never advanced any opinions which he did not render plausible by felicity of illustration and a display of learning; but in point of fact, nothing can be more shallow than the attempt to disprove the value of the Baconian logic by showing that unconsciously every man obeys its laws. He, for example, takes the case of a man who had eaten minced pies at Christmas, and became ill after it. The man proceeds to argue, "I ate minced pies on Monday and Wednesday, and I was kept awake by indigestion all night." Here is one step in the argumentative process. "I did not eat any on Tuesday and Friday, and I was quite well "-there is another. "I ate very sparingly of them on Sunday, and was very slightly indisposed in the evening"-here is a fact which makes the case still clearer. "On Christmas-day I almost dined on them, and was so ill that I was in great danger"-the evidence is growing to a point, and when the patient rejects the idea that it was from the brandy which he took at the same time that he suffered, he feels justified in arriving at the grand conclusion, which Bacon terms the vindemiatio, that minced pies do not agree with him. It is evident, therefore, that without any assistance from Lord Bacon, we are all acting on the inductive principles which have been associated with his name. The argument is of the same kind as that which impugns the value of the Aristotelian logic, because people made their deductions long before Aristotle was born, and continue to do so without ever having heard of his name. The objection is very much as if one should deny merit to Harvey because the blood circulated before he discovered that it did, or to Sir Charles Bell, because we moved and felt before he explained the nervous system. The merit of recognising a process of reasoning which for ages had been overlooked by the philosophers, of analyzing that process in all its details, and of announcing that in the application of it, we were likely to make greater advances in knowledge than in the study of the deductive process, was surely not small; and Lord Macaulay himself, in the example of the minced pies, represents his unconscious reasons as leaping to a conclusion which might have been erroneous, before he had gone through an adequate induction. "It could not have been the brandy that caused my suffering," says the supposed logician, "for I have been taking brandy all my life without any bad effects." There was yet a contingency for which the rules of the Baconian logic provided, but which had not been foreseen by the unlearned eater of minced pies-the possibility of illness having been produced neither by the brandy nor by the pies, but by the combination of the two; and it is by an analysis of the reasoning process which observed and would provide against, such an oversight, that Bacon conferred a great benefit on mankind. If other examples were necessary to show that Macaulay was not a profound thinker, we might refer to his Essays on Milton and on Samuel Johnson. Some may be inclined to put the former out of account as being the earliest essay contributed by him to the Edinburgh Review. But they show the character of his thought distinctly, and it must be remembered that in republishing his Essays, he announced that the article on Milton contained, as far as expression goes, not a single paragraph which his mature judgment could approve of, while he claimed no indulgence whatever for the principles which he had propounded. These principles, at least in the part of the essay which is devoted to the criticism of the poetry, are as shallow and false as they can well be-as for example, when he declares that poetry is a sort of madness which it requires a certain unsoundness of mind to be able to appreciate, or when again he follows the exploded theory of Aristotle, in classing poetry and even music among the imitative arts. So in the article on Johnson, he advances the amazing paradox that Boswell wrote the greatest biography in the language, indeed, in any language, by reason of the littleness of his nature. He was a toady, therefore a great biographer. Mr. Carlyle very justly observed in relation to such a theory-" Bad is by its nature negative, and can do nothing. Whatsoever enables us to do anything is by its very nature good. Boswell wrote a good book, because he had a heart and an eye to discern wisdom, and an utterance to render it forth; because of his free insight, his lively talent; above all, of his love and childlike open-mindedness. His sneaking sycophancies, his greediness and forwardness, whatever was bestial and earthy in him, are so many blemishes in his book, which still disturb us in its clearness-wholly hindrances, not helps. Towards Johnson, however, his feeling was not sycophaney, which is the lowest, but reverence, which is the highest of human feelings. Neither James Boswell's good book, nor any other good thing, in any time or in any place, was, is, or can be performed by any man in virtue of his badness, but always and solely in spite thereof." We at once see the superior depth and truthfulness of Carlyle's view, while at the same time it must be remarked that he does not satisfactorily account for what Macaulay dwells upon as the most noticeable thing in Boswell-that he was not a man to be respected, but rather the contrary. Macaulay boldly accepts that fact; he also willingly accepts the other fact that Boswell's book is an uncommonly good book-and he puts the two together in the statement that the book is very good, because the author is very bad. Carlyle, on the other hand, accepts but one of the facts, namely, that the book is good, and argues from it with invincible faith against the other fact that the man is to be despised. In this he is wrong as well as right. As Macaulay says, we despise Boswell; and as Carlyle says, it is not for what he did. It is for what he did not; it is for his exclusiveness. He worshipped Johnson, and we do not object to that worship. We object to the fact that he was incapable of worshipping more than Johnson, that he would not have written more than one biography, that he was limited to one man, that he wanted the balance which a larger heart, and sympathy with a larger circle of friends would have afforded. We have ventured to speak thus freely of Macaulay's shortcomings, in the belief that indiscriminate eulogy is not of much value, and that our historian can certainly afford to have his measure accurately taken. If he was not a profound thinker, he was no nibbler and no straggler. He always took a very broad survey of his subject; and his apprehension was intensely vivid, so vivid, indeed, that statements which in other hands would appear to be mere commonplaces, derive from the graces of his diction and the felicity of his illustrations a sort of fascination which gives them an air of perfect novelty and originality. Take the Essay on Machiavelli, for example, and see what the author has made of the very ordinary truism, that circumstances of education must determine the extent of a man's guilt. They that know the right and do the wrong shall be beaten with double stripes, is one most authoritative way of stating this old-world truth. How Macaulay has brought this to bear upon Machiavelli, and shown that he is to be judged not by the standard of absolute morality, but by the code of the society in which he moved, is one of the most marvellous pieces of writing which even he has given to the world. Every statement that he makes is palpable as day, and yet startles the reader as a perfect novelty. In the first chapter of his history another example of the same wondrous faculty will be found. We refer to the passage in which he puts in a good word for the Church, with all its corruptions in the dark ages. The power then possessed by the Church would in our time be intolerable; and Macaulay makes the very obvious remark that although the extraordinary power of the priesthood in an age of good government would be a curse, it might well be a positive blessing in an age of bad government— that the recognition even in this degraded form of a spiritual and moral force in the world was a boon to mankind in an epoch when brute force was all in all, and the people were divided into but two classes-the beasts of burden and the beasts of prey. He makes the thing appear as clear as possible; and we wonder at ourselves for not having previously attached equal importance to the principle—which it will be observed is at root identical with the view worked out in relation to Machiavelli-that differences of time and place must make a corresponding difference in our estimate of acts, characters, and systems. This very simple law is the key to half Macaulay's system of thought; and as David slew Goliath with two small pebbles from the brook, our historian slays his giant prejudices with very ordinary weapons. His thought in this respect reminds one of the well-known definition of wit "Wit is but reason to advantage drest What oft was thought, but ne'er so well exprest." He gave the cream of the common wisdom expressed in language, and enforced with illustrations which astonished every one, which arrested every one, which added an interest to the most neglected truths, which imparted importance to the most common sayings, and which, as the philosopher shows us a miracle and a mystery in the most ordinary occurrence, made a marvel and a novelty of opinions that had passed into proverbs and beliefs that were as old as the hills. Perhaps the Essay which displays the greatest subtlety of thought is the one devoted to the consideration of Gladstone's theory of Church and State. It is written with incomparable ability. Nothing can be more happy than the illustrations, nothing more convincing than his demolition of Mr. Gladstone. But observe wherein precisely it is that his power consists. It is the power of attack. He has a theory to expose, and a counter theory to defend; and the whole art of his exposition lies in the invention of analogies showing the absurdity of the former and the convenience of the latter. His success was so great, that we believe he eventually converted Mr. Gladstone himself. Give him a position to defend, and no man could equal him in the art of marshalling the arguments for or against. In this respect what could surpass the art with which, in the Memoir of Warren Hastings, he identifies Sir Philip Francis with Junius? His power is that of statement. Give him a case, and he will state it with a force and clearness which are unrivalled. His power is thus essentially that of the historian. He records; and, in the mere act of recording, he convinces his reader. It was less by the power of thought than by the unconscious force of a manly nature, of generous impulses, and of a religious education, that Lord Macaulay took his line. People speak of him as cold and critical. It has even been said that he wanted heart. Such accusations appear to us to be a complete caricature of the man. Those are much nearer the truth who complain of him as being a hot-headed party-man, though we cannot endorse even this accusation. That a bias will be found in Lord Macau lay's writings, we frankly admit; but it is a bias such as no man with a heart beating in his bosom is entirely free from. Macaulay had a heart, and, in consequence, he was a good hater and a fervent admirer. There is fervour in all his writings. What can be more ardent than that glowing account of the Puritans in the Essay on Milton? The man whose heart does not burn within him as he reads Macaulay must be cold indeed. If any one doubts his passion, read the "Lays of the Roundheads " in that periodical to which his earliest effusions were contributed. Who, for example, can read this account of Naseby Fight unmoved? “And, hark! like the roar of the billows on the shore, The cry of battle rises along their charging line: "The furious German comes, with his clarion and his drums, They are bursting on our flanks-grasp your pikes-close your ranks, For Rupert never comes but to conquer or to fall. They are here-they rush on-we are broken-we are gone- O Lord, put forth thy might! O Lord, defend the right! "Stout Skippon hath a wound-the centre hath given groundHark! hark! what means that trampling of horsemen in our rear? Whose banner do I see, boys? 'Tis he, thank God! 'tis he, boys! Cheer up another minute, brave Oliver is here. "Their heads all stooping low, their points all in a row, Like a whirlwind on the seas, like a deluge on the dykes, That bore to look on torture, but dared not look on war. "Ho! comrades, scour the plain, but ere ye strip the slain, First give another stab to make your quest secure; Then shake from sleeves and pockets the broad pieces and lockets, The tokens of the wanton, the plunder of the poor. VOL. III. Ꮓ |