Page images
PDF
EPUB

power. Acquitting Lord Rockingham of all motives of merely personal ambition, and believing that no man was better entitled to respect for the exercise of high integrity in the discharge of a public responsibility, we are the better enabled to judge from the tactics he employed of the actual nature of those party struggles through which ministries are formed, baffled and supplanted, and how little influence external opinion exerts upon them. The development of personal ties and alliances-the anxiety for the support of certain individuals—the incessant strain to keep offices open in particular interests, and to maintain existing connections-combine to show how completely the machinery of government is in the hands of great families, how entirely the people, so to speak, are excluded from the interior mysteries of cabinet changes, and how patent a monopoly the work of administration is, with all its show of patriotic principles and public independence. The aristocratic element was and is paramount in the government. Nor do we mean to assert that it would be better otherwise. But it is well that the people should see clearly the operation of these influences, and that they should understand and know how to value the legitimate counterpoise they possess in the popular branch of the legislature, and in that free press which has risen into an estate of the realm since the days of Walpole and Chatham. The Grenvilles and the Russells, the Yorkes and the Butes, from whatever opposite points of the compass they came, or to whatever opposite points they steered, were all guided by the same impulses and aimed at the same object. A few men stood out distinctly from the ranks of party-such men, for instance, as Conway and Savile and acted for themselves. Rockingham, also,

might be added to the number, if he had not displayed so much zeal as a party tactician. But it was inseparable from his position, and expected from him as the head of a section, and he undoubtedly exhibited more moderation and good sense, and was freer from the imputation of having been swayed by party motives alone, than most men who have been placed in similar circumstances. To his prudent and earnest exertions at this dangerous crisis the Whigs owe a lasting obligation.

For three quarters of a century the Whigs had supported the House of Brunswick. They were now thrown into opposition. It is immaterial to enquire how far this result was precipitated by the arbitrary encroachments of the Crown, or by divisions amongst themselves. The consequences were equally beneficial to the country. The people were the gainers by the divorce. Lord Rockingham's conduct throughout the scenes that followed may be said to have shaped for action the principles of his party, and to have laid the foundations of that popular policy by which they were subsequently distinguished; and when he again took office in 1782, the preliminary stipulations he made with the King evinced his resolution to carry out, unfettered, that course of liberal measures which he intended to pursue. In vain the Lord Chancellor Thurlow, who was commissioned by his Majesty to negotiate with him, endeavoured to prevail upon him to accept office unconditionally, leaving the principles upon which the government was to be conducted to subsequent consideration.

"I must confess," said Lord Rockingham, in a letter to Thurlow, "that I do not think it an advisable measure, first to attempt to form a ministry by arrangement of office-afterwards to decide what principles or measures they are to act upon." And to this constitutional assertion of the minister's independence the King was forced to submit.

How far the demand for Parliamentary Reform, at that time beginning to occupy the serious attention of the people, might have been met by Lord Rockingham, had he lived to mature his views, may be to some extent inferred from the tenor of his correspondence on that subject two years before. He was explicitly in favour of shortening the duration of parliament, and of clearing away the sinecures and places through which its members were corrupted; but the tenets of the reformers were at that time vague and indefinite, they were divided among themselves by a variety of theories, and public opinion was not ripe for any important move in that direction. Hence he wisely declined to make parliamentary reform a government measure, because it would weaken his cabinet by disunion; but he extended to it as much recognition as his position would admit, by leaving it an open question.

Unfortunately, however, his health was unequal to the arduous duties to which he was called, and he expired on the 1st July, 1782. On the pedestal of the statue which was erected to his memory in Wentworth Park, is an inscription from the hand of Burke, which traces his character in terms of affection and panegyric that posterity will gratefully endorse. It is written with great power and beauty; and a single passage from it will convey, in a brief compass, the sum of his merits as a public man. "In opposition, he respected the principles of government; in administration, he provided for the liberties of the people. He employed his moments of power in realizing everything which he had proposed in a popular situation-the distinguishing mark of his public conduct. Reserved in profession, sure in performance, he laid the foundation of a solid confidence."

The work in which the Earl of Albemarle has recorded the life of Rockingham, and the history of his times, is one of the most valuable and interesting of its class that has ever been presented to the public. It is not a collection of letters and diaries stitched together by a slender thread of narrative; but is full of original and illustrative matter, written with perspicuity and power, and developing an intimate knowledge of political men and events, and a sound judgment in the treatment of them. Infinite care and research have been bestowed upon these volumes, and the graces of a refined literary taste have been brought to embellish and enliven their details. The sketches of the principal persons who appear in the course of the transactions embraced from the accession of George III. to the death of Rockingham, form a gallery of portraits, transcending in interest, and equal in skill, to the admirable characters of Clarendon. Nothing is left untouched that can contribute to the completeness of this comprehensive memoir: while the spirit of intelligence and vivacity by which its pages are aërated, renders it as entertaining to the general reader, as it will be found important to the student of English history.

[blocks in formation]

Ir is pleasant enough to sit in a club window and to read in the pages of Professor Creasy and Sir Charles Napier how the French army is to be received by the people of England, when that great chapter in the "History of events of which never happened," the Invasion of 1852 shall be written by the hand of Time. Legitimate history deals with matters just as apocryphal, and not half as animated, as these imaginary pictures of the gallant achievements of our volunteer bands and our devoted militiamen. It is very pleasant to our national vanity; it stirs the heart, indeed, as with shrill trumpet-blast to learn how the chivalry of England would stream out from town and hamlet, and pour itself, an irresistible torrent, upon the accursed invaders. What, indeed, can be more animating, in these times, than such a passage as this:—

"Now, let us suppose London to be suddenly startled by the news that 50,000 Frenchmen are on the Kentish or Sussex shore. Forthwith, through every square and street of the stately metropolis and its teeming environs, good men and true, with good arms, which they know well how to wield, start forth at the appointed signal. By hundreds, by thousands, and by tens of thousands, the riflemen are mustered at the well-known gathering places for duty. In no frivolous merriment or noisy enthusiasm, but in grim silence, and with stern determination to spare neither their own nor the strangers' lives, the dark masses are forming fast and deploying over the bridges. Before six hours are passed, London has placed 50,000 well-armed and well-equipped defenders in advance of her southern suburbs, Meanwhile, messengers far speedier than the beacon flames, which told of the Armada's advent—the electric wires, are thrilling throughout the length and breadth of the land with tidings that England is invaded, and that London will be attacked. To the rescue! to the rescue! Our southern brethren in arms are already up and doing. Some are concentrating upon Portsmouth and Plymouth, lest these great arsenals should be assailed by new enemies; the hardy Kentishmen and the South-Saxons are still better occupied in hanging on the invader's line of march, and harassing him at every step. But through every midland shire, through the busy north, with its hives of human energy, through brave Scotland, the land that never nurtured fools and cowards, there is instant making ready for battle. From every town, from every village, the streams of war flow into each other, and then form a mighty torrent towards the menaced capital of the land.-Fearlessly then would the first sight of the black columns of the enemy be hailed... Not even their old Guard at Waterloo, when the musketry of Maitland's brigade, slew 400 at the first fire, experienced such a deadly greeting. But, though their column has recoiled, it is not broken. . . They have closed up their ranks, they are advancing again. Again our rifles rattle," &c. &c.

Such is the Professor's heart-stirring picture of the defence of Great Britain. The General does not seem inclined to give our volunteer bands so forward a position. He sends "the Duke" out at the head of the regular army, and keeps the volunteers to play the part of skirmishers and sharp-shooters, to cut off stragglers and convoys. "Well ! there we lie," says Sir Charles Napier, "till they (the enemy) come closer, and when close enough, and a good deal of their ammunition expended, then the Duke would begin business. Now, you gentlemen not being drilled to this sort of work, would be in the way; you would come into it after a while, but at first you would be in the way. 'Then where should we be?' you will ask. Why, far away, clear of the regular troops, and getting round on the enemy's flanks and rear, to be sure!

your men in swarms creeping as close to him as ever you can, hiding in ditches, behind banks, rising grounds, woods, &c., so that his artillery could not do you as much harm as ours could do his minié men, because you need not advance, his must, whilst you were pitching your shot into his columns. The enemy must all the while, as I have said, keep moving on towards the Duke, who waits for him very patiently, in one of those terrible positions of his, against which his enemies have a hundred times broken their heads! The enemy must move on, he is an invader! he cannot sit down and do nothing; he must keep continually marching and fighting. If he halts to drive you off, you retire; seldom meeting him in close fight, but always firing at him, he cannot catch you! He goes back. Then again you follow him up, as he advances against the regular army, you keeping up an incessant firing into his back; and hundreds will fall under your galling and unerring aim. His hospital increases; he must leave guards. You are in vast numbers; a few thousands of you close, and then you may occasionally rush, in overwhelming numbers, upon these guards, make them prisoners, and be off again out of reach. His convoys too are coming up; you gather upon them and destroy them, carrying off his food and ammunition. His columns will send out detachments to plunder; they are weak and wearied; for you, dividing yourselves in watches, as the sailors say, keep up your sharp-shooting night and day; some resting and feeding whilst others fight, for you must take advantage of your vast numbers. The enemy gets no rest. If he despises you and moves on, merely sending a few skirmishers to keep you off, you gather in closer and thicker, and your fire becomes more terrible. His skirmishers give way, his column is forced to halt and send a large force against you. You are off," &c. &c.

These are Sir Charles Napier's directions to our amateur soldiers; and perhaps there is wisdom in them. At all events the question of the means of employing the people of England for the defence of the country has become the question of the day.

I have no doubt of the pluck of the English people, especially of the English gentry. It is the fashion to talk of our silky, effeminate aristocrats; the young lordlings of the St. James's Clubs and the Belgravian palaces; as though they were fit for nothing of a manlier kind than the stretching of their long limbs on luxurious sofas, the ogling of pretty women through plate-glass windows, the sipping of iced claret, and the lisping of Derby odds. But take them away from their club windows; place them in situations where energy and activity are demanded, and they are the manliest fellows in the world. The truth is, that our English gentlemen are inured to danger from their very cradles. They are placed on pony-back almost before they can walk. Before they are in their teens they may be seen taking "headers" into the Thames, or playing football under the wall that skirts the playing-fields at Eton, with a desperate ferocity, which, but for the padded armour they wear, would not leave a whole shin among them. Then see them, a little older, playing cricket, at Lord's-not the cricket of our fathers' time, when middle-aged gentlemen turned out in nankeen shorts, silk stockings and pumps, and gently shovelled the ball at the opposite wicket, but the new game, call it what you may, better or worse, which sends the leather missile out of the bowler's hands with the velocity of a round shot out of a nine-pounder, and compels men to take the field gloved as

though for a sparring-match, and leg-protected as for a bout of Devonshare wrestling.*

This is not work for a popinjay, you may be sure. Our "gentlemen," don't always beat the "players." They don't take as much trouble; they don't work so well together (amateurs never do), and they are lazier than the professionals, who have more to gain by success. But their pluck is of the finest possible temper. So it is on the huntingfield. What will not a well-mounted English gentleman face? These silky club-window aristocrats are bold riders, almost to a man. A steeplechase is no trifle. If our young knights do not break lances, they break collar-bones plentifully in these degenerate days. The greater the danger, the greater the fun. From what peril, from what hardship, does the English gentleman ever shrink? He loves hazardous excitement. Perhaps, there is not enough of it to be obtained at home; so he goes abroad in search of it; and in the wilds of Africa, or America, hunts savage animals and coquets with death, as coolly as though he were talking nonsense to a pretty girl in May Fair.

All this is fine training for war. Our commonalty, harnessed from their very childhood to a go-cart of laborious drudgery, have less time and less opportunity for exercise in these manly sports. They are less accustomed to face active danger, and in its presence, are both less energetic and less self-collected than the higher classes. They require discipline and organization to call forth that sturdy gallantry, which makes our English regiments irresistible in the field. English mobs are notoriously anything but heroic congeries of humanity. The French officer, who nearly two hundred years ago, reported to the Duke de Choiseul, that "the English are a dull people, absolutely ignorant of the use of arms," was not far wrong in his estimate of our soldierly qualifications. There is little military enthusiasm among us. Indeed, the generality of our English people have no enthusiastic impulses of any kind to prompt them to acts of heroic daring. One sees this plainly enough in the case of a fire in the country. Hundreds of people turn out to look at it; but not five in every hundred show the least inclination to do anything but gape and chatter. The gentry, you may be sure, are foremost in the place of danger. They are at the mouth of the engine hose; and on the topmost step of the ladder. But the gallantry of the London firemen-a trained and disciplined brigade-is unsurpassed, if not unequalled. They face danger professionally; it is their duty to despise it. They come of the same stock as the gapers and chatterers. But then the latter are amateurs. They are not paid to be burnt. To be sure, there was a story, the other day, in the newspapers to the effect that a "bystander," at a fire in the country, under the impression that there were some children left in the house, rushed into the burning edifice, and perished miserably in the flames. But who he was is not recorded. He was simply a "by-stander," and the chronicle of his heroic death occupied three lines in an obscure corner of a morning paper. If he had died in an effort not to save, but to destroy life, he would have had a place in the "Gazette."

Not the least curious of the many curious things exhibited at the World's Fair in Hyde Park, was a case containing cricketing implements-offensive and defensive. We talk of the decline of chivalry, and the loss which the manliness of the nation has sustained by the absence of the jousts and tourneys of old times, But the knights of the present century are not without physical training, of another kind, but equally effectual.

« PreviousContinue »