BURKE'S LIFE AND WORKS.
HERE iS another cheering sign of the times : the entire Works of BURKE, excepting the disjecta ntembra of his orations against IIAsTINGs, printed almost fur popular circulation. The size of the volumes, the quantity of paper and letterpress they contain, must of course preclude them from being classed under the head of cheap literature, if we speak of nominal price ; but the evident attention to economy in the getting-up shows that the speculation is addressed to those persons whose book-room and whose means are both limited. It argues something in proof of a wide-spread- ing taste for elegant literature, and a strong desire for political knowledge of the highest order, when a series of voluminous works—in form and fashion addressed to another age, whose spirit was very different from ours, and appealing in tone and com- position to cultivated tastes, and intellects raised above the gene- ral—can be published for the people with a prospect of popular success.
The introductory matter prefixed to this edition consists of three parts,—the events of the life of BURKE; an estimate of his moral and intellectual character ; a critical account of his writings. Though not displaying originality of view, or very considerable powers of composition, these introductions are not mere additions. The Life is rapid and readable, and bears the impress of the present time; the estimate of his character is moderate and just, though somewhat overlaid with words; and a similar observation may be extended to the critique. The public events of the life of BURKE record themselves, and admit of little interest being imparted in the telling. Some of the circumstances which excite the deepest feelings in our breasts are never breathed to another. But the agony of parental grief— the shock which death gives to the purest domestic affections—is open and palpable. Here is an account of the bitterest trial which BURKE ever underwent, and which more than all his con- flicts and labours hastened his own death. The facts are not new, but the story is affecting.
It appears that exactly when the fatal symptoms of his son's last illness dis- closed themselves, Mr. Burke had relinquished to him his seat for Mahon, and had even procured for hint the appointment of Secretary to Lord Fitzwilliam, Lord .Lieutenant of Ireland. Denied by the bright scenes which his hopes had .conjured up, he could nut see,—what every one else saw plainly enough,—that the days of his son were already numbered. Of all this he was totally uncon • scions, and no one dared to tell him. Dr. Brocklesby, the physician of the family, declared from his long knowledge of the intensity of Burke's affection, that any such disclosure would probably be fatal. and short as was the term of the son's existence, would render that of the father still shorter.
Young Brake was now removed to Cromwell Howe, near Brompton, for the sake of the country air. The unhappy father, who still never thought of
danger, selected for him this residence so near town, that he might he ready to depart for Ireland at a moment's notice, as soon as his health permitted. Here, however, all the symptoms rapidly grew worse, and the physician, no lcrnger able to disguise the truth, disclosed the horrors of the case just a week before its fatal termination. From this moment, Burke abandoned himself to all the desperation of sorrow • " his was a grief which would not be comforted." Young Burke passed the night before his dissolution in much pain and rest.. lessness. Early in the morning, he heard the voice of sorrow in the adjoining apartment, where his parents had spent a night of yet deeper wretchedness. Anxious to alleviate their sorrows, he resolved if possible to delude them, by an affectionate deceit, into the belief that he was stronger than he really was. Rising with some difficulty, he requested to be supported to the door of the apartment in which his father and mother were sitting. There he dismissed hie attendants; and making a last effort, walked twice or thrice across the room. But his parents were not to be deceived. They looked on him in silent agony, Finding his efforts to console them vain, " Speak to me," said he, " my dear father—speak to me of religion—speak to me of morality—speak to me of in- different matters, for I del ive much satisfaction from all you say." Hearing the wind whistling through the trees, he was reminded of the noble lines of Milton ;
"
His praise, ye winds. that from four quarters blow. Breathe suit sir bust; and wave your tops ye pines. With every plant, in sign of worship wave.'
These lines he repeated twice: He had just strength to repeat them the second time, when, exhausted by the effort, he staggered across the room and fell in a state of insensibility into his father's arms: shortly after which he expired. The grief of Burke was appalling. He would now sit in that unnatural calmness of despair, which is yet more terrific than the most stormy displays of passion, and now bursting into a frenzy of grief, would rush frit° the chamber where Isis son lay, and throwing himself on the body., call in accents of the most fearful anguish for "'F he hope of his age, the stay of his life, the only comfort Of his declining and now joyless years." He was prevailed upon after the first day, though with some difficulty, to promise that he would see the corpse no more ; a promise which he kept. The mother was equally distracted ; to Mr. Burke's frequent efforts to get her away front the room, her only reply was, "No, Edmund, while he remains there, I will remain." At length, however, her husband prevailed.
Of the character of BURKE it is not out of place to say a few words. As an eloquent and philosophic political writer, he stands alone. His learned education, coupled with his natural taste, made him completely master of classical literature • his intended profession gave him a sufficient if not a profound' knowledge of English law ; his practice as a periodical writer trained him to readiness and facility of composition; the bent of his mind directed him to general politics ; as the conductor of the Annual Register, he was compelled to regard modern politics, European as well as English; his subsequent introduction to Parliament induced him to study them as a business; nature and necessity had made him industrious. But sotne, or even all of these advantages, have been possessed by men who never attained more than temporary dis- tinction; and very much more was possessed by BURKE. His mental digestion was so enormous, that he could draw nutriment from a mass of materials which few other men could have swal- lowed. His intellect was at once exact, minute, and comprehen- sive; his imagination so rich and so vigorous, as to redeem his phrensies on the French Revolution, and give the force and effect of life even to gross caricature ; lastly, he had that vivifying power commonly called genius, without which every other quality, when applied to an extensive subject, is flat or heavy in its results. It was the combination and extent of his accomplishments and quali- fications, which has given the character of universality to subjects limited or temporary in their nature, making him more for all time than for his own age, and rendering his life in a worldly sense a failure. Considering his vast powers, he accomplished nothing. He was a writer, and nothing more. 'though the best of his productions took the shape of speeches, he was not in spirit an orator. He could neither excite nor persuade an audience • be was always "too deep for his hearers," or too high. As a debater, he wanted the readiness, activity, and "tricks of practice," neces- sary for the contests of the arena. His numerous motions had less relation to principles than to matters of immediate practice; yet few were carried, and those few were in reality abortive. During the greater part of his life, professedly a practical re- former, he remedied nothing but small abuses. What his abilities might have been as a statesman, we have no means of judging: the aristocratical prejudices of the Whigs (and probably the vio- lence and impracticability of his temper) confined him to a sub- ordinate office; and PITT gave him a pension, rather than a place. But these very circumstances, which generated failure, or even rendered him a bore in his own time, have stamped immortality upon his works. The man who wishes to be successful and sought after in his day, must address himself to temporary pas- sions and prejudices; he must narrow general principles to apply them to immediate practice. To borrow an illustration from the terms of logic, he must be singular ; BURKE was universal.
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