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Les diagrammes 9uivants iliustrent la mdthode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 s MA Frei '"gt * fflo.'s €noH«h §fhool Slaeoits. /^^^ - SELECTIONS FROM COLERIDGE'S POEMS AND MAGAULAY'S ESSAY ON WARREN HASTINGS Prescribed for Matrlctdation into the University of Toronto, and for Teachers' Examinations, 18«a. ANNOTATED BT GEO. A. CHASE, B.A., HKAD MA8TKR HIGH SCHOOL, ttluai/fOWN. TORONTO : W. J. GAGE & COMPANY. 1885. PREFACE. In the notes appended to Coleridge's poems, the anno- tator has had in view only the poems themselves, for he considers that the aim of the study of literature will be missed if extraneous matter is introduced any farther than is absolutely required for the full understanding of the work in hand. The introductory remarks are different in character from the explanatory notes, and arise from a Btudy of the poem as a whole ; they should be taken up only after the poem has been gone over carefully. Some critical remarks have been added along with a sketch of the author's life ; but the best criticism will be found in a study of the author's works. A sketch of literary history is inserted, not because the annotator thinks such history is of value in education, but because the departmental examinations seem to require it. Such a study is almost worthless when unaccompanied with a personal knowledge of the works of the authors referred to. The notes to '* Warren Hasting, » are mainly literaiy iy • -calling repeated attention to peculiarities in the au- thor's style. This has been done on the ground that students are to draw themes from this essay. Extraneous matter has been excluded for reasons referred to above. It is ta be hoped that no student mil strive to imitate in Macaulay's writings anything but his clearneaa 'and vigor of expression. INTRODUCTION, I.— Life of Colbridob. mKmTdflh^^^^^^^^^^^ the student Bhould thor wrote them with nSif ' ^^f t^° ^^^^"^ »« tli« au- tory notes^ Other' oTthe authoK'n"""^ reference to the explaua- the remarka oXs life cham^^^^^^^ "^""^ ^^'°> read while Kubla Khan, Franoerarode Od« fn V^ n^'"^ « u^i^d-such ag at Midnight, Pains of SleeDHvmnL^ ^^^'^^^^^S Year, Frost tion witfi the remarks on th^^'^L^fr ?"S"«^- I" ^onneo- worth's poems should beTead-such as T^nt^n 't?^ °' Words- of Poor §u8an, Lucy, Yarrow Unvisited-llo ^}'^^^' ^«^«"^ inferior work, Alice Fell iinS r^^A i^^' °'^^^i ^^ illustrating his Pope's Rape oilLV looiZiE^^^^^^^ ^^ile Cowper'8 Table Talk, should be reftd«ll? ^/.^"tl^not, and also the eighteenth century In connec?k>nw^fH'I!*\^^^."*^^^^^« «" read also WordswortJ. n^Ti:^^^:^:^^''^^^^^^^^^ on ?p?et etc^.'^y t'nothii^^^^^^^ t^e criticism' and c^arefully stiid^Tng ti,e w "rk^iS Tm^K ^^^Z °^ ^««^^"g can be accomplished is a mire meS^^inl f '" '^u^^V^' *" t^^«t having no educational^alue. g^fn" nrlr°/^?^^ ^ student, producing no advance fnlrn.?, i f^''^*'',*'^^ '« *he Criticism, taken in connecSorwith an atZo^'"' °i iterature. value; but till the work itsdf^s maste ^^^^^^^^ of tt.n injurious. Ward's " British p^^Lm'-^ .P"*'°»«"^ '« useless, student can have. It is a ^Scon^afnl '' *^^ 7-"^^ ^''^ ^^^^ a characteristic of the writerrand in nn^ f.^. selections eminently Se?^ consulted, and ''al^r^t^^l^^ri Jol^ x^^eSl. O LIFE OF CWLBRIDOB. him that clearly shows "the boy is father of tne man. ''Come back," savs Lamb in "Elia," "like as thou wert in the day-spring of thy fancies, with hope like a fiery column before thee— the dark pillar not yet turned— Samuel Taylor Coleridge— logician, metaphysician, bard. How have I seen the casual passer through the cloisters stand still entranced with admiration (while he weighed the disproportion between the speech and the garb of the young Miiandula) to hear thee unfold, in thy deep and sweet intonations, the mysteries of Jambhchus or Plotinus (for even in such years thou waxedat not pale at such philosophic draughts), or reciting Homer in Greek, or Pindar— while the walls of the old Grey Friars re- echoed to the accents of the inspired charity boy !" In 1791 Coleridge went to Cambridge, and was as noted there as at school for the rapidity and accuracy with which he mastered books, even being able after one reading to repeat whole pages verbatim. Along with other enthusiastic young students he warmly supported the principles of the French Revolutionists, and regarded France as the regenerator and saviour of the world, praying for the defeat of the coalition against her, although his native country was one of its members. Cambridge having become distasteful to him, he left (1794) without taking a degree. Soon after we find him, along with the young poet Southey and a few others, planning the forma- tion of a community on the banks of the Susquehanna, in which all should be equal and all dwell in perfect brotherly harmony. The scheme came to nothing. Meanwhile Cole- ridge began a course of lectures in Bristol, chiefly upon politi- cal and religious questions. Next year (1795) he married, and lived first at Clevedon, on the Bristol Channel, and then at Nether Stowey, near the Quantock Hills, in Somersetshire. An effort at journalism in 1796 failed : the Watchman ceased after the publication of the tenth number. His first volume of poems appeared in April, 1797. Later in the same year he met with Wordsworth and his sister, and an intimacy sprang up that lasted for life, and that has coupled their names ever since. Together the two poets walked and talked, discussed the theory of poetry, planned and executed the "Lyrical Ballads," and finally started together in 1798 for Germany. They soon parted, however, Coleridge going to GSttingen to UFB OP OOLBRIDGa 7 attend lecture* and to learn German. Here he entered deen nto German literature and philogophy, and acJ^i^anT/ timate knowledge of the German iSngiage, w2?ch showed iAal^ ^^% meantime, in both politics and religion, Coleridge's fch P^Tf* * '^*"^^' '^^^^ g^"^'-^"^ impulses orthe French Revolution at its outset had degenerated into a lonirin^ for power, and France fell under the dominbn of ambZus sTiblaS' S^^h'-^^K^V^^^^^ *^^ L^eYomt^o afT/f,t5 * Fl"^"" ^^'!?J2 *^« ^^"«^ assailant of Pitt for his attitude toward France, dSleridge became his warm supported decknng that when the country was threatened f^om^Kd a^l questions of political reform should be kept in abeyance He became a Tory, but not of the bigoted type We ai tt C'in'tr'^ Unitarianismfand. o^n^the f^u : S fh!f ^k ^?'- ^'^1.®''®" preached; but the same causes that changed his political views changed his religi^s Wews Church. "''° ^"""^^ "^ *'^^"* supporter of the^EstabUshed After his return from Germany he led a desultory life- Hp was in London, Malta. Rome ; at the Cumberland la7es where Wordswor h and Southey now lived ; somSes Sr sometimes lecturing, but always unsettled, and alwaysToiS plans for literary work, never to be carried out UnhSv Coleridge had in early manhood made use of opium to S reief from pain; the practice grew to a haW^ which^ h^ struggled m vain to overcome, Ind his failure cave ris« tn melancholy and dejection. At last he resolved ?o^puth?msel? of Mr Cir^ of a physician, and entered, in 1816rthe Tomo wh^re he waT'tn ^''^^f^'lu ^^^">^^ '«"< ^^^ ^emaS wnere he was tiU his death, editing his works writinir reading, but above all. talking, especially on m^tanhvS?- and poetry, filling with enthusiafm those who Hste^edTLC and only to the jealous or cynical seeming to S'' s^ra^e things, uncertain whether oracles or jargon " "range The character of Coleridge was peculiar: his mind was active, powerful, many-sided; in politics, relicion mrtT physics, poetry, and literary criticism he troS deTplt' and few spoke more wisely ; but of all he thought and of^aH he uttered only fragments remain. He was naturally of a 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 ^ '^^P'^H IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) fe €// <. <?>. ^^"''^S* m^ t <^ Ec ri<^ fA 1.0 I.I 11.25 u 13 2.5 1 2.0 mm LA. IIIIII.6 m ^ /a ^ M /; / Opl Photegraphic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. 14580 (716) 87^-4503 i e?< 5r . C^^ S'/ % 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 ^>. S>^.%^4 w ^m. <? /2 A» "^1 w J-m >'» >^ r ^ op. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) 1.0 Ifi- lillM I.I M 1.8 1.25 1.4 ill 1.6 Piiotograptiic Sciebces Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 Ws^. "^i i^7 Warren HASTmoa Qnonfi^*®"^"^®"; '^^^ working of a representative system, 3680the war of parties, the arts of debate, the influence ot the press, are startling novelties to him. Sur- rounded on every side by new machines and new tactics, he is as much bewildered as Hannibal would opoe:?t-^® ^®" ** Waterloo, or Themistocles at Trafalgar. ob85Hi6 very acuteness deludes him. His very victor causes hnn to stumble. The more correct his max- ims, when applied to the state of society to which he IS accustomed, the more certain th'ey are to lead him QAonf ^V'^J- T*"'^ """f strikingly the case with Hastings. 3690In India he had a bad hand ; but he was master of the game, and he won every stake. In England he held excellent cards, if he had known how to play theni ; and it was chiefly by his own errors that he was brought to the verge of ruin 3695 Of all his errors the most serious was perhaps the choice of a champion. Clive, in similar circumstances, had made a singularly happy selection. He put him- self into the hands of Wedderburn, afterward Lord QoAni'^^^^r'^?"^^' ^^® ^^ *^® ^e^ great advocates who ^TOOhave also been great in tha House of Commons. To the defense of Clive, therefore, nothing was wanting, neither learning nor knowledge of the world, neither forensic acuteness nor that eloquence which charms q^akP ^^^*^*^ assemblies. Hastings intrusted his interests d705to a very difi-eront person, a major in the Bengal army, named Scott. This gentleman had been sent over from India some time before as the agent of the governor-general. It was rumored that his services Q»Tin?'®v*^ rewarded with Oriental munificence ; and we d710believe that he received much more than Hastings could conveniently spare. The major obtained a seat in Parliament, and was there regarded as the organ of his employer. It was evidently impossible that a ot,it=^l^ l®?^" ^° situated could speak with the authority 3715which belongs to an independent position. Nor had the agent of Hastings the talenta necessary for ob- WARREN HASTINGS, 187 talnfng the ew of an assembly which, accustomed to listen to great orators, had naturally become fasti- dious. He was always on his legs ; he was very tedious ; and he had only one topic, the merits and3720 nZfJr ^''*"'^'- ,,E^«rybody who knows the House of Commons will easily guess what followed. 1 he major was soon considered as the greatest bore ot his time. Hia exertions were not confined to Par- liament. 1 here was hardly a day on which the news-3725 papers did not contain some puflf' upon Hastino-s, signed *;Asiaticus"or " Bengalensis," but known to be written by the indefatigable Scott ; and hardly a month m which some bulky pamphlet on the same subject, and from the same pen, did not pass to the3730 trunk-makers and the pastry-cooks. As to this Ven man s capacity for conducting a delicate question through Par lament, our readers will want no evi- dence beyond that which they will find in letters pre- served m these volumes. We will give a sina]e3735 specimen of his temper and judgment. He desla- Mr Burke^''^^*^^* °'^'' ^^^"^ ^'™^ ^^ '' ^^""^ ""^P*^^® In spite, however, of this unfortunate choice, the general aspect of aflfairs was favorable to Hastiness 3740 The king was on his side. The Company and Its servants were zealous in his cause. AmoL public men he had many ardent friends. Such we^e Lord Mansfield, who had outlived the vicjor of his bodv but not that of his mind ; and Lord Lansdowne, who 3745 though unconnected with any party, retained the importance which belongs to great talents and knowl- edge. The ministers were generally believed to be tavorable to the lato governor-general. Thev owed their pc»wer to the clamor which had been raided ^'7^0 against Mr. Fox's East India Bill. The avithors of ^ that bill, when accused of invading vested rights and of setting up powers unknown to the cons'titn- tion, had detended themriolves by pointing to tU« 188 WARREN HASTINGS. 3755crime8 of Hastings, and by arguing tliat abuses so extraordinary justified extraordinary measures. Those who, by opposing that bill, had raised them- selves to the head of aHliirs, would naturally be in- clined to extenuate the evils which had been made 3760tho plea for administering so violent a remedy ; and such, in fact, was their general disposition. The Lord Chancellor Thurlow, in particular, whose great place and force of intellect gave him a weight in the Government inferior only to that of Mr. Pitt, es- 3765poused the cause of Hastings with indecorous vio- lence. Mr. Pitt, though he had censured many parts of the Indian system, had studiously abstained from saying a word against the late chief of the Indian Government. To Major Scott, indeed, the young 3770minister had in private extolled Hastings as a great, a wonderful man, who had the highest claims on the Government. There was only one objection to grant- ing all that so eminent a servant of the public could ask. The resolution of censure still remained on the 3775journala of the House of Commons. That resolu- tion was, indeed, unjust ; but, till it was rescinded, could the minister advise the king to bestow any mark of approbation on tho person censured ? If Major Scott is to be trusted, Mr. Pitt declared that this was 3780the only reason which prevented the advisers of the crown from conferring a peerage on the late governor- general. Mr. Dundas was the only important mem- ber of the administration who was deeply committed to a different view of the subject. He had moved 3785the resolution which created the difficulty j but even from him little was to be apprehended. Since ho had presided over the committee on E cistern affairs, great changes had taken place. He was surrounded by new allies ; he had fixed his hopes on new objects ; 3790and whatever may have been his good qualities — and he had many — flattery itself never reckoned rigid consistency in tho number. WAUnRN HASTINGS. 189 From tho miiiistiy, therefore, Hastinga had every reason to expect support ; and the ministry was very powerful. Tho opposition was loud and vehoraent3705 against him. But the opposition, though formidable from the wealth and induence of some of its mem- bers, and from the admirable talents and eloquence of others, was outnumbered in Piirliumont, and odious throughout the country. Nor, as far as we can judge, 3800 was the opposition generally desirous to engage in so serious an undertaking as the impeachment of an Indian governor. Such an impeachment must last for years. It must impose on the chiefs of the party an immense load of labor. Yet it could scarcely, in3805 any manner, affect the event of tho great political game. The followers of tho coalition were therefore more mclined to revile Hastings than to prosecute him. They lost no opportunity of coupling his name with the names of the most L^l jful tyrants of whomSSlO history makes mention. The wits of Brooks's aimed their keenest sarcasms both at his public and at his domestic life. Some fine diamonds which he had presented, as it ^as rumored, to the royal family, and a certain richly carved ivory bed which tho queen had3815 done him the honor to accept from him, were favor- ite subjects of ridicule. One lively poet proposed that the great acts of the fair Marian's present hus- band should be immortalized by tho pencil of his predecessor ; and that Imhoff should be employed too820 embellish the Housf? of Commons with paintings of the bleeding Rohillas, of Nuncomar swinging, of Cheyte Sing letting himself down to the Ganges. Another, in an exquisitely humorous parody of Vir- gil's third eclogue, propounded the question, what3825 that mineral could be of which the rays had power to make the most austere of princesses the friend of a wanton. A third described, with gay malevolence, the gorgeous appearance of Mrs. Hastings at St. James's, the galaxy of jewels, torn from Indian Be-383G 190 WARREN HASTINGS. gums, which adorned her head-dreas, her necklace gleaming with future votes, and the depending quea- tions that shone upon her ears. Satirical attacks of this description, and perhaps a motion for a vote of 3835censure, would have satisfied the great body of the opposition. But there were two men whose indit^- nation was not to be so appeased, Philip Francis an^d Edmund Burke. Francis had recently entered the House of Oom- 3840mons, and had already established a character there for industry and ability. He labored indeed under one most unfortunate defect, want of fluency. But he occasionally expressed himself with a dignity and energy wortliy of the greatest orators. Before he 3845had been many days in Parliament, he incurred the bitter dislike of Pitt, who constantly treated him with as much asperity as the laws of debate would allow. Neither lapse of years nor change of scene had mitigated the enmities which Francis had 3850brought back from the East. After his usual fashion, he mistook his malevolence for virtue, nursed it, as preachers tell us that we ought to nurse our good dis- positions, and paraded it, on all occasions, with Pharisaical ostentation. 3855 The zeal of Burke was still fiercer ; but it was far purer. Men unable to understand the elevation of his mind have tried to find out some discreditable motive for the vehemence and pertinacity v'uch he showed on this occasion. But they have aivOgether 3860f ailed. The idle story that he had some private slight to revenge has long been given up, even by the advocates of Hastings. Mr. Gleig supposes that Burke was actuated by party spirit, that ho retained a bitter remembrance of the fall of the coalition, that 3865he attributed that fall to the exertions of the East India interest, and that he considered Hastings as the head and the representative of that interest. This explanation seems to be suftlciently refuted by a WARREN HASTINGS. 191 reference to dates. Tlie hostility of Burke to Hast- K^XriT'l ^^^ u'^°^^ *^^ coalition, and lastedSSTO oAwi K K® ^1u ^^^^"^^ * strenuous supporter of those by whom the coalition had been defeated. It began when Burke and Fox, closely allied toaether were attacking the influenced the'^.rown aM- mg for peace with the American republic. It con 3875 wkhlhef ^-^'.^""-^^^^ ^^''"^ ^'-' and loaded with the favors of the crown, died, preaching a cru- Bade against he French Republic. We nurely cannot attribute to the events of 1784 an enmity which be- W«Tnn; ff/ ""^'^i* ''^**^"®^ undimini8hed3880 IZ^ ir ?• ^- Pfu''^''' ^^^ "^^^'^ ^^^^P^y implicated than Hastings m the events of 1784 had been cor- d ally forgiven. And why should we look for any other explanation of Burke's conduct than that which we find on the surface? The plain truth is that3885 Hastir gs had committed some great crimes, and that tlie thought of those crimes made the blood of Burke boil m his veins. For Burke was a man in whom compassion for suffering, and hatred of injustice and tyranny were as strong as in Las Casas or Clarkson 38')0 And although in him, as in Las Casas and in Clark- son, these noble feelings were alloyed with the in- farmity which belongs to human nature, he is, like them, entitled to this great praise, that he devoted years of intense labor to the service of a peoole with'^fiQ'i whom he had neither blood nor language, neither ' religion nor manners, in common, and from whom no requital, no thanks no applause, could be expected, .u tT"'"'^^®^^^ ""^ ^"^^a was such as few, even of those Europeans who have passed many yeara in that390O country have attained, and such as certafnly w^ never attained by any public man who had not quit- ted Europe. He had studied the history, the laws and the usages of the East with an industry such as IS seldom found united to po much genius and so much3905 sensibility. Others have been perhaps equaUy la^ori- 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. of id le a- id id be > a- )r