was right in saying that the evils of the French monarchy (and in our opinion Burke, in the heat of controversy, has greatly underrated them) might have been corrected by less desperate methods than those which were actually resorted to; that the institutions of that country, whatever their abuses, were not so hopelessly corrupt as to justify absolute demolition; that, on the contrary, they possessed in themselves all the apparatus essentially necessary for their own correction and renovation, had the nation been actuated by a spirit of reform which tempered energy with wisdom; in a word, that the maladies of the country were such as would have yielded to remedies less violent than those of the knife and the actual cautery. By adopting the framework of ancient institutions as the basis of reforms, great changes would have been effected in the only way in which they can be effected without great evils and great dangers,-something would still have been left for every reform to fix and incrust itself upon, and the process of consolidation would have been simultaneous with that of change. New institutions would have been what they ought always to be-grafts inserted into the actual stock of the constitution. To attempt any thing else is to attempt to build without foundations.

That Burke's views were right in the main is now scarcely matter of controversy. All this, however, is quite reconcilable with the admission that in particular points he was in serious error; nay, that in some points he was not only mistaken but inconsistent. To predicate of him" prescience"-the extravagant term which one of his biographers employsor absolute infallibility in reasoning, would be attributing to him what can never belong to man, and, to say the least, is as absurd as to deny (as some of his enemies have done that he possessed any thing more than ordinary sagacity. As it is the desire of the present writer to give a fair and impartial view of Burke's character, it cannot be improper to point out the errors into which, it is imagined, his zeal betrayed him, or the particular points in which he appears to have been inconsistent or mistaken. We once more assert, however, that these errors do not affect the general correctness of his statements or the general consistency of his earlier and later opinions.

The errors into which he fell were the result of a variety of causes, from the influence of which he could not be free, as total exemption from such influence would have argued him to be either more or less than man. Some of them have been already touched upon. The excessive ardour of his imagination-more especially when the Revolution unfolded its more terrific scenes frequently led him into the utmost intemperance and extravagance of expression. But the cause, after all, which most powerfully tended to disturb his judgment and inflame his passions, was the long and irritating conflict with all his ancient friends and political associates into which his opinions necessarily led him. If there is any situation in which a man is likely to be goaded into extravagance, it is this.

On these grounds we cannot wonder that some parts even of the "Reflections" (his earliest and most temperate work on the subject) should betray marks of haste. In his eager ness to make good, and more than make good, his positions, it cannot surprise us that the evils of the ancient regime and the corruptions of the French clergy and noblesse, were grossly underrated; that the obstacles which opposed a quiet correction of these abuses were in a considerable measure overlooked; that the little good which the Revolution brought with it was made still less than it was; or that many of its horrors were somewhat exaggerated. It is still less surprising that in reference to some subordinate matters of fact he should have been mistaken, or that where information was scanty, he should have reasoned rather from his hopes than from his convictions; or that some of his predictions, uttered under such excitement, should have savoured rather of the "divine fury," than of the inspired wisdom of the oracle: as, for instance, in his memorable declaration already cited, respecting the state of hopeless weakness into which France would sink, and which he prophesied would be the instant effect of the Revolution.

He was right indeed in the great general principles on which even this declaration was

founded, that such a Revolution must ultimately issue in the complete temporary exhaustion of a nation; but he had not made sufficient allowance for the preternatural energies which the revolutionary phrensy could for a while supply. It is universally true that violent paroxysms must end in depression,-but who can calculate the exact duration of

the fit?

There is one erroneous speculation, however, into which the heat of controversy led him, which deserves more specific mention. It is, in our opinion, radically unsound, and of most pernicious tendency. It was first propounded in the "Reflections," but is more largely maintained and illustrated in the "Appeal from the New to the Old Whigs." By implication at any rate, he defends a principle, which, if established, would afford boundless encouragement to tyranny and oppose almost insurmountable obstacles to the progress of freedom. We refer to his reasonings from the English to the French Revolution, and the interpretation he has put on certain expressions of the great founders of the former. To show what his doctrine is on this subject, we quote the following sentences from the latter of the two above-mentioned publications. "The constitution of a country being once settled upon some compact, tacit or expressed, there is no power existing of force to alter it, without the breach of the covenant, or the consent of all the parties. Such is the nature of a contract. And the votes of a majority of the people, whatever their infamous flatterers may teach in order to corrupt their minds, cannot alter the moral any more than they can alter the physical essence of things."

We are very far from saying, indeed, that there are no passages in this work of Mr. Burke's which are scarcely consistent with the above citation, for the author himself seems every now and then half conscious of the unsoundness of the principle here laid down, and to recoil from the full consequences to which it inevitably leads. Still this seems to be the prevailing tendency of his speculations.

The source of the fallacy is indeed evident; he had his eye intently fixed solely on the English Revolution and was tacitly reducing all others to that standard. That Revolution was, it is true, justified on the ground he mentions-the violation of the existing contracta trespass on the recognised liberties of the nation; and every revolution under the same circumstances will be justified too, and on the same grounds. But it does not follow from this, that no other revolutions may be justified, though there has been no breach of the existing compact. If this principle were admitted, that great revolution, in our own history, which obtained for us the Bill of Rights, would be condemned too; in fact, every revolution which has for its object the extension and not merely the vindication of libertythe assertion not of rights already recognised and which have been merely violated, but of rights which a nation, though entitled to them, has never before enjoyed. This is the consequence of his having confined his attention exclusively to revolutions of one class; that is, those which resembled the English Revolution.

According to Burke's theory, therefore, unless there has been an actual violation of the existing social compact, whether that compact be express or tacit, a revolution is unjustifiable. Now if this principle were once recognised, it is obvious that no improvement in any particular government, even the most despotic, could be effected, unless spontaneously entered upon by the sovereign power itself. Every thing must be left to the mercy of the tyrant. This will appear plain on a moment's consideration: for as the knowledge and the love of freedom is progressive, the men of one age may be satisfied with a condition, which the men of another may justly account intolerable slavery. The compact, therefore, between the governors and the governed would be very different in the former case from what it would be in the latter. Englishmen were once satisfied with less than Magna Charta; even the Bill of Rights; consequently one monarch might, without any violation of the compact with his people, nay in the strictest observance of it, exercise a tyranny which would cost his successor his head.

they have now enlarged

Now let us suppose in each of these cases the people arriving at the conclusion, that though their monarch did not exercise more power than the folly of their ancestors and long prescription had clothed him with, yet that he possessed far more than justice sanctioned, or than was consistent with even the most moderate freedom. What are they to do? According to Mr. Burke's theory, nothing but a violation of the compact will constitute that necessity which justifies a revolution. Suppose, for example, the subjects of such a tyrant as Henry the Eighth in this predicament; their monarch, let us suppose, has not violated the hard compact which subsisted between him and his people; he has only availed himself of the venerable maxims of oppression, which have been acted on for ages, and which were never before disputed; but his subjects are of opinion that the contract itself should be revised; upon them the prescriptive rights of ancient tyranny are beginning to lose their power. What are they to do?-Obtain an extension of liberty by peaceable means, if possible.-Certainly, nothing will justify force while any other means remain untried. But suppose, further, that they have tried those means; suppose they have assailed the sovereign with every form of petition, and still in vain; suppose they have pursued this course till patience is wearied out. Is not this a case of necessity justifying an appeal to force, although the "original contract" has not been broken? or is tyranny to be endured till the heart of tyranny shall itself spontaneously relent? According to Mr. Burke's reasoning, strictly and fairly interpreted, this is all a nation has to trust to; there is no help for it; revolution cannot be justified, unless there has been a violation of the existing contract, a principle which, it has been already remarked, has a direct tendency to perpetuate oppression, and indeed renders every improvement in government impossible except by the consent of those who have the strongest interest in opposing it. Mr. Burke, indeed, sometimes admits that necessity (as, indeed, who can deny it?) will justify a revolution, but then every thing depends on the notions he entertains of what constitutes a case of necessity. With his limitation, as above explained, the proposition is in fact nugatory.-Wherever a majority of the nation, and by this we mean a large preponderance of all the elements of national power, a majority in point of wealth, of rank, of talents, of numbers, are agreed that certain changes in government will be beneficial, they are perfectly right in obtaining those changes; peaceably, if possible; if not, by force. Consequently, and if this reasoning be just, (and if it be not just we have no effectual security against the perpetuation of the most odious forms of tyranny,) we can arrive at no settled principle, till we admit the obnoxious truth, that " a nation has a right to choose its own form of government;" a principle safer, with all its contingent evils, than the opposite doctrine. It is quite true, indeed, that in carrying into effect such mighty changes, a nation has no right to overlook the claims of existing interests. They, so far as is possible, ought to be consulted, just as in the introduction of any less important change for some subordinate object of policy.

It has been already remarked, that the absurd comparison, instituted between the English and French Revolution, (a comparison not first instituted by Mr. Burke,) in all probability seduced our author into this perilous speculation. That this comparison should ever have been made, indeed, and still more, that so much stress should have been laid upon it, is to us astonishing. The English Revolution was to resist the encroachments of tyranny, the French to obtain an extension of freedom; the English was to avenge the breach of a charter, the French to obtain a charter; the former was to beat back the waves of despotism which had overleaped their ancient boundaries, the other to secure a portion of land never yet reclaimed from that " wild and wasteful deep." They were essentially different in their causes, as in their character; the latter however would have been as justifiable as the former, had its advocates used every fair, quiet, and peaceable means to obtain those rights for which they so speedily and so madly resorted to every species of violence.

But there was another point in which, as it appears to us, Burke was decidedly wrong; namely, in the violence with which in the last years of his life he urged on the war with France.

As the Revolution gradually unfolded its terrific scenes, his overwrought imagination began to see the remotest empires in danger and all the thrones of Europe tottering. Every distant muttering of the revolutionary storm made him tremble. Every man from France, not an emigrant, became in his estimation an apostle and emissary of sedition; and every friend to a correction of abuses at home, a revolutionist. His mistake was not in overrating the horrors of the French Revolution,-for that was hardly possible,-but in imagining the contagion of that example more potent than it really was. Most of the states of Europe, as he would have been the first to discern had he calmly exercised his judgment, were so inured to despotism and wrapped in so profound an ignorance, that revolutions were not to be expected for a long term of years. The preparatory process through which a benighted people must pass previous to any national revolution of opinion, is not the work of a day; and until that be accomplished, partial, transient, and easily suppressed ebullitions of popular passion are all that will disturb the slumbers of despotism. If there is any one truth more plainly inscribed on the page of history than another, it is this:-That before a general revolution can be effected, (whether beneficial or prejudicial is not to the present purpose,) the mass of the people must be subjected to a long course of preparation. This had been done in France by the combined efforts of her philosophers and literati, who, unhappily for her interests and for those of mankind, were as utterly destitute of religion as they were visionary in their politics; but how many years had they been about their task?

In England there was still less probability of any mad imitation of France, than even among nations still groaning under the yoke of absolute monarchy. It is true England was more enlightened, but it was already free; if it knew what were the essentials of liberty, it at the same time enjoyed them. All the main pillars of the British constitution still stood in unimpaired majesty; the sources of national strength, whether springing from a consciousness of the benefits the constitution conferred or from the scarcely less potent charm of habit and associations, were still uncorrupted. Even those who most ardently advocated the unsparing correction of its abuses had little sympathy with the extensive innovations which were going on in France, and would have trembled at the idea of laying irreverent hands on the ark of the constitution. As to those who did wish for such changes; who would have cut down the ancient and stately growth of centuries, and after ploughing up the soil, would have transplanted into the scene of desolation the feeble and sickly shoots of France, they were not only few in number and contemptible in influence, but Mr. Burke most strenuously contended that they were so. In a well known and most beautiful passage in the "Reflections," he has thus described them: "The vanity, restlessness, petulance, and spirit of intrigue, of several petty cabals, who attempt to hide their total want of consequence in bustle, and noise, and puffing, and mutual quotation of each other, makes you imagine that our contemptuous neglect of their abilities is a general mark of acquiescence in their opinions. No such thing, I assure you. Because half a dozen grasshoppers under a fern make the field ring with their importunate chink, whilst thousands of great cattle, reposed beneath the shadow of the British oak, chew the cud and are silent, pray do not imagine that those who make the noise are the only inhabitants of the field; that, of course, they are many in number; or that, after all, they are other than the little, shrivelled, meagre, hopping, though loud and troublesome, insects of the hour."

Thus he is guilty of the inconsistency of at once despising and dreading them, of proving them to be insignificant and of representing them as formidable. We are far from denying, indeed, that the times were perilous, or that the example of a state so close to us was to be overlooked. But the sure preventive against infection was to fumigate our own houses; the remedy was at home; it was to be found in a government which should combine judicious firmness with an equally judicious lenity, and which, while maintaining with a rigorous arm all the rights of government, should busy itself in the correction of every

abuse and in the removal of every grievance. This would have been a far greater security for internal peace than preaching a magnificent crusade against the Revolutionists.

Mr. Burke's strongest exhortations moreover were addressed to the nation just when there was the least occasion for them; we mean, at the time he wrote his "Letters on a Regicide Peace." At that period little was required to effect the ruin of the Revolutionists, except to leave them alone, and to repel any actual aggression on their part. The very horror their wickedness inspired, was fast administering an antidote to the deceitful philtres with which it had first provoked the love of its votaries. Whatever mad passions might still agitate the bosoms of the actors, the spectators turned away with disgust and loathing. They were the drunken Helots dancing before the Spartans.

Again, it may be safely affirmed that the demand for war was unwise in this respect, that such a combination of European powers as Mr. Burke advocated was just the most likely expedient for keeping up the spirit of revolution. We are not now arguing the right and justice of interfering if the nation chose, (few, perhaps, at this period, would maintain its absolute necessity,) but simply its inexpediency. Viewed in this light, war was most inauspicious, and we verily believe was the only thing which prolonged the days of the republic. It is well known, that if there is any thing that can check the internal convulsions of a state, it is the necessity of repelling a foreign foe; just as the prospect of a sudden and overwhelming calamity will sometimes make decrepitude throw away its crutches, and appease for a moment the tortures of the most agonizing disease. This was precisely the effect of the combination of Europe against France; it checked the natural progress of dissolution, and called back the already fainting powers of life. It operated like a galvanic shock on the stiffening muscles of the expiring body of Regicide, and made it start into momentary but terrific energy. Had it not been for this stimulus, in all probability the spirit of France would have sunk much sooner, in very weariness and exhaustion. It was the assaults of foreign nations that provoked into tremendous action all the powerful feelings of national pride, and inspired France at that moment of wild and preternatural excitement with a superhuman energy. The dragon's teeth of the Revolution (to borrow an illustration from the fable of Cadmus) had sprung up armed men who were destroying one another. Foreign nations attacked them, and thus turned on another foe the very weapons which would have been buried in their own bowels.

On the supposition, indeed, that the war was absolutely necessary, just, and expedient, the scheme Burke proposed was not only more magnificent, but more truly wise, than that of the minister. It was worthy of Burke's capacious mind; if he erred, it was at least no paltry error. He would have had all Europe embattled against the Revolutionists, and, marching into France with irresistible force, have blotted out, if possible, the very name of the republic from under heaven. With such sentiments, it is not to be wondered at that he should often have complained of the feeble and hesitating manner in which the war was conducted, and of the little jealousies of the allies in the former part of the struggle, with intense

bitterness.

Mr. Pitt's conduct, indeed, can only be accounted for on the supposition, that he was most decidedly averse from the war, (as it is well known he was,) and yet knew not how to withstand the powerful influence of a certain party. Placed between two conflicting forces, the result was, as usual, a deflection from both the lines of consistent, uniform policy. It was at one moment war, but war so feebly and languidly carried on that it seemed to invite defeat; it was now peace, but peace as disgraceful in its character as it was uncertain in its duration. It had been well for this country had Mr. Pitt listened to his better genius; pursued peace, but without any ignominious humiliations to obtain it; contented himself with repelling actual aggression; bent his whole energies to the support of government at home; and left the French Revolution-as must have been the case-to expire in its own ashes.