when the state of public affairs was mentioned, and urged with the same energy the course of conduct which he had so long and eloquently advocated. On all other topics, however, he was perfectly calm, waiting with composure the hour of his departure. A few hours before his dissolution he sent affectionate remembrances to many of his friends, expressing forgiveness of any injuries he might have received, and requesting their forgiveness of those he might have offered. He then listened to some religious papers of Addison. Shortly after, while being conveyed to his bed, he expired. A post mortem examination showed an enlargement of the heart.

His funeral was attended by a large concourse of men of rank and high official station The pall was supported by the Dukes of Portland and Devonshire, the Lord Chancellor, the Speaker of the Commons, the Earl Fitzwilliam, and Inchiquin, Sir. G. Elliott, and Mr. Windham. Mr. Fox proposed in the House of Commons that he should be interred with public honours in Westminster Abbey. This however was impossible by the tenour of the will itself, part of which, as a display of unostentatious and simple greatness, we subjoin.

"If my dear son and friend had survived me, any will would have been unnecessary; but since it has pleased God to call him to himself before his father, my duty calls upon me to make such a disposition of my worldly effects as seems to my best judgment most equitable and reasonable; therefore, I, Edmund Burke, late of the parish of St. James, Westminster, though suffering under sore and inexpressible affliction, being of sound and disposing mind, do make my last will and testament in manner following:

"First, according to the ancient, good, and laudable custom, of which my heart and understanding recognise the propriety, I bequeath my soul to God, hoping for his mercy through the only merits of our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ. My body I desire, if I should die in any place very convenient for its transport thither, (but not otherwise,) to be buried in the church, at Beaconsfield, near to the bodies of my dearest brother and my dearest son, in all humility praying that, as we have lived in perfect unity together, we may together have a part in the resurrection of the just.

"I wish my funeral to be (without any punctiliousness in that respect) the same as that of my brother, and to exceed it as little as possible in point of charge, whether on account of my family or of any others who would go to a greater expense; and I desire, in the same manner and with the same qualifications, that no monument beyond a middle-sized tablet, with a small and simple inscription on the church-wall, or on the flag-stone, be erected. I say this, because I know the partial kindness to me of some of my friends. But I have had, in my life-time, but too much of noise and compliment."

Mr. Burke was about five feet ten inches in height, he was well formed, though never remarkably robust. In youth his countenance was exceedingly expressive, and might even be considered handsome. It presented, however, none of those striking peculiarities which one might have expected from a man of such genius and such energies; and was, therefore, except when much excited, apt to disappoint the spectator.

It is now time to proceed to the second part of this Essay-an analysis of Burke's genius. The chief elements of Burke's intellectual character are easily discerned. His was one of the few minds which combine great versatility with great strength; it presented a singular harmony of almost every species of mental excellence. Though he possessed such wonderful variety of talents, this was not purchased, as is too often the case, at the dear price of comparative feebleness in each part. There was exquisite symmetry, but the proportions were colossal. All his powers indeed were enjoyed severally in such perfection as to insure no ordinary fame in any department of literature or philosophy to which he might devote himself. We say no ordinary fame, because perhaps the very highest distinction in each department of human knowledge, must always be reserved for minds peculiarly adapted to that department, and indefatigably devoted to its cultivation;-minds (if we may so speak) of one faculty, where no rival powers divide the empire of the soul, where

variety of pursuits does not distract or perplex its energies, and where consequently the mind exerts itself with singular unity and constancy of purpose. Where there is great equality of the faculties, however wonderful the progress which may be made in several branches of science or philosophy, the extent and discursiveness of such attainments will be incompatible with unquestionable superiority in any one of them. Whatever facility the Pentathletes of Greece might evince in their many exercises, it was very rarely that they were not over-matched at any one of them by men who had accustomed themselves to that exercise alone. But though a mind which possesses one talent in unusual perfection will generally attain a superiority over a mind of more various powers, in that particular point where it is adapted to excel, it is not to be forgotten that there are some kinds of intellectual eminence towards which a solitary talent can do little; they absolutely require great flexibility and variety, as well as strength of faculties. Such a genius must the orator, critic, historian, and politician possess ; and such a genius was that of Burke.

So far of the general characteristics of Burke's mind: let us now descend to a more minute examination. And, first, of those powers which must be the noblest in any man, the powers of speculation and argument. And here it may be remarked in general, that the more philosophic qualities of Burke have not been appreciated so highly as they ought to have been, owing to that surpassing splendour of imagination with which their exercise is ever accompanied, and in which they are almost lost. While there are thousands who can fully appreciate the force of reasoning if nakedly stated, or the beauties of poetry if professing to be poetry alone, there are few who can properly estimate that rare union of both, which. sometimes arrays philosophy in the ornaments of the imagination, and encircles the severe goddess of wisdom with the magic cestus of Venus. To appreciate fully these complex exhibitions of intellectual excellence is no easy task; the very variety is apt to confound the judgment. There are comparatively few who are so practised in analytical criticism as to be able at once to enjoy, unperplexed, these magnificent harmonies of intellect as a whole, and to discriminate the several parts as they melt and blend into one another in all the intricacies of this mazy music.

In such minds as that of Burke, the strength of the tree (to change the figure) is partially hidden even by the luxuriance of the foliage: or (as in the human body) the exquisite adaptation of every joint and muscle to some purpose of strength and utility, is concealed by that soft exterior covering, which throws over the harsh lines and abrupt angles, and all the deformities of the internal mechanism, a veil of grace and of beauty.

The peculiar departments of philosophy which Burke was qualified to fill cannot very well be mistaken by any one who has closely examined his life or his writings. But before proceeding further, it will be necessary to make one or two observations.

Not only are there the more generic differences of mind predisposing men to pursuits separated by the widest intervals, as poetry and mathematics, for instance; but there are also numberless specific varieties of mental structure, which fit the mind rather for one branch. of the same general pursuit, than for another. To say, as is often said that a man has a very philosophical mind, is not to say he would excel in every branch of philosophy to which he might devote himself. To suppose this would be much the same as to suppose that the man of taste could attain equal eminence in all the fine arts. It is true that in the discovery or establishment of any important truth, the processes of mind concerned in these cases are essentially the same, whatever the subject matter on which it is engaged. The mere process of reasoning, for instance, is the same whether the premises and conclusion consist of propositions in mathematical or political science; and an induction of facts is still the same, whether the facts which constitute it be gathered from physical or moral philosophy. Yet the infinitely varied, though often slight, diversities which the intellectual character presents, diversities resulting either from original structure or from the influence of circumstances in early life, shall impart to minds of equal power an ap

titude for carrying on the same general processes in some particular branches of philosophy rather than others. Thus we may see one man, whose intensity of abstraction shall peculiarly fit him for an investigation of the phenomena of mental philosophy; and another, whose powers of observation and comparison shall mark him out for the extensive inductions of physical science. One man shall excel in the analysis of some complicated object, and another for a comprehensive survey and comparison of independent facts. One individual shall be capable of the most splendid achievements in the exact sciences, but shall be baffled and confounded in all attempts at the rougher computation of moral evidence, and this too in great measure owing to the very nicety and over-accuracy of his intellectual habits, while another who has gained, by long familiarity, prodigious practical sagacity in estimating the complicated elements of moral and political reasoning, has neither precision nor patience enough for the refinements and subtilty of abstract philosophy.

The peculiarities of Burke's genius were early manifested and strongly marked. It was evidently characterized rather by comprehensiveness than by subtilty; by an aptitude for inductive science, rather than for abstract reasoning. This in our opinion is sufficiently evident, even in his "Essay on the Sublime and Beautiful." That performance is valuable, not so much as a close and subtle analysis of the mental phenomena, which it professes to examine, as a collection of curious observations on the sources from which these emotions flow. It is valuable rather as a most extensive induction of facts, than as an instance of their successful application, and contains rather the elements of a correct theory, than a systematic exposition of the theory itself. Though it is well known that Burke studied metaphysical science much in his youth, it was always rather as a discipline and exercise of the mind, (for which purpose indeed it transcends all branches of philosophy,) than because he loved it, or was ever likely to become a master in it.

If these observations on the character of Burke's intellect be well founded, we cannot wonder that he should have chiefly addicted himself to the science of government and political economy, by far the most difficult and complicated branches of inductive philosophy, demanding in a peculiar degree comprehensiveness of intellect and superlative powers of observation and comparison. These are These are absolutely requisite, since the phenomena which must decide all the profound problems with which they are conversant, are beyond all comparison more diversified and perplexing, than those in any other department of human inquiry.

The very same habitudes of mind, we have already observed, characterized his attempts in intellectual philosophy; not to mention that they appear equally strong in his attachment to agriculture, of which he was passionately fond. Indeed, he was said to be one of the best farmers of his day. In the sciences of government and political economy, he was qualified to be a philosopher of the very highest order. The very complexity of the inquiries connected with them, just suited his comprehensive and far-seeing intellect. These observations will be hereafter more fully illustrated, when we come to speak of him as a statesman, and to characterize his political writings. It is only necessary at present just to indicate these peculiarities.

Of the singular adaptation of his intellect to the departments of science we have mentioned, there can hardly be more conclusive proof than is furnished in the fact, that, in an age when the great principles of political economy were so little understood, he should have attained by his own unaided efforts such an extensive knowledge of them. Adam Smith declared that he was the only man, who, without any communication between them, had arrived at the same conclusions with himself. Let it be here recollected that Adam Smith had spent years of unremitted and secluded study in the cultivation of this science, while it formed only one of the multifarious pursuits to which Burke devoted his excursive and ever-active genius.

Of the imagination of Burke it is not necessary to say more than a few words. It was

undoubtedly the distinguishing attribute of his mind, and is impressed on almost every sentence he wrote. It is not, as in other men, an occasional and transient gleam, illumining the page at long intervals; it shines on with a steady and overpowering lustre from one end of his works to the other. So rapid and powerful is his perception of analogies that his only difficulty is in selection. The language of poetry is his mother-tongue; and beautiful imagery, instead of being, as in the case of many writers, long sought and coyly won, appears to come uncalled, and to thrust itself upon him. So active is his imagination, that the slightest effort of reasoning, the faintest breath of passion, is sufficient to excite this obedient faculty into exercise, and it is immediately present with some beautiful and impressive illustration, (often brought from the remotest realms of science,) with which to adorn and illustrate each new creation of thought or sentiment.

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The illustrations of Burke astonish not more by their beauty than their variety. Every species of knowledge, every region of art and science, is laid under tribute to supply the wants, or rather minister to the luxuries, of this prodigal faculty. Not content with the boundless range of external nature, or the wide field of historical and classical allusion,abstract and physical science, the most familiar and domestic arts, the professions, nay, the handicrafts, practised by all classes of men, must yield up their peculiar mysteries, their most recondite and technical phraseology, to furnish the materials of his illustrations. The vocabularies of astronomy and mechanics, surgery and medicine, agriculture and manufactures, all supply him with analogies with which to illustrate or adorn moral and political truth. His knowledge reminds one of the fabled use of comets, which are employed, as some philosophers tell us, to bring, by immense and eccentric revolutions, fuel to the sun. In same manner Burke's knowledge furnished him, from every realm of human speculation, fresh matter to feed the ever-blazing orb of his imagination. The dress in which his thoughts must be habited, like that with which modern luxury clothes our bodies, was the costly produce of the most various industry, and furnished by the contributions of every clime under heaven. But the illustrations of Burke are remarkable not only for their beauty and variety: they are not less remarkable for their novelty. He affords a conclusive proof of the shallowness of a certain modern theory, that comparative ignorance, miscalled the simplicity of nature, is the natural ally of the imagination; that civilization and knowledge will proportionably limit the sphere of its exercise; and that an era of great refinement, therefore, will be the era of its decline. The fallacy of such reasoning may be easily shown; for though it is true, that in such an age many of the images (and those of course the most obvious) which were at first common property, will have become appropriated by those writers who are fortunate enough to be first, the want of these will be more than made up to a highly imaginative mind, by the endless sources of new analogies, which an increase of knowledge cannot fail to supply; and as these analogies are less likely to be observed by the generality of men, so they will necessarily afford delight proportioned to their novelty. Illustrations, when just, please as they are unexpected.

Burke was probably the greatest master of metaphor the world has ever seen. It is the form of illustration which he generally employs, and is decidedly the most effective, especially to the orator. It is so, because it is the most compact and energetic; it does not break in on the continuity of close reasoning, or suspend the current of impassioned feeling; it dispenses with the frigid formalities of fully-stated comparison, and is wrought into the very substance of the sentiment it illustrates. Such are the metaphors of Burke; a complete transfer of language from one object to another takes places; his ideas are depicted before us. His metaphors are not movable figures, (clumsily introduced by the phrases, "like," and "like as,") which may be detached from the page without doing any injury to the meaning; they are chiselled into the solid mass of the reasoning itself. They are not mere ornaments on the body of thought, which may be removed without any other difference than that of leaving it in more simple attire; they are the very body of thought itself;

the very form which it inspires and animates, and in which alone it holds intercourse with us. They are the eyes through which its intelligence looks out upon us, the countenance on which its varying feelings are impressed, the voice in which it makes itself known to us. To destroy the metaphor would be to destroy the sentiment.

This excessive activity of imagination sometimes leads Burke into errors in point of taste. The reader is every now and then startled by a broken metaphor, and sees the members of two or more incongruous images suddenly forced into unnatural union. The fact is, Burke's images crowd upon him so fast, and with such importunity, that before he has done with one, another has taken possession of his mind. The electric fire of his genius fuses into one mass the hardest, most inflexible, and most heterogeneous materials.

These violations of taste, however, are far less frequent than has often been represented. To hear some critics talk, one would think that they are to be met with in every page, and that his imagination was in perpetual revolt against the laws of taste. Nothing can be more remote from truth than such a supposition. The fact is so far otherwise, that Burke's * taste was little inferior to his imagination. We are far from saying that there are not many violations of the principles of taste to be met with in his writings; but the great question is, what proportion, after all, do they bear to the number of instances in which he has obeyed them. Absolutely none. Considering how much he wrote, and with what rapidity he composed, the wonder is that his violations of taste should not have been more frequent, for had not his taste been highly cultivated, his prodigious powers of imagination would have borne him on to boundless extravagances. When fairly filled with the gale, it ́ required no ordinary tackling to hold such breadth of canvass to the mast. Those who have no imagination, or but little, have small cause to plume themselves on the attainment of a cold correctness; it is a virtue which, like the temperance of old age, they cannot help practising. But no ordinary measure of taste will control such an imagination as that of Burke. None but Apollo himself could drive such steeds of fire.

While it may be conceded that he sometimes errs most egregiously against taste and propriety, it cannot be denied that his very faults are often splendid ones, and display unbounded power over language. Even when we see that he has failed, it is often impossible not to admire the dexterity with which, somehow or other, he manages to mould the most incongruous elements of imagery into something like unity and harmony, and the sort of magical facility and ease with which he makes the most abrupt transitions. The manner, too, in which he recovers himself when careering on the very borders of extravagance is inimitable. One moment he seems trembling on the brink of absurdity, and anon, like some skilful charioteer who has been driving on the edge of a precipice, he suddenly turns the glowing wheels of his fancy, and is once more in a secure and beaten track. Some of these instances are almost miracles of combined powers of imagination and taste, perfect feats in the art of composition. Take the following brief specimens.

"I know not how it has happened, but it really seems, that, whilst his Grace was meditating his well-considered censure upon me, he fell into a sort of sleep. Homer nods; and the Duke of Bedford may dream ; and as dreams (even his golden dreams) are apt to be ill-pieced and incongruously put together, his Grace preserved his idea of reproach to me, but took the subject-matter from the Crown grants to his own family. This is the stuff of which his dreams are made.' In that way of putting things together his Grace is perfectly in the right. The grants to the house of Russel were so enormous, as not only to outrage economy, but even to stagger credibility. The Duke of Bedford is the leviathan among all the creatures of the Crown. He tumbles about his unwieldy bulk; he plays and frolicks in the ocean of the royal bounty. Huge as he is, and whilst he lies floating many a rood,' he is still a creature. His ribs, his fins, his whalebone, his blubber, the very spiracles through which he spouts a torrent of brine against his origin, and covers me all over with the spray-every thing of him and about him is from the throne. Is it for him to question the dispensation of the royal favour ?"