they certainly were not without pretexts-under such circumstances, and in such a state of feeling in the country-for representing the bill of 1719 as an additional security against the encroachments of kingly authority. The errors and mistakes of one age are seldom the same with those of a succeeding one, and it would be superfluous in these days to expose the fallacy of such arguments, or to demonstrate the inexpediency, under the pretence of limiting the crown, of converting the British Peerage into a narrow and exclusive oligarchy. But it is both curious and instructive to revert, not so much to the reasoning of Steele and Walpole against the measure-certainly conclusive enough, but to our apprehensions sufficiently obvious-as to the nature of the spirit awakened in the Commons which led to its rejection. Lord Mahon mentions, on the authority of Speaker Onslow, that the Whigs in opposition under Townshend and Walpole

'were either favourable to the bill or despaired of any successful opposition to it. Very many considered it as a sound Whig measure to restrain a prerogative against which they themselves had repeatedly inveighed, and protested that they could not with any show of decency oppose it. Lord Townshend himself had already in the House of Lords approved its principle, and several other Peers were not averse to the increased importance which it would confer upon themselves. On the whole, it was the general opinion of the meeting that the bill should be permitted to pass without opposition. Walpole alone stood firm. He declared that this was the only point on which they could harass the Government with effect, and that he saw a spirit rising against it amongst the usual supporters of the administration, and especially the independent country gentlemen. One of these, he said, a member of the House of Commons, he had overheard declaring to another with many oaths, that though his estate was no more than 8007. a year, and though he had no pretension to the Peerage for himself, yet he would never consent to the injustice of a perpetual exclusion to his family. "Such a sentiment," added Walpole, with his usual sagacity and foresight, "cannot fail to make its way. It will have a strong effect upon the whole body of country gentlemen; and for my part, I am determined that if deserted my party on this question, I will singly stand forth and oppose it." Walpole's declaration produced much altercation and resentment, and many attempts were made to shake his purpose; but finding him firm, his friends gradually came round to his opinion, and at length agreed to act with him as a body,-to take no division on the ministerial project in the Lords, but to resist it in the Commons.'-pp. 543, 544.

by

We may observe, that the great constitutional bearings of this question did not in the first instance excite the attention of the opposition. A Whig government possessing generally the confidence of the House brought it in; and, so far was its arbitrary and encroaching character from being recognised, that the portion of

the

the liberal party then in opposition at first appeared to think that there would be inconsistency in their resisting it. Walpole, a worldly politician, destitute of all attachment to principles, but sagacious in reading the motives of men, perceived that there was a chord of personal feeling, an esprit de corps in the House of Commons, which in playing the game of Parliamentary tactics he could work upon for party purposes. What was this string which vibrated so readily to his touch? What was this hidden rock, against which, like the coral reefs in the Indian seas, a ministry secure in the previous support of a decided majority in the House of Commons had so nearly wrecked themselves? That it was a single, insulated effect arising out of that particular measure, bearing no reference to the general disposition of the parliament towards the government, is demonstrated by the following brief

statement:

'It is very remarkable that so signal and thorough a defeat of Ministers does not appear to have loosened their hold of office, nor lost them a general majority in the House of Commons. I cannot discover that their parliamentary power afterwards was at all less sure and steady than before. So hopeless, indeed, seemed the prospect of overthrowing them, that, as we shall find, Walpole, a few months afterwards, consented to accept a subordinate office under them, and became Paymaster of the Forces, while he prevailed upon Townshend to be named President of the Council.'-p. 547.

A theoretical writer upon the British constitution, De Lolme or Montesquieu, would have cited this as an instance of the correct working of the balance between the three estates, and would have considered it as the democratical spirit controlling the aristocratic. It is evident, however, from the preceding observation of Walpole, that in the feeling of opposition generated against this bill, democracy had little share. The real cause lay in the pride and jealousy of the aristocracy of the lower House, which took fire at the idea of an impassable barrier being raised between them and a class from which they considered themselves as separated by a very slight demarcation. One of the speeches which has been handed down to us on this question, is that of Sir John Packington; and inaccurate as were the reports of those times, there is something in it so characteristic of the bluff, proud, independent country gentleman of the period, that we should have difficulty in doubting of its genuineness. He says, 'For my part I never desire to be a Lord, but I have a son who may one day have that ambition, and I hope to leave him a better claim to it than a certain great man had when he was made a Peer.' Sir John Packington was no democrat either in politics or position; descended from a family which traced its pedigree to the days of the Plantagenets, and

representing

representing the county of Worcester, in which his ancestors had possessed a noble property since the reign of Henry the Sixth-he was a strong Tory in his political principles. Whoever in the present day has seen the stately turrets of Westwood, will have no difficulty in comprehending that its proprietor would have little disposition to acquiesce in a measure excluding his ancient race from all chance of honours to which their position in the country might give them so fair a claim. Here is an illustration of a preceding remark—viz., that the great secret of the stability of the British constitution was, that it required no purists in politics, but contrived to enlist the interests and passions of men in its support. Walpole seems to have been principally intent upon dressing a battery against the minister; the country gentlemen who supported him were actuated by a personal feeling of jealousy at a monopoly of honours and titles; yet the result was the total defeat of a measure which, if successful, would certainly have led to the overthrow of our form of government, and would have had the most pernicious consequences upon the relations of social life, to which political ones must yield in importance.

The next portion of this work will contain the remarkable administration of Walpole, and the first appearance upon the stage of the elder Pitt. It is a period which has influenced powerfully the destinies of England; and it is one of which no sufficient history has yet been supplied.

ART. IV.-The Poetical Works of Thomas Campbell. A New Edition. Post 8vo. London. 1836.

MR. CAMPBELL has here comprised, within the modest compass of a single volume, the whole of his poetical works.* When the writings of a well-known author are thus collected and re-published, the question naturally arises, not how they will be received by a contemporaneous public-for this has already been decided—but what respect they are likely to obtain at the hands of posterity-what place will be allotted to them in the abiding literature of the country. In an honest attempt to determine this question, the critic cannot do otherwise than judge by the highest standard of excellence. Calling to mind whatever is of old and acknowledged repute in the kind of literature in which the new aspirant for fame has laboured, he must submit his

In all likelihood this could not have been done, had not the legal copyright of Mr. Campbell's earlier and best writings already expired; and yet Mr. Campbell is still in the vigour of his life! This fact we leave, without comment, for the consideration of our legislators.

writer, not to a comparison with living rivals, but to a competition with the picked champions-the laurelled victors-of all preceding ages. He must applaud as if within hearing of a jealous antiquity. He must be permitted to escape from the glare which falls on present reputation. In criticism, as in higher matters, it is only by receding into the shadows of the past, that the eye becomes susceptible to the faint outline which futurity extends.

There are many causes which assist in giving celebrity to a living poet, whose name may, nevertheless, be destined to pass away with the generation that praised and delighted in him. There is, in the first place, the unquestionable novelty of his production. When writers complain of the reluctance exhibited to admit a new candidate for applause, they must be understood to allude to the feelings of men who are themselves authors, or who are, by some means or other, soliciting the attention of the public. That large portion of the multitude who have only to cheer without a thought of their own comparative claim to the pleasant gratulation-who have no envy to curb or to conceal, no generosity to exercise or to simulate-who applaud only because they are gratified-are ever ready to admit fresh candidates for distinction, for the simple reason that they are always open to fresh sources of amusement. With these, if a book pleases at all, it will doubly please from its novelty.

It follows, as an attendant circumstance on the novelty of a work, that, if it prove attractive, there are more persons intent, at one time, upon its perusal, than are occupied with the pages of any older writer, or will ever again be simultaneously engaged upon its own. A long-established author is read after a solitary fashion, each one perusing the work as leisure permits, or his course of study prescribes; but the volume last produced, if fortunate enough to excite the public curiosity, is in the hands of all its readers at once-of old and young-of the student and the idler-of all who are likely to read it at any time whatever. Admiration is heightened into social enthusiasm; a sentence of applause echoed from every side is forced upon the coldest of readers; that which might have been perused with languor if perused alone, comes already infected with the sympathies of a crowd; the heart anticipates its impression, and no portion of the work is allowed to fail of its effect. Nor are critics themselves, who are flattered in vain with the title of representatives of posterity,' altogether exempt from this social fervour of applause. Nor should we envy them if they were. Who would desire to abate a jot of the admiration bestowed upon Sir Walter Scott, yet who can soberly anticipate that the reputation even of this incomparable novelist will ever again be so high as when all Eng

land

land were deploring the fate of Amy Robsart, or travelling up from Edinburgh with Jeanie Deans?

The living writer who partakes the manners, shares the grievances, and reflects the temper of his times, enjoys a manifest adFantage which it is only necessary to glance at. The interest of the passing event, not the skill of the allusion, may give poignancy to his wit; the bias and peculiar taste of the age, not genuine emotion, may impart a pathos to his rhetoric. Some favourable prejudices may arise from the very circumstance that the work is that of a living man-of one who is walking with us on the face of the earth--who may be met with in our streetswho is perchance of our county, our town-of the same college, of the same profession. All or any of these may exert a share of influence on the reader. Books are not such utter abstractions as to be withdrawn from these usual sources of human interest. There is flesh and blood in the volume of a known contemporary. In enumerating these causes of the sudden and transient renown which works of very slender merit are permitted to attain, we allude of course to ordinary times and seasons. There are periods, it seems, when the public ear has grown weary of some species of literature, when it is reluctant to be wooed, and slow to turn towards the new candidate for its favours; when it requires novelty, not in the individual of the race, but in the entire genus, and seeks a different pleasure rather than a variation of the old. Such, perhaps, at the present moment, is the feeling of the public with regard to poetry. From being eager and applausive, they have grown lethargic, captious, and indifferent. În vain do critics praise-in vain have that much-abused race become apparently the most amiable of mankind—as they were unable at one time to deter the avidity of readers, so now they labour without success to stimulate their languid curiosity. A new poem is a new plague. There is a general avoidance, instead of a tumultuous greeting; and our dearest friend becomes less dear by the intrusion of a volume of verse, if he is so unreasonable as to expect it to be read. It has been hitherto a received opinion, and one still more generally implied than expressed, that whatever fails to reach posterity is therefore proved to be of spurious merit. This presumption, we think, must admit, in future, of some modification. As the talents requisite for authorship are diffused more widely, and more prodigally displayed, that writing must become ephemeral which was formerly thought worthy of preservation. There is a degree of excellence sufficient to afford considerable delight, which yet is not of so singular a nature, or of so difficult attainment, but that in a highly literary age it may frequently reappear; and works of such a gradation of merit, unless favoured

by