 
 
 II 
 
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. 
 
 r 
 
 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. 
 
 i! 
 
 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 
 
no 
 
 WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 I 
 
 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. 
 
 11 
 
 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 
 
m 
 
 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. 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 I! 
 
 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!.?? '® . --^ 
 
 J 
 
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 
 
 I 
 
WARRRN HAaTINOB. 
 
 131 
 
 I 
 
 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 
 
N 
 
 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 
 
 No 
 
 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 
 
 m 
 
 I 
 
 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 
 
 i 
 
 I. 
 
 til 
 
lii 
 
 140 
 
 WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 )\ 
 
 
 li 
 
 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. 
 
 o 
 
 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, 
 
m 
 
 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 
 
 mm 
 
 s I 
 
 f ! 
 
 ♦•-fi 
 
 4! 
 
 ^ 
 
 III 
 
 ?, 
 
 I, 
 
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. 
 
 U9 
 
 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 
 
 to 
 
 St. George, 
 2575Hvderj i 
 
 with the whole 
 
 t 
 
 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, 
 
 i 
 
 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- 
 
 w 
 
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 
 
 M 
 
 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 
 
 IG 
 
 'i-i- 
 
 if 
 
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 
 
m 
 
 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 
 
 la 
 
 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 
 
 1 
 
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. 
 
 m 
 
 * • 
 
 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. 
 
i 
 
 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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 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- 
 
 u 
 
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 
 
 I 
 
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 
 
 I 
 
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 
 
 m 
 
 pH 
 
 
 »■ 
 
 ■ 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 
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 
 
 A 
 
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 
 
 '\ 
 
:1 
 
 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 
 
 I 
 
 1 
 
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 
 
 h 
 
 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. 
 
 I 
 
 j 
 
 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 
 
 i 
 
 .»«-• 
 
 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 
 
 )t 
 
 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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