That Bolingbroke had it in him to have been a great Parliamentarian is certain. He knew ‘the nature of that assembly,’ and that ‘they grow, like hounds, fond of the man who shows them sport, and by whose halloo they are used to be encouraged.’ Like the rascally lawyer in ‘Guy Mannering,’ Mr. Gilbert Glossin, he could do a good piece of work when so minded. But he was seldom so minded, and consequently he failed to come up to the easy standard of his day, and thus brought it about that by his side Sir Robert Walpole appears in the wings and aspect of an angel.
St. John has now nothing to wear but his wit and his style; these still find admirers amongst the judicious.
Mr. Churton Collins, who has written a delightful book about Bolingbroke, and also about Voltaire in England, has a great notion of Bolingbroke’s literary merits, and extols them with ardour. He is not likely to be wrong, but, none the less, it is lawful to surround yourself with the seven stately quartos which contain Bolingbroke’s works and letters, and ask yourself whether Mr. Collins is right.
Of all Lord Bolingbroke’s published writings, none is better than his celebrated Letter to Wyndham, recounting his adventures in France, whither he betook himself hastily after Queen Anne’s death, and where he joined the Pretender. Here he is not philosophizing, but telling a tale, varnished it may be, but sparkling with malice, wit, and humour. Well may Mr. Collins say, ‘Walpole never produced a more amusing sketch than the picture of the Pretender’s Court at Paris and of the Privy Council in the Bois de Boulogne’; but when he proceeds further and adds, ‘Burke never produced anything nobler than the passage which commences with the words “The ocean which environs us is an emblem of our government,”’ I am glad to ejaculate, ‘Indeed he did!’
Here is the passage:
‘The ocean which environs us is an emblem of our government, and the pilot and the Minister are in similar circumstances. It seldom happens that either of them can steer a direct course, and they both arrive at their ports by means which frequently seem to carry them from it. But, as the work advances, the conduct of him who leads it on with real abilities clears up, the appearing inconsistencies are reconciled, and, when it is once consummated, the whole shows itself so uniform, so plain, and so natural, that every dabbler in politics will be apt to think he could have done the same. But, on the other hand, a man who proposes no such object, who substitutes artifice in the place of ability, who, instead of leading parties and governing accidents, is eternally agitated backwards and forwards, who begins every day something new and carries nothing on to perfection, may impose a while on the world, but, a little sooner or later, the mystery will be revealed, and nothing will be found to be couched under it but a thread of pitiful expedients, the ultimate end of which never extended farther than living from day to day.’
A fine passage, most undoubtedly, and an excellent homily for Ministers. No one but a dabbler in literature will be apt to think he could have done the same—but noble with the nobility of Burke? A noble passage ought to do more for a reader than compel his admiration or win his assent; it should leave him a little better than it found him, with a warmer heart and a more elevated mind.
Mr. Collins also refers with delight to a dissertation on Eloquence, to be found in the ‘Letter on the Spirit of Patriotism,’ and again expresses a doubt whether it would be possible to select anything finer from the pages of Burke.
The passage is too long to be quoted; it begins thus: