ant step of recognizing the independence of the Spanish provinces in South America, a measure which made him deservedly popular in every part of the kingdom. In December, 1826, actuated by the same liberal sentiments, he made his celebrated speech on giving aid to Portugal, when threatened with invasion from Spain. It will be found below, and has been generally regarded as the master-piece of his eloquence, not only for the felicity of its arrangement and the admirable grace and spirit with which his points are pressed, but for the large and statesmanlike views he takes of European politics, and his prophetic foresight of the great contest of principles which was even then coming on.*

As to all questions of foreign policy-the most important by far of any at that pe riod---Mr. Canning was virtually minister from September, 1822, when he was ap pointed Secretary of Foreign Affairs. He had so entirely the confidence of Lord Liverpool, that his intellect was the presiding one in the cabinet; and as Lord Liverpool's health began to decline, the burden of the government rested upon him more and more. In 1827, his Lordship died of a paralytic shock; and on April 12th of that year, Mr. Canning was made Prime Minister in form. The Duke of Wellington, Mr. Peel, and nearly all his Tory colleagues, threw up their places at once, out of hostility to Catholic emancipation, which they saw must prevail if he remained in power-the very men who, two years after, under the strong compulsion of public sentiment, carried that same emancipation through both houses of Parliament! But they sacrificed Mr. Canning before they could be made to do it. A keen and unrelenting opposition now sprung up; and some who, only a few months before, had made him "the god of their idolatry," were foremost in denouncing him as "the most profligate minister that was ever in power." Unfortunately, at this crisis, his health failed him. He had been brought to the brink of the grave, at the commencement of the year, by an illness contracted at the funeral of the Duke of York; and with his peculiar sensitiveness, heightened by disease, he could not endure the bitter per sonal altercations to which he was continually exposed. He was singularly situated Standing between the two great parties of the country, he agreed with the Whigs on the subjects of Catholic emancipation, foreign policy, and commercial regulation, while he differed from them as to parliamentary reform, and the repeal of the Test Act. Still, they gave him a generous support; and he could rely on the wit of Tierney and the scathing eloquence of Brougham to defend him against the attacks of those who were so lately his servile dependents or his admiring friends. He had reached the summit of his ambition-but it was only to die! His ardent mind bore him up for a brief season, but was continually exhausting the springs of life within. His last act was one of his worthiest that of signing the treaty of London for the deliv erance of Greece. He transacted public business until a few days before his death, and died on the 8th of August, 1827, in the fifty-eighth year of his age."

As a fitting close of this memoir, the reader will be interested in the following beautiful sketch of Mr. Canning's character by Sir James Mackintosh, slightly abridged and modified in the arrangement of its parts.

66

Mr. Canning seems to have been the best model among our orators of the adorn ed style. The splendid and sublime descriptions of Mr. Burke-his comprehensive and profound views of general principles-though they must ever delight and instruct the reader, must be owned to have been digressions which diverted the mind of the hearer from the object on which the speaker ought to have kept it steadily fixed

See the remarkable passage on this subject, page 882.

"Canning," says a late writer, "would have attained to old age, but for his sleepless nights Down to the year 1826, he had no organic disease whatever. His constitution was untouched; but his brain, at night, was active for hours after he retired to bed. He has himself, in a letter to Sir W Knighton, given a graphic picture of a night of torture "

Sheridan, a man of admirable sense and matchless wit, labored to follow Burke intc the foreign regions of feeling and grandeur. The specimens preserved of his most celebrated speeches show too much of the exaggeration and excess to which those are peculiarly liable who seek by art and effort what nature has denied. By the constant part which Mr. Canning took in debate, he was called upon to show a knowledge which Sheridan did not possess, and a readiness which that accomplished man had no such means of strengthening and displaying. In some qualities of stylo Mr. Canning surpassed Mr. Pitt. His diction was more various-sometimes more siraple-more idiomatical, even in its more elevated parts. It sparkled with im agery, and was brightened by illustration; in both of which Mr. Pitt, for so great an orator, was defective.

"Had he been a dry and meager speaker, Mr. Canning would have been universally allowed to have been one of the greatest masters of argument; but his hearers were so dazzled by the splendor of his diction that they did not perceive the acuteness and the occasional excessive refinement of his reasoning; a consequence which, as it shows the injurious influence of a seductive fault, can with the less justness be over looked in the estimate of his understanding. Ornament, it must be owned, when it only pleases or amuses, without disposing the audience to adopt the sentiments of the speaker, is an offense against the first law of public speaking; it obstructs instead of promoting its only reasonable purpose. But eloquence is a widely-extended art, comprehending many sorts of excellence, in some of which ornamented diction is more liberally employed than in others, and in none of which the highest rank can be attained without an extraordinary combination of mental powers.

"No English speaker used the keen and brilliant weapon of wit so long, so often, or so effectively, as Mr. Canning. He gained more triumphs, and incurred more enmity by it than by any other. Those whose importance depends much on birth and fortune are impatient of seeing their own artificial dignity, or that of their order, broken down by derision; and perhaps few men heartily forgive a successful jest against themselves, but those who are conscious of being unhurt by it. Mr. Car ning often used this talent imprudently. In sudden flashes of wit, and in the playful description of men or things, he was often distinguished by that natural felicity which is the charm of pleasantry, to which the air of art and labor is more fatal than to any other talent. The exuberance of fancy and wit lessened the gravity of his general manner, and perhaps also indisposed the audience to feel his earnestness where it clearly showed itself. In that important quality he was inferior to Mr. Pitt, "Deep on whose front engraven, Deliberation sat, and public care;'6

and no less inferior to Mr. Fox, whose fervid eloquence flowed from the love of his country, the scorn of baseness, and the hatred of cruelty, which were the ruling pas

sions of his nature.

"On the whole, it may be observed that the range of Mr. Canning's powers as an cator was wider than that in which he usually exerted them. When mere statement only was allowable, no man of his age was more simple. When infirm health compelled him to be brief, no speaker could compress his matter with so little sacrifice of clearness, ease, and elegance. As his oratorical faults were those of youthful genius, the progress of age seemed to purify his eloquence, and every year appeared to remove some speck which hid, or at least dimmed, a beauty. He daily rose to larger views, and made, perhaps, as near approaches to philosophical principles as the great difference between the objects of the philosopher and those of the orator il. commonly allow.

Mr. Canning possessed, in a high degree, the outward advantages of an orator 6 Paradise Lost, book ii.

His expressive countenance varied with the changes of his ei squence, his voice, fix ible and articulate, had as much compass as his mode of speaking required. In the calm part of his speeches, his attitude and gesture might have been selected by a painter to represent grace rising toward dignity.

test.

In social intercourse Mr. Canning was delightful. Happily for the true charm of his conversation, he was too busy not to treat society as more fitted for relaxation: than for display. It is but little to say that he was neither disputatious, declamatory, nor sententious-neither a dictator nor a jester. His manner was simple and unob trusive; his language always quite familiar. If a higher thought stole from his mind, it came in its conversational undress. From this plain ground his pleasantry sprang with the happiest effect; and it was nearly exempt from that alloy of taunt and banter which he sometimes mixed with more precious materials in public conHe may be added to the list of those eminent persons who pleased most in their friendly circle. He had the agreeable quality of being n:ore easily pleased in society than might have been expected from the keenness of his discernment and the sensibility of his temper: still, he was liable to be discomposed, or even silenced, by the presence of any one whom he did not like. His manner in company betrayed the political vexations or anxieties which preyed on his mind: nor could he conceal that sensitiveness to public attacks which their frequent recurrence wears out in most English politicians. These last foibles may be thought interesting as the remains of natural character, not destroyed by refined society and political affairs.

'In some of the amusements or tasks of his boyhood there are passages which, without much help from fancy, might appear to contain allusions to his greatest measures of policy, as well as to the tenor of his life, and to the melancholy splendor which surrounded his death. In the concluding line of the first English verses written by him at Eton, he expressed a wish, which has been singularly realized, that he might

"Live in a blaze, and in a blaze expire.'

It is a striking coincidence, that the statesman, whose dying measure was to nature an alliance for the deliverance of Greece, should, when a boy, have written English verses on the slavery of that country; and that in his prize poem at Oxford, on the Pilgrimage to Mecca-a composition as much applauded as a modern Latin poem can aspire to be he should have so bitterly deplored the lot of other renowned coun tries now groaning under the same barbarous yoke,

To conclude: He was a man of fine and brilliant genius, of warm affections of a high and generous spirit—a statesman who, at home, converted most of his opponents into warm supporters; who, abroad, was the sole hope and trust of all who sought an orderly and legal liberty, and who was cut off in the midst of vigorous and splendid measures, which, if executed by himself or with his own spirit, promised to place his name in the first class of rulers, among the founders of lasting peace and the guardians of human improvement."

7 Now to the satrap and proud Turk subjected.

SPEECH

OF MR. CANNING ON THE FALL OF BONAPARTE, DELIVERED AT LIVERPOOL, JANUARY iq ela

INTRODUCTION.

MR. CANNING was elected member for Liverpool, in opposition to Mr. Brougham, in the autumn of 1812 and at the end of fourteen months he visited his constituents to congratulate them on the success of the Allies on the Continent, which had filled all England with exultation and triumph.

After the retreat of Bonaparte from Moscow, in the winter of 1812-13, nearly all Europe combined for dis overthrow; and though he still maintained the contest, his fall was rendered certain by the advance of an overpowering force from every quarter to invade the French territory.

The speech of Mr. Canning on this occasion, for selectness of thought, for beauty of language, for arder and enthusiasm, was perhaps superior to any of his productions.

SPEECH, &c.

have failed.

Perseverance

ples the sourc

We can not forget, gentlemen, the sinister | day in a state of public affairs as doubtful as that omens and awful predictions under in which we took leave of each othAlarming predictions which which we met and parted in October, er; if confederated nations had been a these princi 1812. The penalty denounced upon still arrayed against this country, and of the present you for your election of me was embarrassment the balance of Europe still trembling triumples. to the rich and famine to the poor. I was warned in the scale, I should not have hesitated now, as that, when I should return to renew my acquaint- I did not hesitate then, to declare my decided and ance with my constituents, I should find the grass unalterable opinion, that perseverance, under growing in your streets. In spite of that denun- whatever difficulties, under whatever privations ciation, you did me the honor to elect me; in spite afforded the only chance of prosperity to you, be of that warning, I venture to meet you here again. cause the only chance of safety to your country, It must be fairly confessed that this is not the sea- and the only chance of safety to the country, be. son of the year to estimate correctly the amount cause the only chance of deliverance to Europe. of superfluous and unprofitable vegetation with Gentlemen, I should be ashamed to address you which your streets may be teeming; but, with- now in the tone of triumph, if I had not addressout presuming to limit the power of productive ed you then in that of exhortation. I should be nature, it is at least satisfactory to know that the ashamed to appear before you shouting in the fields have not been starved to clothe your quays train of success, if I had not looked you in the with verdure; that it is not by economizing in face and encouraged you to patience under diffi the scantiness of the harvest that nature has re-culties. It is because my acquaintance with you served her vigor for the pastures of your Exchange.

This failure ow. ing not to the choice of men,

But, gentlemen, I am sure you feel, with me, that these are topics which I treat | with levity only because they are not, nor were, at the time when they were seriously urged, susceptible of a serious argument; they did not furnish grounds on which any man would rest his appeal to your favor, or on which your choice of any man could be justified. If I have condescended to revert to them at all, it is because I would leave none of those recollections untouched which the comparison of our last meeting with the present, I know, suggests to your minds as well as to my own; and because I would, so far as in me lies, endeavor to banish from all future use, by exposing their absurdity, topics which are calculated only to mislead and to inflame. That the seasons would have run their appointed course, that the sun would have shone with as genial a warmth, and the showers would have fallen with as fertilizing a moisture, if you had not chosen me for your representative, is an admission which I make without much apprehension of the consequence. Nor do I wish you to believe that your choice of any other than me would have delayed the return of your prosperity, or prevented the revival of your commerce.

but adherence

ples.

I make these admissions without fear, so far as concerns the choice between indito great princi viduals. But I do not admit that it was equally indifferent upon what principles that choice should be determined. I do not admit, that if the principles which it was then recommended to you to countenance had unfortunately prevailed in Parliament, and, through the authority of Parliament, had been introduced into the counsels of the country, they would not have interfered with fatal operation, not indeed to arrest the bounty of Providence, to turn back the course of the seasons, and to blast the fertility of the earth, but to stop that current of political events which, "taken at the flood," has placed England at the head of the world.

Gentlemen, if I had met you here again on this

commenced in times of peril and embarrassment, and because I then neither flattered nor deceived you, that I now not only offer to you my congratulations, but put in my claim to yours, on the extinction of that peril, on the termination of that embarrassment, and on the glorious issue to which exertion and endurance have brought that great struggle in which our honor and our happiness were involved.

Gentlemen, during the course of a political life, nearly coeval with the commencement of the war, I have never given one vote, I have never uttered one sentiment, which had not for its object the consummation now happily within our view.

I am not ashamed, and it is not unpleasing of unprofitable, to look back upon the Elevated pr dangers which we have passed, and ton of England to compare them with the scene which now lies before us. We behold a country inferior in population to most of her continental neighbors, but multiplying her faculties and resources by her own activity and enterprise, by the vigor of her Constitution, and by the good sense of her people; we behold her, after standing up against a formidable foe throughout a contest, in the course of which every one of her allies, and at times all of them together, have fainted and failed—nay, have been driven to combine with the enemy against her—we behold her, at this moment, rallying the nations of Europe to on point, and leading them to decisive victory.

If such a picture were merely the bright vis ion of speculative philosophy, if it were present ed to us in the page of the history of ancien times, it would stir and warm the heart. But gentlemen, this country is our own; and whe must be the feelings which arise, on such a review, in the bosom of every son of that country' What must be the feelings of a community su as I am now addressing, which constitutes & insignificant part of the strength of the nation so described; which has suffered largely in br privations, and may hope to participate prope tionably in her reward? What (I may be per mitted to add) must be the feelings of one wit