Obrazy na stronie

Austria, and the Austrians. 2 vols. Post 8vo. 21s.

Account of an Expedition to the Interior of New Holland. Edited by Lady M. Fox. Post 8vo. 10s. 6d.

Highland Rambles and Long Legends to Shorten the Way. By Sir T. Dick Lauder, Bart. 2 vols. Post 8vo. 21s.

Eiris in the Irish Highlands, etc. By P. Knight. 12mo. 5s. Modern India, with Illustrations of Hindustan. By H. H. Spry, M.D. 2 vols., Post Svo. 21s.

Notes of a Short Tour through the Midland Counties of Ireland, in 1836. By B. W. Noel. 7s.

A Six Day's Tour through the Isle of Man. 12mo. 3s.


The Stories of Aunt Alice. By Louisa F. Dibdin. 18mo.
Sandford and Merton, Abridged and Modernized.

R. M. Zornlin. 12mo. 3s. 6d.


By Miss

Peter Parley's Tales about Europe. By the Rev. T. Wilson. 18mo. 2s. 6d.

The Relaxation. By the Editors of Profitable Employment. 18mo. As. 6d. bound.

The Child's Sacred Year. 32mo. 1s. 6d. ; or 2s. 6d. in silk. Tales in Prose. By Mary Howitt. 3s. 6d. boards; 5s. bound, Walker's Games and Sports. 12mo. 9s. bound.

Foreign Tales. 18mo. 1s. 6d.

Miss Edgeworth's Harry and Lucy concluded. 3d Edition. 3 vols. 12mo. 12s. half-bound.

The Use of Talents. By Mrs Cameron. 12mo. 3s. 6d.

The Spring. By Robert Mudie. 5s.

Stories of Edward and his Little Friends. 5s. half-bound. Christian Trials. By the Author of "The Bread of Deceit." 2s. 6d.


The Parlour Book; or Conversations on Science and the Arts. By W. Martin. 16mo. 4s. 6d.

A Little Book for Little Readers. 32mo. 1s. 6d.

Printed by J. Smith, 16, rue Montmorency.



JULY, 1837.


ART. I.-The Works of Francis Bacon, Lord Chancellor of England. A new Edition. BY BASIL MONTAGU, Esq. Sixteen Vols. 8vo. London : 1825-1834.*


E return our hearty thanks to Mr Montagu, as well for his very valuable edition of Lord Bacon's Works, as for the instructive Life of the immortal author, contained in the last volume. We have much to say on the subject of this Life, and will often find ourselves obliged to dissent from the opinions of the biographer. But about his merit as a collector of the materials out of which opinions are formed, there can be no dispute; and we readily acknowledge that we are in a great measure indebted to his minute and accurate researches for the means of refuting what we cannot but consider his errors.

The labour which has been bestowed on this volume has been a labour of love. The writer is evidently enamoured of the subject.


Though we are quite aware that the unusual length of this article may be apt, notwithstanding the highly recommendatory nature of its subject, to startle some of our readers, we cannot bring ourselves to think it possible that there is any intelligent scholar, who, on perusal, could wish it shorter. Without shortening we could, no doubt, have divided it. The intellectual repast might well furnish two plentiful courses. But this would have been contrary to our general practice; and more likely, we think, to disappoint than to gratify those we are most anxious to please. We therefore present it entire and at once, confident that we shall receive the thanks of the best class of readers for doing so.



It fills his heart. It constantly overflows from his lips and his pen. Those who are acquainted with the Courts in which Mr Montagu practises with so much ability and success, well know how often he enlivens the discussions of a point of law by citing some weighty aphorism, or some brilliant illustration, from the De Augmentis or the Novum Organum. The Life before us doubtless owes much of its value to the honest and generous enthusiasm of the writer. This feeling has stimulated his activity; has sustained his perseverance; has called forth all his ingenuity and eloquence: but, on the other hand, we must frankly say that it has, to a great extent, perverted his judgment.

We are by no means without sympathy for Mr Montagu even in what we consider as his weakness. There is scarcely any delusion which has a better claim to be indulgently treated than that under the influence of which a man ascribes every moral excellence to those who have left imperishable monuments of their genius. The causes of this error lie deep in the inmost recesses of human nature. We are all inclined to judge of others as we find them. Our estimate of a character always depends much on the manner in which that character affects our own interest and passions. We find it difficult to think well of those by whom we are thwarted or depressed; and we are ready to admit every excuse for the vices of those who are useful or agreeable to us. This is, we believe, one of those illusions to which the whole human race is subject, and which experience and reflexion can only partially remove. It is, in the phraseology of Bacon, one of the idola tribus. Hence it is, that the moral character of a man eminent in letters, or in the fine arts, is treated,—often by contemporaries, almost always by posterity,—with extraordinary tenderness. The world derives pleasure and advantage from the performances of such a man. The number of those who suffer by his personal vices is small, even in his own time, when compared with the number of those to whom his talents are a source of gratification. In a few years all those whom he has injured disappear. But his works remain, and are a source of delight to millions. The genius of Sallust is still with us. But the Numidians whom he plundered, and the unfortunate husbands who caught him in their houses at unseasonable hours, are forgotten. We suffer ourselves to be delighted by the keenness of Clarendon's observations, and by the sober majesty of his style, till we forget the oppressor and the bigot in the historian. Falstaff and Tom Jones have survived the gamekeepers whom Shakspeare cudgelled, and the landladies whom Fielding bilked. A great writer is the friend and benefactor of his readers; and they cannot but judge of him under the deluding influence of friendship and gratitude. We all know how unwilling we are to admit the

truth of any disgraceful story about a person whose society we like, and from whom we have received favours,-how long we struggle against evidence, how fondly, when the facts cannot be disputed, we cling to the hope that there may be some explanation or some extenuating circumstance with which we are unacquainted. Just such is the feeling which a man of liberal education naturally entertains towards the great minds of former ages. The debt which he owes to them is incalculable. They have guided him to truth. They have filled his mind with noble and graceful images. They have stood by him in all vicissitudes -comforters in sorrow, nurses in sickness, companions in solitude. These friendships are exposed to no danger from the occurrences by which other attachments are weakened or dissolved. Time glides by; fortune is inconstant; tempers are soured; bonds which seemed indissoluble are daily sundered by interest, by emulation, or by caprice. But no such cause can affect the silent converse which we hold with the highest of human intellects. That placid intercourse is disturbed by no jealousies or resentments. These are the old friends who are never seen with new faces, who are the same in wealth and in poverty, in glory and in obscurity. With the dead there is no rivalry. In the dead there is no change. Plato is never sullen. Cervantes is never petulant. Demosthenes never comes unseasonably. Dante never stays too long. No difference of political opinion can alienate Cicero. No heresy can excite the horror of Bossuet.

Nothing, then, can be more natural than that a person of sensibility and imagination should entertain a respectful and affectionate feeling towards those great men with whose minds he holds daily communion. Yet nothing can be more certain than that such men have not always deserved, in their own persons, to be regarded with respect or affection. Some writers, whose works will continue to instruct and delight mankind to the remotest ages, have been placed in such situations, that their actions and motives are as well known to us as the actions and motives of one human being can be known to another; and unhappily their conduct has not always been such as an impartial judge can contemplate with approbation. But the fanaticism of the devout worshipper of genius is proof against all evidence and all argu


The character of his idol is matter of faith; and the province of faith is not to be invaded by reason. He maintains his superstition with a credulity as boundless, and a zeal as unscrupulous, as can be found in the most ardent partisans of religious or political factions. The most overwhelming proofs are rejected; the plainest rules of morality are explained away; extensive and important portions of history are completely distorted-the enthusiast misrepresents facts with all the effrontery of an advocate,

and confounds right and wrong with all the dexterity of a Jesuit -and all this only in order that some man who has been in his grave for ages may have a fairer character than he deserves.

Middleton's Life of Cicero' is a striking instance of the influence of this sort of partiality. Never was there a character which it was easier to read than that of Cicero. Never was there a mind keener or more critical than that of Middleton. Had the Doctor brought to the examination of his favourite statesman's conduct but a very small part of the acuteness and severity which he displayed when he was engaged in investigating the high pretensions of Epiphanius and Justin Martyr, he could not have failed to produce a most valuable history of a most interesting portion of time. But this most ingenious and learned man, though

'So wary held and wise

That, as 't was said, he scarce received
For gospel what the church believed,'

had a superstition of his own. The great Iconoclast was himself an idolator. The great Avocata del Diavolo while he disputed, with no small ability, the claims of Cyprian and Athanasius to a place in the Calendar, was himself composing a lying legend in honour of St Tully! He was holding up as a model of every virtue a man whose talents and acquirements, indeed, can never be too highly extolled, and who was by no means destitute of amiable qualities, but whose whole soul was under the dominion of a girlish vanity, and a craven fear. Actions for which Cicero himself, the most eloquent and skilful of advocates, could contrive no excuse,-actions which in his confidential correspondence he mentioned with remorse and shame,-are represented by his biographer as wise, virtuous, heroic. The whole history of that great revolution which overthrew the Roman aristocracy,-the whole state of parties,-the character of every public man,-is elaborately misrepresented, in order to make out something which may look like a defence of one most eloquent and accomplished Trimmer.

The volume before us reminds us now and then of the 'Life of Cicero.' But there is this marked difference. Dr Middleton evidently had an uneasy consciousness of the weakness of his cause, and therefore resorted to the most disingenuous shifts,to unpardonable distortions and suppressions of facts. Mr Montagu's faith is sincere and implicit. He practises no trickery. He conceals nothing. He puts the facts before us in the full confidence that they will produce on our minds the effect which they have produced on his ovn. It is not till he comes to reason from facts to motives that his partiality shows itself; and then he leaves Middleton himself far behind. His work proceeds on the

« PoprzedniaDalej »