The Greymount family having planted themselves in the land, faithful to the policy of the founder, avoided the public gaze during the troubled period that followed the reformation; and even during the more orderly reign11 of Elizabeth, rather sought their increase in alliances than in court favour. But at the commencement of the seventeenth century, their abbey lands infinitely20 advanced in value, and their rental21 swollen22 by the prudent23 accumulation of more than seventy years, a Greymount, who was then a county member, was elevated to the peerage as Baron24 Marney. The heralds25 furnished his pedigree, and assured the world that although the exalted26 rank and extensive possessions enjoyed at present by the Greymounts, had their origin immediately in great territorial27 revolutions of a recent reign, it was not for a moment to be supposed, that the remote ancestors of the Ecclesiastical Commissioner of 1530 were by any means obscure. On the contrary, it appeared that they were both Norman and baronial, their real name Egremont, which, in their patent of peerage the family now resumed.
In the civil wars, the Egremonts pricked28 by their Norman blood, were cavaliers and fought pretty well. But in 1688, alarmed at the prevalent impression that King James intended to insist on the restitution29 of the church estates to their original purposes, to wit, the education of the people and the maintenance of the poor, the Lord of Marney Abbey became a warm adherent30 of “civil and religious liberty,”—the cause for which Hampden had died in the field, and Russell on the scaffold,—and joined the other whig lords, and great lay impropriators, in calling over the Prince of Orange and a Dutch army, to vindicate31 those popular principles which, somehow or other, the people would never support. Profiting by this last pregnant circumstance, the lay Abbot of Marney also in this instance like the other whig lords, was careful to maintain, while he vindicated32 the cause of civil and religious liberty, a very loyal and dutiful though secret correspondence with the court of St Germains.
The great deliverer King William the Third, to whom Lord Marney was a systematic33 traitor34, made the descendant of the Ecclesiastical Commissioner of Henry the Eighth an English earl; and from that time until the period of our history, though the Marney family had never produced one individual eminent35 for civil or military abilities, though the country was not indebted to them for a single statesman, orator36, successful warrior37, great lawyer, learned divine, eminent author, illustrious man of science, they had contrived, if not to engross38 any great share of public admiration39 and love, at least to monopolise no contemptible40 portion of public money and public dignities. During the seventy years of almost unbroken whig rule, from the accession of the House of Hanover to the fall of Mr Fox, Marney Abbey had furnished a never-failing crop of lord privy41 seals, lord presidents, and lord lieutenants42. The family had had their due quota43 of garters and governments and bishoprics; admirals without fleets, and generals who fought only in America. They had glittered in great embassies with clever secretaries at their elbow, and had once governed Ireland when to govern Ireland was only to apportion45 the public plunder46 to a corrupt47 senate.
Notwithstanding however this prolonged enjoyment48 of undeserved prosperity, the lay abbots of Marney were not content. Not that it was satiety49 that induced dissatisfaction. The Egremonts could feed on. They wanted something more. Not to be prime ministers or secretaries of state, for they were a shrewd race who knew the length of their tether, and notwithstanding the encouraging example of his grace of Newcastle, they could not resist the persuasion50 that some knowledge of the interests and resources of nations, some power of expressing opinions with propriety51, some degree of respect for the public and for himself, were not altogether indispensable qualifications, even under a Venetian constitution, in an individual who aspired53 to a post so eminent and responsible. Satisfied with the stars and mitres and official seals, which were periodically apportioned54 to them, the Marney family did not aspire52 to the somewhat graceless office of being their distributor. What they aimed at was promotion55 in their order; and promotion to the highest class. They observed that more than one of the other great “civil and religious liberty” families,—the families who in one century plundered56 the church to gain the property of the people, and in another century changed the dynasty to gain the power of the crown,—had their brows circled with the strawberry leaf. And why should not this distinction be the high lot also of the descendants of the old gentleman usher57 of one of King Henry’s plundering58 vicar-generals? Why not? True it is, that a grateful sovereign in our days has deemed such distinction the only reward for half a hundred victories. True it is, that Nelson, after conquering the Mediterranean59, died only a Viscount! But the house of Marney had risen to high rank; counted themselves ancient nobility; and turned up their noses at the Pratts and the Smiths, the Jenkinsons and the Robinsons of our degenerate60 days; and never had done anything for the nation or for their honours. And why should they now? It was unreasonable61 to expect it. Civil and religious liberty, that had given them a broad estate and a glittering coronet, to say nothing of half-a-dozen close seats in parliament, ought clearly to make them dukes.
But the other great whig families who had obtained this honour, and who had done something more for it than spoliate their church and betray their king, set up their backs against this claim of the Egremonts. The Egremonts had done none of the work of the last hundred years of political mystification, during which a people without power or education, had been induced to believe themselves the freest and most enlightened nation in the world, and had submitted to lavish62 their blood and treasure, to see their industry crippled and their labour mortgaged, in order to maintain an oligarchy63, that had neither ancient memories to soften64 nor present services to justify65 their unprecedented66 usurpation67.
How had the Egremonts contributed to this prodigious68 result? Their family had furnished none of those artful orators69 whose bewildering phrase had fascinated the public intelligence; none of those toilsome patricians71 whose assiduity in affairs had convinced their unprivileged fellow-subjects that government was a science, and administration an art, which demanded the devotion of a peculiar72 class in the state for their fulfilment and pursuit. The Egremonts had never said anything that was remembered, or done anything that could be recalled. It was decided73 by the Great Revolution families, that they should not be dukes. Infinite was the indignation of the lay Abbot of Marney. He counted his boroughs74, consulted his cousins, and muttered revenge. The opportunity soon offered for the gratification of his passion.
The situation of the Venetian party in the wane75 of the eighteenth century had become extremely critical. A young king was making often fruitless, but always energetic, struggles to emancipate76 his national royalty77 from the trammels of the factious78 dogeship. More than sixty years of a government of singular corruption79 had alienated80 all hearts from the oligarchy; never indeed much affected81 by the great body of the people. It could no longer be concealed82, that by virtue83 of a plausible84 phrase power had been transferred from the crown to a parliament, the members of which were appointed by an extremely limited and exclusive class, who owned no responsibility to the country, who debated and voted in secret, and who were regularly paid by the small knot of great families that by this machinery85 had secured the permanent possession of the king’s treasury86. Whiggism was putrescent in the nostrils87 of the nation; we were probably on the eve of a bloodless yet important revolution; when Rockingham, a virtuous88 magnifico, alarmed and disgusted, resolved to revive something of the pristine89 purity and high-toned energy of the old whig connection; appealed to his “new generation” from a degenerate age, arrayed under his banner the generous youth of the whig families, and was fortunate to enlist90 in the service the supreme91 genius of Edmund Burke.
Burke effected for the whigs what Bolingbroke in a preceding age had done for the tories: he restored the moral existence of the party. He taught them to recur92 to the ancient principles of their connection, and suffused93 those principles with all the delusive94 splendour of his imagination. He raised the tone of their public discourse95; he breathed a high spirit into their public acts. It was in his power to do more for the whigs than St John could do for his party. The oligarchy, who had found it convenient to attaint Bolingbroke for being the avowed96 minister of the English Prince with whom they were always in secret communication, when opinion forced them to consent to his restitution, had tacked97 to the amnesty a clause as cowardly as it was unconstitutional, and declared his incompetence98 to sit in the parliament of his country. Burke on the contrary fought the whig fight with a two-edged weapon: he was a great writer; as an orator he was transcendent. In a dearth99 of that public talent for the possession of which the whigs have generally been distinguished100, Burke came forward and established them alike in the parliament and the country. And what was his reward? No sooner had a young and dissolute noble, who with some of the aspirations101 of a Caesar oftener realised the conduct of a Catiline, appeared on the stage, and after some inglorious tergiversation adopted their colours, than they transferred to him the command which had been won by wisdom and genius, vindicated by unrivalled knowledge, and adorned102 by accomplished103 eloquence104. When the hour arrived for the triumph which he had prepared, he was not even admitted into the Cabinet, virtually presided over by his graceless pupil, and who, in the profuse105 suggestions of his teeming106 converse107, had found the principles and the information which were among the chief claims to public confidence of Mr Fox.
Hard necessity made Mr Burke submit to the yoke108, but the humiliation109 could never be forgotten. Nemesis110 favours genius: the inevitable111 hour at length arrived. A voice like the Apocalypse sounded over England and even echoed in all the courts of Europe. Burke poured forth112 the vials of his hoarded113 vengeance114 into the agitated115 heart of Christendom; he stimulated116 the panic of a world by the wild pictures of his inspired imagination; he dashed to the ground the rival who had robbed him of his hard-earned greatness; rended in twain the proud oligarchy that had dared to use and to insult him; and followed with servility by the haughtiest117 and the most timid of its members, amid the frantic118 exultation119 of his country, he placed his heel upon the neck of the ancient serpent.
Among the whig followers120 of Mr Burke in this memorable defection, among the Devonshires and the Portlands, the Spencers and the Fitzwilliams, was the Earl of Marney, whom the whigs would not make a duke.
What was his chance of success from Mr Pitt?
If the history of England be ever written by one who has the knowledge and the courage, and both qualities are equally requisite122 for the undertaking123, the world would be more astonished than when reading the Roman annals by Niebuhr. Generally speaking, all the great events have been distorted, most of the important causes concealed, some of the principal characters never appear, and all who figure are so misunderstood and misrepresented, that the result is a complete mystification, and the perusal124 of the narrative125 about as profitable to an Englishman as reading the Republic of Plato or the Utopia of More, the pages of Gaudentio di Lucca or the adventures of Peter Wilkins.
The influence of races in our early ages, of the church in our middle, and of parties in our modern history, are three great moving and modifying powers, that must be pursued and analyzed126 with an untiring, profound, and unimpassioned spirit, before a guiding ray can be secured. A remarkable127 feature of our written history is the absence in its pages of some of the most influential128 personages. Not one man in a thousand for instance has ever heard of Major Wildman: yet he was the soul of English politics in the most eventful period of this kingdom, and one most interesting to this age, from 1640 to 1688; and seemed more than once to hold the balance which was to decide the permanent form of our government. But he was the leader of an unsuccessful party. Even, comparatively speaking, in our own times, the same mysterious oblivion is sometimes encouraged to creep over personages of great social distinction as well as political importance.
The name of the second Pitt remains129, fresh after forty years of great events, a parliamentary beacon130. He was the Chatterton of politics; the “marvellous boy.” Some have a vague impression that he was mysteriously moulded by his great father: that he inherited the genius, the eloquence, the state craft of Chatham. His genius was of a different bent131, his eloquence of a different class, his state craft of a different school. To understand Mr Pitt, one must understand one of the suppressed characters of English history, and that is Lord Shelburne.
When the fine genius of the injured Bolingbroke, the only peer of his century who was educated, and proscribed132 by the oligarchy because they were afraid of his eloquence, “the glory of his order and the shame,” shut out from Parliament, found vent8 in those writings which recalled to the English people the inherent blessings133 of their old free monarchy134, and painted in immortal136 hues137 his picture of a patriot138 king, the spirit that he raised at length touched the heart of Carteret, born a whig, yet sceptical of the advantages of that patrician70 constitution which made the Duke of Newcastle, the most incompetent139 of men, but the chosen leader of the Venetian party, virtually sovereign of England. Lord Carteret had many brilliant qualities: he was undaunted, enterprising, eloquent141; had considerable knowledge of continental142 politics, was a great linguist143, a master of public law; and though he failed in his premature144 effort to terminate the dogeship of George the Second, he succeeded in maintaining a considerable though secondary position in public life. The young Shelburne married his daughter. Of him it is singular we know less than of his father-in-law, yet from the scattered145 traits some idea may be formed of the ablest and most accomplished minister of the eighteenth century. Lord Shelburne, influenced probably by the example and the traditionary precepts146 of his eminent father-in-law, appears early to have held himself aloof147 from the patrician connection, and entered public life as the follower121 of Bute in the first great effort of George the Third to rescue the sovereignty from what Lord Chatham called “the Great Revolution families.” He became in time a member of Lord Chatham’s last administration: one of the strangest and most unsuccessful efforts to aid the grandson of George the Second in his struggle for political emancipation148. Lord Shelburne adopted from the first the Bolingbroke system: a real royalty, in lieu of the chief magistracy; a permanent alliance with France, instead of the whig scheme of viewing in that power the natural enemy of England: and, above all, a plan of commercial freedom, the germ of which may be found in the long-maligned negotiations149 of Utrecht, but which in the instance of Lord Shelburne were soon in time matured by all the economical science of Europe, in which he was a proficient150. Lord Shelburne seems to have been of a reserved and somewhat astute151 disposition152: deep and adroit153, he was however brave and firm. His knowledge was extensive and even profound. He was a great linguist; he pursued both literary and scientific investigations155; his house was frequented by men of letters, especially those distinguished by their political abilities or economical attainments156. He maintained the most extensive private correspondence of any public man of his time. The earliest and most authentic157 information reached him from all courts and quarters of Europe: and it was a common phrase, that the minister of the day sent to him often for the important information which the cabinet could not itself command. Lord Shelburne was the first great minister who comprehended the rising importance of the middle class; and foresaw in its future power a bulwark158 for the throne against “the Great Revolution families.” Of his qualities in council we have no record; there is reason to believe that his administrative159 ability was conspicuous160: his speeches prove that, if not supreme, he was eminent, in the art of parliamentary disputation, while they show on all the questions discussed a richness and variety of information with which the speeches of no statesman of that age except Mr Burke can compare.
Such was the man selected by George the Third as his champion against the Venetian party after the termination of the American war. The prosecution161 of that war they had violently opposed, though it had originated in their own policy. First minister in the House of Lords, Shelburne entrusted162 the lead in the House of Commons to his Chancellor163 of the Exchequer164, the youthful Pitt. The administration was brief, but it was not inglorious. It obtained peace, and for the first time since the Revolution introduced into modern debate the legitimate165 principles on which commerce should be conducted. It fell before the famous Coalition166 with which “the Great Revolution families” commenced their fiercest and their last contention167 for the patrician government of royal England.
In the heat of that great strife168, the king in the second hazardous169 exercise of his prerogative170 entrusted the perilous171 command to Pitt. Why Lord Shelburne on that occasion was set aside, will perhaps always remain a mysterious passage of our political history, nor have we space on the present occasion to attempt to penetrate172 its motives173. Perhaps the monarch135, with a sense of the rising sympathies of his people, was prescient of the magic power of youth in touching174 the heart of a nation. Yet it would not be an unprofitable speculation175 if for a moment we paused to consider what might have been the consequences to our country if Mr Pitt had been content for a season again to lead the Commons under Lord Shelburne, and have secured for England the unrivalled knowledge and dexterity of that statesman in the conduct of our affairs during the confounding fortunes of the French revolution. Lord Shelburne was the only English minister competent to the task; he was the only public man who had the previous knowledge requisite to form accurate conclusions on such a conjuncture: his remaining speeches on the subject attest176 the amplitude177 of his knowledge and the accuracy of his views: and in the rout178 of Jena, or the agony of Austerlitz, one cannot refrain from picturing the shade of Shelburne haunting the cabinet of Pitt, as the ghost of Canning is said occasionally to linger about the speaker’s chair, and smile sarcastically179 on the conscientious180 mediocrities who pilfered181 his hard-earned honours.
But during the happier years of Mr Pitt, the influence of the mind of Shelburne may be traced throughout his policy. It was Lansdowne House that made Pitt acquainted with Dr Price, a dissenting182 minister, whom Lord Shelburne when at the head of affairs courageously183 offered to make his private secretary, and who furnished Mr Pitt, among many other important suggestions, with his original plan of the sinking fund. The commercial treaties of ‘87 were struck in the same mint, and are notable as the first effort made by the English government to emancipate the country from the restrictive policy which had been introduced by the “glorious revolution;” memorable epoch184, that presented England at the same time with a corn law and a public debt. But on no subject was the magnetic influence of the descendant of Sir William Petty more decided, than in the resolution of his pupil to curb185 the power of the patrician party by an infusion186 from the middle classes into the government of the country. Hence the origin of Mr Pitt’s famous and long-misconceived plans of parliamentary reform. Was he sincere, is often asked by those who neither seek to discover the causes nor are capable of calculating the effects of public transactions. Sincere! Why, he was struggling for his existence! And when baffled, first by the Venetian party, and afterwards by the panic of Jacobinism, he was forced to forego his direct purpose, he still endeavoured partially188 to effect it by a circuitous189 process. He created a plebeian190 aristocracy and blended it with the patrician oligarchy. He made peers of second-rate squires191 and fat graziers. He caught them in the alleys192 of Lombard Street, and clutched them from the counting-houses of Cornhill. When Mr Pitt in an age of bank restriction193 declared that every man with an estate of ten thousand a-year had a right to be a peer, he sounded the knell194 of “the cause for which Hampden had died on the field, and Sydney on the scaffold.”
In ordinary times the pupil of Shelburne would have raised this country to a state of great material prosperity, and removed or avoided many of those anomalies which now perplex us; but he was not destined195 for ordinary times; and though his capacity was vast and his spirit lofty, he had not that passionate196 and creative genius required by an age of revolution. The French outbreak was his evil daemon: he had not the means of calculating its effects upon Europe. He had but a meagre knowledge himself of continental politics: he was assisted by a very inefficient197 diplomacy198. His mind was lost in a convulsion of which he neither could comprehend the causes nor calculate the consequences; and forced to act, he acted not only violently, but in exact opposition199 to the very system he was called into political existence to combat; he appealed to the fears, the prejudices, and the passions of a privileged class, revived the old policy of the oligarchy he had extinguished, and plunged200 into all the ruinous excesses of French war and Dutch finance.
If it be a salutary principle in the investigation154 of historical transactions to be careful in discriminating201 the cause from the pretext202, there is scarcely any instance in which the application of this principle is more fertile in results, than in that of the Dutch invasion of 1688. The real cause of this invasion was financial. The Prince of Orange had found that the resources of Holland, however considerable, were inadequate203 to sustain him in his internecine204 rivalry205 with the great sovereign of France. In an authentic conversation which has descended206 to us, held by William at the Hague with one of the prime abettors of the invasion, the prince did not disguise his motives; he said, “nothing but such a constitution as you have in England can have the credit that is necessary to raise such sums as a great war requires.” The prince came, and used our constitution for his purpose: he introduced into England the system of Dutch finance. The principle of that system was to mortgage industry in order to protect property: abstractedly, nothing can be conceived more unjust; its practice in England has been equally injurious. In Holland, with a small population engaged in the same pursuits, in fact a nation of bankers, the system was adapted to the circumstances which had created it. All shared in the present spoil, and therefore could endure the future burthen. And so to this day Holland is sustained, almost solely207 sustained, by the vast capital thus created which still lingers amongst its dykes208. But applied209 to a country in which the circumstances were entirely210 different; to a considerable and rapidly-increasing population; where there was a numerous peasantry, a trading middle class struggling into existence; the system of Dutch finance, pursued more or less for nearly a century and a half, has ended in the degradation211 of a fettered212 and burthened multitude. Nor have the demoralizing consequences of the funding system on the more favoured classes been less decided. It has made debt a national habit; it has made credit the ruling power, not the exceptional auxiliary213, of all transactions; it has introduced a loose, inexact, haphazard214, and dishonest spirit in the conduct of both public and private life; a spirit dazzling and yet dastardly: reckless of consequences and yet shrinking from responsibility. And in the end, it has so overstimulated the energies of the population to maintain the material engagements of the state, and of society at large, that the moral condition of the people has been entirely lost sight of.
A mortgaged aristocracy, a gambling215 foreign commerce, a home trade founded on a morbid216 competition, and a degraded people; these are great evils, but ought perhaps cheerfully to be encountered for the greater blessings of civil and religious liberty. Yet the first would seem in some degree to depend upon our Saxon mode of trial by our peers, upon the stipulations of the great Norman charters, upon the practice and the statute217 of Habeas Corpus,—a principle native to our common law, but established by the Stuarts; nor in a careful perusal of the Bill of Rights, or in an impartial218 scrutiny219 of the subsequent legislation of those times, though some diminution220 of our political franchises221 must be confessed, is it easy to discover any increase of our civil privileges. To those indeed who believe that the English nation,—at all times a religious and Catholic people, but who even in the days of the Plantagenets were anti-papal,—were in any danger of again falling under the yoke of the Pope of Rome in the reign of James the Second, religious liberty was perhaps acceptable, though it took the shape of a discipline which at once anathematized a great portion of the nation, and virtually establishing Puritanism in Ireland, laid the foundation of those mischiefs222 which are now endangering the empire.
That the last of the Stuarts had any other object in his impolitic manoeuvres, than an impracticable scheme to blend the two churches, there is now authority to disbelieve. He certainly was guilty of the offence of sending an envoy223 openly to Rome, who, by the bye, was received by the Pope with great discourtesy; and her Majesty224 Queen Victoria, whose Protestantism cannot be doubted, for it is one of her chief titles to our homage225, has at this time a secret envoy at the same court: and that is the difference between them: both ministers doubtless working however fruitlessly for the same object: the termination of those terrible misconceptions, political and religious, that have occasioned so many martyrdoms, and so many crimes alike to sovereigns and to subjects.
If James the Second had really attempted to re-establish Popery in this country, the English people, who had no hand in his overthrow226, would doubtless soon have stirred and secured their “Catholic and Apostolic church,” independent of any foreign dictation; the church to which they still regularly profess227 their adherence228; and being a practical people, it is possible that they might have achieved their object and yet retained their native princes; under which circumstances we might have been saved from the triple blessings of Venetian politics, Dutch finance, and French wars: against which, in their happiest days, and with their happiest powers, struggled the three greatest of English statesmen,—Bolingbroke, Shelburne, and lastly the son of Chatham.
We have endeavoured in another work, not we hope without something of the impartiality229 of the future, to sketch230 the character and career of his successors. From his death to 1825, the political history of England is a history of great events and little men. The rise of Mr Canning, long kept down by the plebeian aristocracy of Mr Pitt as an adventurer, had shaken parties to their centre. His rapid disappearance231 from the scene left both whigs and tories in a state of disorganization. The distinctive232 principles of these connexions were now difficult to trace. That period of public languor233 which intervenes between the breaking up of parties and the formation of factions234 now transpired235 in England. An exhausted236 sensualist on the throne, who only demanded from his ministers repose237, a voluptuous238 aristocracy, and a listless people, were content, in the absence of all public conviction and national passion, to consign239 the government of the country to a great man, whose decision relieved the sovereign, whose prejudices pleased the nobles, and whose achievements dazzled the multitude.
The DUKE OF WELLINGTON brought to the post of first minister immortal fame; a quality of success which would almost seem to include all others. His public knowledge was such as might be expected from one whose conduct already formed an important portion of the history of his country. He had a personal and intimate acquaintance with the sovereigns and chief statesmen of Europe, a kind of information in which English ministers have generally been deficient240, but without which the management of our external affairs must at the best be haphazard. He possessed241 administrative talents of the highest order.
The tone of the age, the temper of the country, the great qualities and the high character of the minister, indicated a long and prosperous administration. The only individual in his cabinet who, from a combination of circumstances rather than from any intellectual supremacy242 over his colleagues, was competent to be his rival, was content to be his successor. In his most aspiring moments, Mr Peel in all probability aimed at no higher reach; and with youth and the leadership of the House of Commons, one has no reason to be surprised at his moderation. The conviction that the duke’s government would only cease with the termination of his public career was so general, that the moment he was installed in office, the whigs smiled on him; political conciliation243 became the slang of the day, and the fusion187 of parties the babble244 of clubs and the tattle of boudoirs.
How comes it then that so great a man, in so great a position, should have so signally failed? Should have broken up his government, wrecked245 his party, and so completely annihilated246 his political position, that, even with his historical reputation to sustain him, he can since only re-appear in the councils of his sovereign in a subordinate, not to say equivocal, character?
With all those great qualities which will secure him a place in our history not perhaps inferior even to Marlborough, the Duke of Wellington has one deficiency which has been the stumbling-block of his civil career. Bishop44 Burnet, in speculating on the extraordinary influence of Lord Shaftesbury, and accounting247 how a statesman, so inconsistent in his conduct and so false to his confederates, should have so powerfully controlled his country, observes, “HIS STRENGTH LAY IN HIS KNOWLEDGE OF ENGLAND.”
Now that is exactly the kind of knowledge which the Duke of Wellington never possessed.
When the king, finding that in Lord Goderich he had a minister who, instead of deciding, asked his royal master for advice, sent for the Duke of Wellington to undertake the government, a change in the carriage of his grace was perceived by some who had the opportunity to form an opinion on such a subject. If one might venture to use such a word in reference to such a man, we might remark, that the duke had been somewhat daunted140 by the selection of Mr Canning. It disappointed great hopes, it baffled great plans, and dispelled248 for a season the conviction that, it is believed, had been long maturing in his grace’s mind; that he was the man of the age, that his military career had been only a preparation for a civil course not less illustrious; and that it was reserved for him to control for the rest of his life undisputed the destinies of a country, which was indebted to him in no slight degree for its European pre-eminence. The death of Mr Canning revived, the rout of Lord Goderich restored, these views.
Napoleon, at St Helena, speculating in conversation on the future career of his conqueror249, asked, “What will Wellington do? After all he has done, he will not be content to be quiet. He will change the dynasty.”
Had the great exile been better acquainted with the real character of our Venetian constitution, he would have known that to govern England in 1820, it was not necessary to change its dynasty. But the Emperor, though wrong in the main, was right by the bye. It was clear that the energies that had twice entered Paris as a conqueror, and had made kings and mediatised princes at Vienna, would not be content to subside250 into ermined insignificance251. The duke commenced his political tactics early. The cabinet of Lord Liverpool, especially during its latter term, was the hot-bed of many intrigues252; but the obstacles were numerous, though the appointing fate, in which his grace believed, removed them. The disappearance of Lord Castlereagh and Mr Canning from the scene was alike unexpected. The Duke of Wellington was at length prime minister, and no individual ever occupied that post more conscious of its power, and more determined253 to exercise it.
This is not the occasion on which we shall attempt to do justice to a theme so instructive as the administration of his grace. Treated with impartiality and sufficient information, it would be an invaluable254 contribution to the stores of our political knowledge and national experience. Throughout its brief but eccentric and tumultuous annals we see continual proof, how important is that knowledge “in which lay Lord Shaftesbury’s strength.” In twenty-four months we find an aristocracy estranged255, without a people being conciliated; while on two several occasions, first, the prejudices, and then the pretensions256 of the middle class, were alike treated with contumely. The public was astonished at hearing of statesmen of long parliamentary fame, men round whom the intelligence of the nation had gathered for years with confidence, or at least with interest, being expelled from the cabinet in a manner not unworthy of Colonel Joyce, while their places were filled by second-rate soldiers, whose very names were unknown to the great body of the people, and who under no circumstances should have aspired beyond the government of a colony. This administration which commenced in arrogance257 ended in panic. There was an interval258 of perplexity; when occurred the most ludicrous instance extant of an attempt at coalition; subordinates were promoted, while negotiations were still pending259 with their chiefs; and these negotiations, undertaken so crudely, were terminated in pique260; in a manner which added to political disappointment personal offence. When even his parasites261 began to look gloomy, the duke had a specific that was to restore all, and having allowed every element of power to escape his grasp, he believed he could balance everything by a beer bill. The growl262 of reform was heard but it was not very fierce. There was yet time to save himself. His grace precipitated263 a revolution which might have been delayed for half a century, and never need have occurred in so aggravated264 a form. He rather fled than retired265. He commenced his ministry266 like Brennus, and finished it like the tall Gaul sent to murder the rival of Sylla, but who dropped his weapon before the undaunted gaze of his intended victim.
Lord Marney was spared the pang267 of the catastrophe268. Promoted to a high office in the household, and still hoping that, by the aid of his party, it was yet destined for him to achieve the hereditary269 purpose of his family, he died in the full faith of dukism; worshipping the duke and believing that ultimately he should himself become a duke. It was under all the circumstances an euthanasia; he expired leaning as it were on his white wand and babbling270 of strawberry leaves.
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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Founder
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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contrived
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commissioner
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| n.（政府厅、局、处等部门）专员，长官，委员 | |
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6
commissioners
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| n.专员( commissioner的名词复数 )；长官；委员；政府部门的长官 | |
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7
divers
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| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
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8
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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9
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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10
dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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11
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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12
dilettante
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| n.半瓶醋，业余爱好者 | |
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13
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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14
chalices
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| n.高脚酒杯( chalice的名词复数 )；圣餐杯；金杯毒酒；看似诱人实则令人讨厌的事物 | |
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15
blazoned
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| v.广布( blazon的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布；夸示；装饰 | |
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16
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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17
aspiring
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| adj.有志气的；有抱负的；高耸的v.渴望；追求 | |
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18
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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19
sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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20
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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21
rental
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| n.租赁，出租，出租业 | |
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22
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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23
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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24
baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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25
heralds
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| n.使者( herald的名词复数 )；预报者；预兆；传令官v.预示( herald的第三人称单数 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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26
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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27
territorial
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| adj.领土的，领地的 | |
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28
pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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29
restitution
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| n.赔偿；恢复原状 | |
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30
adherent
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| n.信徒，追随者，拥护者 | |
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31
vindicate
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| v.为…辩护或辩解，辩明；证明…正确 | |
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32
vindicated
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| v.澄清（某人/某事物）受到的责难或嫌疑( vindicate的过去式和过去分词 )；表明或证明（所争辩的事物）属实、正当、有效等；维护 | |
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33
systematic
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| adj.有系统的，有计划的，有方法的 | |
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34
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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35
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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36
orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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37
warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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38
engross
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| v.使全神贯注 | |
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39
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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40
contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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41
privy
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| adj.私用的；隐密的 | |
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42
lieutenants
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| n.陆军中尉( lieutenant的名词复数 )；副职官员；空军；仅低于…官阶的官员 | |
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43
quota
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| n.（生产、进出口等的）配额，（移民的）限额 | |
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44
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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45
apportion
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| vt.（按比例或计划）分配 | |
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46
plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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47
corrupt
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| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
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48
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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49
satiety
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| n.饱和；(市场的)充分供应 | |
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50
persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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51
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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52
aspire
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| vi.(to，after)渴望，追求，有志于 | |
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53
aspired
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| v.渴望，追求( aspire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54
apportioned
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| vt.分摊，分配（apportion的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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55
promotion
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| n.提升，晋级；促销，宣传 | |
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56
plundered
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| 掠夺，抢劫( plunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
usher
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|
| n.带位员，招待员；vt.引导，护送；vi.做招待，担任引座员 | |
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58
plundering
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| 掠夺，抢劫( plunder的现在分词 ) | |
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59
Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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60
degenerate
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| v.退步，堕落；adj.退步的，堕落的；n.堕落者 | |
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61
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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62
lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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63
oligarchy
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| n.寡头政治 | |
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64
soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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65
justify
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|
| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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66
unprecedented
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| adj.无前例的，新奇的 | |
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67
usurpation
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| n.篡位；霸占 | |
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68
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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69
orators
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| n.演说者，演讲家( orator的名词复数 ) | |
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70
patrician
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|
| adj.贵族的，显贵的；n.贵族；有教养的人；罗马帝国的地方官 | |
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71
patricians
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| n.（古罗马的）统治阶层成员( patrician的名词复数 )；贵族，显贵 | |
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72
peculiar
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|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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73
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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74
boroughs
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| （尤指大伦敦的）行政区( borough的名词复数 )； 议会中有代表的市镇 | |
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75
wane
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| n.衰微，亏缺，变弱；v.变小，亏缺，呈下弦 | |
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76
emancipate
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| v.解放，解除 | |
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77
royalty
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| n.皇家，皇族 | |
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78
factious
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|
| adj.好搞宗派活动的，派系的，好争论的 | |
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79
corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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80
alienated
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|
| adj.感到孤独的，不合群的v.使疏远( alienate的过去式和过去分词 )；使不友好；转让；让渡（财产等） | |
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81
affected
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|
| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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82
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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83
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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84
plausible
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|
| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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85
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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86
treasury
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| n.宝库；国库，金库；文库 | |
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87
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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88
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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89
pristine
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|
| adj.原来的，古时的，原始的，纯净的，无垢的 | |
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90
enlist
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| vt.谋取(支持等)，赢得；征募；vi.入伍 | |
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91
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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92
recur
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| vi.复发，重现，再发生 | |
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93
suffused
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| v.（指颜色、水气等）弥漫于，布满( suffuse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94
delusive
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| adj.欺骗的，妄想的 | |
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95
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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96
avowed
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| adj.公开声明的，承认的v.公开声明，承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
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97
tacked
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| 用平头钉钉( tack的过去式和过去分词 )； 附加，增补； 帆船抢风行驶，用粗线脚缝 | |
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98
incompetence
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| n.不胜任，不称职 | |
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99
dearth
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| n.缺乏，粮食不足，饥谨 | |
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100
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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101
aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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102
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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103
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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104
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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105
profuse
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| adj.很多的，大量的，极其丰富的 | |
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106
teeming
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| adj.丰富的v.充满( teem的现在分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
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107
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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108
yoke
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| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
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109
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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110
nemesis
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| n.给以报应者，复仇者，难以对付的敌手 | |
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111
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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112
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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113
hoarded
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| v.积蓄并储藏（某物）( hoard的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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114
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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115
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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116
stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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117
haughtiest
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| haughty（傲慢的，骄傲的）的最高级形式 | |
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118
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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119
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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120
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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121
follower
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| n.跟随者；随员；门徒；信徒 | |
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122
requisite
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| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
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123
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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124
perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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125
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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126
analyzed
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| v.分析( analyze的过去式和过去分词 )；分解；解释；对…进行心理分析 | |
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127
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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128
influential
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| adj.有影响的，有权势的 | |
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129
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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130
beacon
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| n.烽火，（警告用的）闪火灯，灯塔 | |
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131
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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132
proscribed
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| v.正式宣布（某事物）有危险或被禁止( proscribe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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133
blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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134
monarchy
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| n.君主，最高统治者；君主政体，君主国 | |
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135
monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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136
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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137
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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138
patriot
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| n.爱国者，爱国主义者 | |
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139
incompetent
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| adj.无能力的，不能胜任的 | |
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140
daunted
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| 使（某人）气馁，威吓( daunt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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141
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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142
continental
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| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
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143
linguist
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| n.语言学家；精通数种外国语言者 | |
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144
premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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145
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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146
precepts
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| n.规诫，戒律，箴言( precept的名词复数 ) | |
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147
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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148
emancipation
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| n.（从束缚、支配下）解放 | |
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149
negotiations
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| 协商( negotiation的名词复数 )； 谈判； 完成（难事）； 通过 | |
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150
proficient
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| adj.熟练的，精通的；n.能手，专家 | |
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151
astute
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| adj.机敏的，精明的 | |
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152
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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153
adroit
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| adj.熟练的，灵巧的 | |
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154
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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155
investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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156
attainments
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| 成就，造诣； 获得( attainment的名词复数 )； 达到； 造诣； 成就 | |
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157
authentic
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| a.真的，真正的；可靠的，可信的，有根据的 | |
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158
bulwark
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| n.堡垒，保障，防御 | |
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159
administrative
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| adj.行政的，管理的 | |
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160
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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161
prosecution
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| n.起诉，告发，检举，执行，经营 | |
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162
entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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163
chancellor
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| n.(英)大臣；法官；(德、奥)总理；大学校长 | |
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164
exchequer
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| n.财政部；国库 | |
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165
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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166
coalition
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| n.结合体，同盟，结合，联合 | |
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167
contention
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| n.争论，争辩，论战；论点，主张 | |
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168
strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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169
hazardous
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| adj.(有)危险的，冒险的；碰运气的 | |
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170
prerogative
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| n.特权 | |
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171
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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172
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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173
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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174
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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175
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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176
attest
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| vt.证明，证实；表明 | |
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177
amplitude
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| n.广大；充足；振幅 | |
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178
rout
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| n.溃退，溃败；v.击溃，打垮 | |
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179
sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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180
conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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181
pilfered
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| v.偷窃（小东西），小偷( pilfer的过去式和过去分词 )；偷窃（一般指小偷小摸） | |
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182
dissenting
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| adj.不同意的 | |
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183
courageously
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| ad.勇敢地，无畏地 | |
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184
epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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185
curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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186
infusion
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| n.灌输 | |
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187
fusion
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| n.溶化；熔解；熔化状态，熔和；熔接 | |
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188
partially
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|
| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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189
circuitous
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| adj.迂回的路的，迂曲的，绕行的 | |
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190
plebeian
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|
| adj.粗俗的；平民的；n.平民；庶民 | |
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191
squires
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| n.地主，乡绅( squire的名词复数 ) | |
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192
alleys
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|
| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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193
restriction
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|
| n.限制，约束 | |
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194
knell
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|
| n.丧钟声；v.敲丧钟 | |
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195
destined
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|
| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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196
passionate
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|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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197
inefficient
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|
| adj.效率低的，无效的 | |
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198
diplomacy
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|
| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
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199
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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200
plunged
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|
| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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201
discriminating
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|
| a.有辨别能力的 | |
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202
pretext
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|
| n.借口，托词 | |
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203
inadequate
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|
| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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204
internecine
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|
| adj.两败俱伤的 | |
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205
rivalry
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| n.竞争，竞赛，对抗 | |
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206
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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207
solely
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|
| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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208
dykes
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| abbr.diagonal wire cutters 斜线切割机n.堤( dyke的名词复数 )；坝；堰；沟 | |
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209
applied
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|
| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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210
entirely
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|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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211
degradation
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|
| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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212
fettered
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| v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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213
auxiliary
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|
| adj.辅助的，备用的 | |
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214
haphazard
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|
| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
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215
gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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216
morbid
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|
| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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217
statute
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|
| n.成文法，法令，法规；章程，规则，条例 | |
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218
impartial
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|
| adj.(in,to)公正的，无偏见的 | |
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219
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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220
diminution
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| n.减少；变小 | |
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221
franchises
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|
| n.（尤指选举议员的）选举权( franchise的名词复数 )；参政权；获特许权的商业机构（或服务）；（公司授予的）特许经销权v.给…以特许权，出售特许权( franchise的第三人称单数 ) | |
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222
mischiefs
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|
| 损害( mischief的名词复数 )； 危害； 胡闹； 调皮捣蛋的人 | |
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223
envoy
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| n.使节，使者，代表，公使 | |
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224
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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225
homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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226
overthrow
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| v.推翻，打倒，颠覆；n.推翻，瓦解，颠覆 | |
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227
profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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228
adherence
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| n.信奉，依附，坚持，固着 | |
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229
impartiality
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| n. 公平, 无私, 不偏 | |
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230
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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231
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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232
distinctive
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|
| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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233
languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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234
factions
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| 组织中的小派别，派系( faction的名词复数 ) | |
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235
transpired
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|
| （事实，秘密等）被人知道( transpire的过去式和过去分词 )； 泄露； 显露； 发生 | |
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236
exhausted
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|
| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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237
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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238
voluptuous
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|
| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
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239
consign
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| vt.寄售（货品），托运，交托，委托 | |
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240
deficient
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|
| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
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241
possessed
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|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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242
supremacy
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| n.至上；至高权力 | |
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243
conciliation
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|
| n.调解，调停 | |
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244
babble
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| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
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245
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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246
annihilated
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|
| v.（彻底）消灭( annihilate的过去式和过去分词 )；使无效；废止；彻底击溃 | |
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247
accounting
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|
| n.会计，会计学，借贷对照表 | |
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248
dispelled
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| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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249
conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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250
subside
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|
| vi.平静，平息；下沉，塌陷，沉降 | |
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251
insignificance
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| n.不重要；无价值；无意义 | |
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252
intrigues
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| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
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253
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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254
invaluable
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|
| adj.无价的，非常宝贵的，极为贵重的 | |
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255
estranged
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| adj.疏远的，分离的 | |
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256
pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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257
arrogance
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| n.傲慢，自大 | |
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258
interval
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|
| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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259
pending
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| prep.直到，等待…期间；adj.待定的；迫近的 | |
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260
pique
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| v.伤害…的自尊心，使生气 n.不满，生气 | |
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261
parasites
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| 寄生物( parasite的名词复数 )； 靠他人为生的人； 诸虫 | |
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262
growl
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|
| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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263
precipitated
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|
| v.（突如其来地）使发生( precipitate的过去式和过去分词 )；促成；猛然摔下；使沉淀 | |
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264
aggravated
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| 使恶化( aggravate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使更严重； 激怒； 使恼火 | |
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265
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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266
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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267
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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268
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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269
hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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270
babbling
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| n.胡说，婴儿发出的咿哑声adj.胡说的v.喋喋不休( babble的现在分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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