Hall with anathemas of superhuman eloquence." Mr. Burke never spoke with such transcendent effect as on this memorable occasion. The description of the enormities of DEBI SING, one of the worst agents of Indian tyranny, excited a thrill of ungovernable horror and suppressed mutters of execration through the whole assembly, while many of the female part of the audience fainted. Even the sternness of Lord Thurlow was for a moment melted, and he observed, in reference to the effect of the speech, “their lordships all knew the effect upon the auditors, many of whom had not to that moment, and, perhaps, never would, recover from the shock it had occasioned." The following is the testimony of a political opponent. "Never were the powers of that wonderful man displayed to such advantage as on this occasion; and he astonished even those who were most intimately acquainted with him, by the vast extent of his reading, the variety of his resources, the minuteness of his information, and the lucid order in which he arranged the whole for the support of his object, and to make a deep impression on the minds of his hearers." Of these speeches no adequate report was taken at the time. Mr. Burke, however, fully intended to publish them in one great work, for which he had made considerable preparations before his death. On his death-bed he commissioned his friends Dr. Lawrence and the Bishop of Rochester to superintend the publication of all that seemed in a state fit for the press. The task was not completed for twenty-eight years after Mr. Burke's death. It is true these speeches, as published, betray in many parts the want of the last touches of the great master; yet, imperfect as they are, they are most splendid performances. They could not, of course, be included in this edition. This, however, contains all besides, whether published in Burke's life-time or posthumous.

Mr. Burke scarcely relaxed his efforts in parliament during even the most agitating periods of the impeachment. He took an active part in the debates on the extension of the power of the governor-general of India, the constitution of the government of Canada, and several other questions. It is to his honour, too, that he ever exerted himself to procure the abolition of the slave-trade, a measure by this time openly taken up by Mr. Wilberforce.

Another fierce battle in the ranks of opposition was now at hand. In the autumn of 1788 the alarming state of the king's health forced the Regency question on the attention of parliament. Mr. Pitt persisted in finding a regent, as every one knows, some where else than in the Prince of Wales. Against all the strange legal fictions by which the prime minister prosecuted his ambitious project, Burke poured out, night after night, in one ceaseless flood,-wit, sarcasm, argument, and ridicule. The rapid improvement of the king's health at the end of February 1789, rendered it unnecessary to pursue this unhappy topic further. On this, as on some other occasions, Mr. Burke has been severely blamed for intemperate language; and it must be confessed not unjustly.

We now come to the closing scene of Mr. Burke's political life. From 1789, the period at which the French Revolution broke out, scarcely a moment's peace awaited him.

On the causes of the French Revolution, its history, or the character it assumed, it is not necessary here to enter. We shall even postpone to a subsequent page all remarks on the consistency or inconsistency, the correctness or incorrectness, of Mr. Burke's opinions on the subject. Such observations will be introduced with greater propriety when we speak of his character as a statesman. We are at present only concerned with his history.

It is well known that the commencement of the French Revolution was hailed in England by the sanguine and the ardent with shouts of triumph and exultation. Nor was this to be wondered at. The great drama opened with some most imposing and auspicious scenes, and gave but faint indications of the terrific catastrophe in which the curtain was to fall. Had it been conducted with any measure of prudence, with any regard whatever to the great principles which should regulate all extensive changes, which ought to determine both

their extent and their rapidity, it would have justified the rapture which it at first inspired. Splendid indeed was its dawning; so well calculated was it to operate on sanguine temperaments, none can be surprised that thousands should have hailed it as the first rising of the orb of freedom. Nay, had any one pretended to foretell at the very commencement of the Revolution, and before its character had more unequivocally displayed itself, all the horrors which should crowd into its brief history, not only would he not have been believed, but he would not have deserved to be believed. He would have acted, not the part of a profound statesman, but of a political empiric, since, however his predictions might have coincided with the event, he could not, at that period, have rested them on data sufficiently certain and extensive. All that could be expected of a profound political philosopher at that early stage, of one like Burke, whose experience was the result of long observation--was that he should not sympathize with the ardour of admiring ignorance; that he should patiently wait for some further evidence to warrant a deliberate judgment, and reserve his contempt or his homage till the gradual evolution of the plot should disengage it from some of its early intricacies. This was most precisely the conduct of Mr. Burke. It is on record, and we shall immediately adduce the proof of it, that while others were in a phrensy of rapture and exultation, and were ready, with that plenary faith which is the certain mark of ignorance, to interpret those fiery signs which were tracking the heavens as the most auspicious of omens, he was contemplating them with a curiosity more nearly allied to awe than admiration,-wrapped in a gaze of philosophic doubt and wonder. The following letter, written on the ninth of August 1789, only a week or two after the storming of the Bastile, will fully justify the representation just made.

"As to us here, our thoughts of every thing at home are suspended by our astonishment at the wonderful spectacle which is exhibited in a neighbouring and rival country. What spectators, and what actors! England gazing with astonishment at a French struggle for liberty, and not knowing whether to blame or to applaud.

"The thing, indeed, though I thought I saw something like it in progress for several years, has still somewhat in it paradoxical and mysterious. The spirit it is impossible not to admire; but the old Parisian ferocity has broken out in a shocking manner. It is true, that this may be no more than a sudden explosion; if so, no indication can be taken from it; but if it should be character, rather than accident, then that people are not fit for liberty, and must have a strong hand, like that of their former masters, to coerce them.

"Men must have a certain fund of natural moderation to qualify them for freedom, else it becomes noxious to themselves, and a perfect nuisance to every body else. What will be the event, it is hard, I think, still to say. To form a solid constitution requires wisdom as well as spirit; and whether the French have wise heads among them, or if they possess such, whether they have authority equal to their wisdom, is yet to be seen. In the mean time the progress of this whole affair is one of the most curious matters of speculation that ever was exhibited."

In the mean time, as he saw that, whether for good or for evil, the Revolution must lead to stupendous consequences, he, as usual, opened wide his capacious mind to every source of information. Numerous correspondents at Paris were constantly transmitting to him, at his particular desire, every important fact, whether of a public or of a 'private nature. Amongst these were Monsieur Dupont, M. de Menonville, and other Frenchmen; Thomas Paine, Mr. Christie, Anacharsis Clootz, and foreigners of less note. To M. de Menonville, as the Revolution proceeded, he conveyed, in some beautiful letters, his gradually increasing persuasion, that it was fast developing a character decidedly unfavourable to any thing like rational freedom; that it was not merely marked with incidental extravagances, but was animated with a spirit of reckless and boundless change, which must issue in the most disastrous consequences. It was Burke's great merit that he saw these tendencies at an earlier period and with greater clearness than others.

But though Burke's opinions were gradually becoming daily more and more adverse to the Revolution, it was not he who first introduced the subject into the British parliament. On the contrary, having heard that Mr. Fox had expressed his decided approbation of the Revolution, (a circumstance at which Burke did not hesitate to indicate his surprise,) he resolved not to intrude his opinions on the house, unless circumstances should most imperatively demand it. This resolution could not long be kept. The subject was itself too exciting; and it necessarily came across too many subjects of discussion to permit its being long kept out of parliament.

In the beginning of February 1790, Mr. Fox took occasion, in the debates on the army estimates, to give unequivocal utterance to his admiration of the Revolution, and was most lavish in praise of those very points which were considered in England precisely of the most dubious character. These sentiments met with very strong censure from several persons, but from none more than from Mr. Burke, who no longer hesitated to reprobate the whole Revolution in the strongest language. At an earlier stage, Mr. Pitt had been surprised into the expression of feelings somewhat favourable to its progress; he now, however, renounced all sympathy with it, and expressed the highest admiration of Mr. Burke's speech. The fact that Mr. Pitt's opinions had been rather in favour of than against the Revolution, coupled with the fact that Mr. Burke's speech contained not the shadow of a compliment to the minister, ought to be a sufficient vindication of Burke from the absurd charge that his alleged revolution of sentiment was a revolution of interest. Mr. Fox's reply to Mr. Burke was calm; it indicated scarcely a trace of those feelings which this unhappy difference of opinion was soon to exasperate into the fiercest animosity. On the contrary, it was full of compliment. It contained the memorable acknowledgment, that "he had gained more by the conversation of Mr. Burke, than by all other men and books put together;" and it even acknowledged that his speech on this very occasion," with the exception of a few observations, was one of the wisest and most brilliant flights of oratory ever delivered in that house."

But it was fated that even that first evening of discussion should not pass away in peace. The feelings which perhaps nothing could have repressed long, were fanned into a premature blaze by the breath of Mr. Sheridan. That gentleman, in his ardent admiration of the French Revolution, hesitated not to charge Mr. Burke with treachery, not only to his party, but to universal freedom, and with having slandered and belied the French nation. At these insinuations, or rather, undisguised charges, Mr. Burke naturally fired; and after administering severe rebuke, declared that he and Mr. Sheridan were now separated in politics for ever. As this rupture menaced the stability of the party of which these two celebrated men were such distinguished supporters, a meeting was procured between them by some of their friends, at Burlington House, for the purpose of attempting a reconciliation. The discussion lasted for five hours; but led, as too often happens in such cases, to results the very opposite to those intended. It exasperated a serious difference into inveterate enmity.

The discussion on the repeal of the Test and Corporation Acts, was the next occasion of difference with his old friends. It is well known that he had once been one of the most strenuous advocates of that repeal, and even at this time declared, that had it been proposed a few years sooner he should have voted for it. He now affirmed, that in his opinion there were such indications of a violent spirit on the part of the dissenters, as rendered the repeal inexpedient. By these views he said he had been actuated when the question was brought forward in 1787, and 1789. On these occasions, as he had not been able to vote for the repeal, he had contented himself with not voting against it. At the present time he contended, that in his opinion he saw sufficient reason to go a step further. The motion was lost by the immense majority of 189.—Of this vote it is impossible to attempt any vindication. It was a serious error of judgment. It was one of the many instances, in which his

views of the French Revolution, (in the main correct,) betrayed him into extravagances on subordinate points. But at present we shall say no more on this subject: suffice it to observe, that if it were abstractedly just for dissenters to be indulged with the repeal of the obnoxious acts, Mr. Burke was bound, even on his own system of politics, to vote for it, since he himself was often the foremost to maintain, that the most infallible method of extinguishing the flame of faction, is to remove the fuel which feeds it—the well-founded but neglected complaints of a discontented people.

In the same session he opposed the measure of parliamentary reform introduced by Mr. Flood. Mr. Burke was now soon to send forth to the world that work, which, as a literary performance at least, was to eclipse the fame of all his previous productions,-his "Reflections." It appears that, immediately after the rupture with Mr. Sheridan, he had resolved to record his deliberate opinion of the stupendous changes which had taken place in France. He determined to do this from a twofold motive; to secure for himself an authentic account of his opinions, and to furnish the people with (what, in his opinion, they much needed) an elaborate work on the subject. Throughout the greater part of the year 1790 he was perpetually employed upon this celebrated performance, and he worked at it with his accustomed ardour and diligence. It was, however, by no means a hasty performance, either as regards the matter or the composition. As respects the principal topics with which it is occupied, he had been incessantly revolving them during the whole of a long political life; and the whole work was, in fact, little more than an application of great principles, repeatedly asserted in his previous works, to a particular series of events. Even before he began to write the work in form, many isolated papers and scattered thoughts had been already committed to paper. These he expanded, carefully revised, and then wrought into the body of the work. It was published in the month of November 1790. Of the literary merits of this work we shall speak more particularly hereafter. We are now merely giving its history. No sooner was it published than it was eagerly devoured by all classes; and in truth it spread a banquet so rich and curious as to suit all diversities of taste and appetite. Those who coincided in his views, and those who differed from him, of course read it; while those who eschewed politics altogether, found, in the splendour of the imagery and the beauty of the style, attractions little inferior to those of poetry and romance. Not less than thirty thousand copies were sold within a year of its publication. Nor was its celebrity confined to England. M. Dupont, the friend of Burke, translated it into French, and thus extended its fame to the larger part of civilized Europe. The admiration and applause it excited was most intoxicating. Even crowned heads condescended to read and patronize a book, which promised to be a more effectual safeguard to their thrones than all the hosts of despotism. The Emperor of Germany, the Princes of the House of Bourbon, Catherine of Russia, Stanislaus of Poland, George the Third, all gave the author the most flattering marks of their approbation, or presents still more flattering. "For some time," as Sir Robert Walpole said in reference to Lord Chatham in the height of that minister's popularity, "it rained gold snuff-boxes." Trinity College, Dublin, the University of Oxford, and numberless distinguished individuals both at home and abroad, were equally loud in their praises. The most remarkable testimonies to the immense literary merits of this work are those of Gibbon and Lord Erskine; and, as coming from men who in many respects differed so widely from him in opinion, are worth citing. "Burke's book," said Gibbon, "is a most admirable medicine against the French disease.-I admire his eloquence; I approve his politics; I adore his chivalry; and I can almost forgive his reverence for church establishments." "I shall take care," says Erskine, "to put Mr. Burke's work on the French Revolution into the hands of those whose principles are left to my formation. I shall take care that they have the advantage of doing, in the regular progression of youthful studies, what I have done even in the short intervals of laborious life; that they shall transcribe, with their own hands, from all the works of this most extraordinary

person, and from the last among the rest, the soundest truths of religion; the justest principles of morals, inculcated and rendered delightful by the most sublime eloquence; the highest reach of philosophy, brought down to the level of common minds, by the most captivating taste; the most enlightened observations on history, and the most copious collection of useful maxims from the experience of common life."

The "Reflections" of course provoked innumerable replies. The most celebrated of these were the "Vindicia Gallicæ " of Sir James Macintosh, by far the most able of them all. It was sober and argumentative. Tom Paine also replied in "The Rights of Man." Some of Mr. Burke's more careless positions were also taken up with great power in Robert Hall's "Apology for the Freedom of the Press."

The gentleman to whom the " Reflections" were addressed having written a short letter in reply, Mr. Burke was induced to publish his "Letter to a Member of the National Assembly," in which he enforces and illustrates the great arguments contained in the "Reflections." This was soon followed by a pamphlet, entitled " Hints for a Memorial to M. de Montmorin." The object of it was to urge the mediation of the British government between the French monarch and his people. The negociation was to proceed on the concession of a free constitution to the French.

A complete alienation between Mr. Fox and Mr. Burke was now at hand. The former still continued to declare his unsuspecting confidence in the principles of the Revolution, and to augur from that event the most auspicious results. This was the case in the debate on the Russian armament, when Mr. Burke was prevented from replying by the lateness of the hour, and the loud cries of question with which he was assailed. In the debate on the Bill for providing a constitution for Canada, Mr. Fox indulged in a still more full expression of his opinions. On the sixth of May, in the discussion on the same bill, Mr. Burke took the opportunity of rising to reply. When, however, he alluded to the French Revolution, he was vehemently called to order by the opposition. Even Mr. Fox, who had himself been so explicit in the previous debate, assailed him. Mr. Burke, in spite of their interruptions, resumed his argument, but the violent cries of order at length compelled him to desist. The termination of the affair was a striking evidence of the dissolution of all the ties of party; for while Lord Sheffield and Mr. Fox severally moved and seconded a vote of censure on Mr. Burke, for adverting to French affairs, Mr. Pitt undertook his defence!

Mr. Fox followed Mr. Pitt in a speech, in which recent animosity and the remains of ancient friendship seemed struggling for the mastery. He now soothed, now exasperated his old associate. His whole speech was an alternation of sarcasm and compliment. As pain, however, always produces a more vivid impression than pleasure, the sarcasms were better remembered than the compliments, and Mr. Burke declared that Mr. Fox's conduct had wounded his feelings more deeply than any occurrence of his whole life. In his reply he complained most poignantly of the severity of the attack which had been made upon him, and especially of the elaborate mention of light and trifling things, uttered, as he declared, at the distance of many years and in the confidence of private friendship. He concluded by declaring, that if he must purchase his adherence to his present principles by the sacrifice of ancient friendship, he was prepared even for such an alternative. "Fly," said he, "from the French constitution!" Mr. Fox-"There is no loss of friendship." "I regret to say, there is," replied Burke-" I know the value of my line of conduct; I have, indeed, made a great sacrifice; I have done my duty though I have lost my friend, for there is something in the detested French constitution that envenoms every thing it touches." Mr. Fox, shocked at this melancholy termination of a long and tender friendship, showed at once the depth of his sorrow and the nobleness of his disposition, by bursting into tears. Each party has been severally charged with having premeditated an attack on the other; but neither justly. The whole quarrel shows the contrary. Its gradual progress from warmth to animosity, and from animosity to rancour, is just what might be expected from a series of mutual