Complete Works of Edmund Burke

by Edmund Burke

  The Practice of Virtue and Religion is indispensible at all Times; but never more than at this, when we commemorate the Time our Creator became our Redeemer, and for our sake manifested in the highest manner the highest Attributes of his Divinity, his Love and his Power, the one in dying for us, and the other in conquering Death, by giving that glorious Proof of our Immortality, and being himself the first Fruits of the Resurrection. —

  THE REFORMER No. 12

  THURSDAY the 14th of April, 1748.

  Scribendi recte sapere est & principium & fons. Hor.

  THERE is nothing, on which Men form so various Judgments, and so few just, as on good Writing; but they seem in some measure to have agreed on a kind of Standard, which they call Spirit. The highest and only Praise they give a Work which they like is, “that it is written with Spirit.” As I am naturally curious, I could not be satisfied without understanding a Point of Criticism so much insisted on; for which Reason, I took some pains in perusing most of the Pieces serious, and comical, which are said to be in that Taste, and was surprized to find, that the Essence of one consisted in a flighty bombast Stile, without Connection or Order, and the others were full of that low kind of City Pertness, so conspicuous in waggish Apprentices, join’d to some Market Phrases, and some Parody. When this kind of Writing first came in Vogue I don’t know, for I can trace it no higher in one Line than to the famous Lilburn, and in the other it ends with Mr Tom Brown of facetious memory.

  Since this came to be established as the test of Good Writing, it is humourous to observe how our Writers strive for it; occupet extremum scabies; all fall to in a Hurry, throw aside Reflection, and put down every Whimsy that occurs without the least Notion of Order or Decency, for fear the Spirit should evaporate: and he who most completely throws off the Appearance of Reason has the greatest Applause, as in drunken Company, he is the Hero of the Night, who commits the greatest Extravagances. The grave Writer (serious I can’t call him) be his Subject never so trivial, wonders that the Walls don’t cry out, that the Stones of the Street do not rise up on so great an Occasion. He tramples on Kings, and Jupiter is his Playfellow. The humourous is as low as the other is high; you see him in a Ring of droll Porters or dancing Beggars. They are on the Extremities of Nature.

  This kind of Spirit so much commended in Prose Writing is not even an indifferent Matter, ’tis a real Fault and a great one. Poetry and Prose have quite distinct Provinces, which to reverse were the most absurd thing in the World; for the Fire which is but reasonable in one, is downright Fury and Madness in the other, and you may observe whenever it becomes the Practice of the Age to write their prose-like verse, their Verse sinks to Prose, or something lower, as when one Side on the Scale rises and kicks the Beam, the other falls to the Ground of Necessity, and in effect we seldom hear a Poem praised for any thing but Smoothness of Verse, nor a Prose Composition but for its Spirit. This Taste for turgid Writing is what Petronius so much complains of, which he says passing from Asia, corrupted Greece, and so poison’d the Source of the Roman Eloquence; nor would it be unreasonable to say, that to this Way of thinking we owe much of the present ill Taste; besides it will have two bad Consequences, in diverting the Attention of People from the more solid Parts of Learning, and in increasing the Number of Authors, for every one who finds he can raise an ill-bred Laugh in his Club, will think he has Qualifications sufficient to write with Spirit, and perhaps he is not mistaken, for nothing is more easy, ’tis but to put down his first Thoughts with some degree of Fury, and intersperse them with whatever Ends of Verse he has learn’d at the Play-house, and he may succeed, and even say some smart Things, for ’tis a Happiness which Madness often hits on.

  But this Ignis Fatuus, is not more removed from good Sense and Nature, than it is from the true Spirit, which has always good Sense for its Basis; it never is unseasonably inflated for they are the half kindled smothered Fires that flash and glare, the true Fire is a constant gentle and equable Heat.

  The true Spirit knows nothing of the compound Epithets, harsh Metaphors, unnatural Exclamations, and eternal Parody so much used by the other. The false Spirit is like an undisciplined Army, its first Attack is furious, in which if it fails it is of no further Use; but the true like a well trained one, wins by Constancy, Regularity, and continued Heat.

  In short, Grandeur has no greater Enemy than Bombast, nor Wit and Humour than Pertness; as a Rascal cannot affront a Gentleman more than to wear his Cloaths, and endeavour to pass for him. Good Sense alone stamps a value on Writing, as ’tis the Solidity which discovers Gold from Tinsel, and he pays an ill Compliment to his Judgment who says a Work is sensible but bad for want of Spirit or other Ingredients, for this alone is sufficient to make it good; but it is observable, that wherever it is it never wants all the necessary Attendants, and it is want of Taste only that hinders their being perceiv’d, and Folly that makes that Main Point disregarded, which is not only the Test, but as Horace says, the very Fountain of good Writing.

  We cannot end this Paper without taking notice a set of damning Criticks which infest the City; formerly those of that kind were Men, who having their Heads filled with learned Lumber, and Hearts sour’d with ill Success, turn’d that Learning, which could not advance themselves, to pull down others; but now you meet these pretended Aristarchi behind every Counter; they will soon commit a Solecism in Nature, and grow more numerous than their Prey, the Writers, unless prevented. For which Reason we exclude by Virtue of our Reforming Authority, from the Right of Criticism, I. All who cannot read; that will cut off a large Branch of them: 2. All those who do not read; that will be larger: 3. Those whose reading is the Magazine, whose Judgment the word Spirit, and whose Admiration a Player; that will be still larger: 4. Those who condemn, for je ne sais quoy, Faults, which as they do not understand, they cannot explain; and all who cannot tell when ask’d in what the Goodness of a Prose consists; this will, I believe, take off most of them, and leave a clear Stage for good Writers and true Critics.

  THE REFORMER No. 13

  THURSDAY the 21st of April, 1748.

  Dulce est desipere in loco.

  Hor.

  TO a generous Mind nothing is so agreeable, as to commend the Works of others, and to be a Means of ushering into the World such happy Productions, as thro’ their prevailing Merit must in Process of Time be esteemed by every Body: It is very certain, the best Pieces, (some very few excepted) at their first Appearance, have met but with ordinary Reception; the Taste requisite to take in all the Scope, and various Beauties of a regular Performance being only in the Minds of a few, its Reputation cannot be establish’d, until the Taste of these few gain such an Influence, as to be embrac’d by all, nor do I believe this to be any purpos’d Malice in the Minds of the Many, but an Inability to discern, which ought rather to be pitied than blam’d. Mr. Waller’s Expressions on such an Occasion are very fine,

  For as the Nightingale, without the Throng

  Of other Birds, alone attends her Song:

  While the loud Daw, his throat displaying, draws

  The whole Assembly of his Fellow Daws:

  So must the Writer, whose productions should

  Take with the Vulgar, be of vulgar Mold:

  Whilst nobler Fancies take a Flight too high

  For common View, and lessen as they fly.

  I was led into these Thoughts by the Perusal of a Work, advertis’d in our last Paper, call’d the Foolish Miscellany, which was sent to us for our Opinion: I must confess, at first sight the Title shock’d me, for I could not conceive of what Use it could be to the World, to present them with a Collection of stupid Performances, which at best could make the Judicious laugh without any Moral to instruct, without which no Book should be publish’d; but I was soon convinc’d of my mistake, when, dipping into it, I found this foolish Tract to be a most artful, and well contrived Piece, and perhaps as poignant a Satyr upon the Scriblers of these Times, as ever was written; for he hath not only interspers’d the several Pieces of Dullne
ss he makes use of, with the most witty and humourous remarks, but hath added, to crown the whole, an entire and regular Comedy, call’d the Poetical Lady or Assembly of Authors; in which are shewn, in the most lively manner, the Aims, Passions, Interests, moral and poetical Capacity of each Writer: In short as the Duke of Buckingham says, (if I remember)

  He does not only shew the Things they do,

  But also gives their Reasons for them too.

  As it is expected this Book will be soon publish’d, I shall omit saying any thing further of it until it comes out, at which time the Judicious in such works, will see how moderate I have been, in speaking well of a Performance, to which, to deny the Praise it deserves, were the greatest Ignorance or Ill-nature.

  The following Letter the Author sent me with his Book.

  MR. REFORMER.

  I Request your Perusal of the following Sheets, and your Opinion of them, to be deliver’d in your next Paper; I am but a young Author, yet do not think so meanly of my Ability, as to suppose my Works beneath Notice; nor yet am I so vain as to think them above Correction; use then that Candour, and Impartiality in judging, as you would to one, whose Vanity you regarded less than his Reputation, and believe me to be, whatever your Opinion is,

  Your Friend and Admirer,

  H. S.

  Since our Last, we have received the following Letter:

  Sir,

  SEVERAL of our late Authors have been at great Pains to make their Readers learned, without any, by Dictionaries, Compendiums, &c and it must be owned, to their Honour, they have been very successful in propagating that Species of Literati called Smatterers-, but I must beg Pardon for thinking the Scheme imperfect, as long as there is nothing in that Way attempted for the Authors. ’Tis certainly hard, that none but Persons of Genius, and Learning should write; and as hard, that when they do, they should make the awkard Figure their Nakedness obliges them to. Now I think by long Study and Observation, I have reduced the Method of Writing to a few general Heads, plain enough for the Comprehension of a Blockhead, and short enough for the Memory of a Wit: These, with some Observations on them, make up a small Book, which I intend shortly to publish by Subscription, and would fain, by your Means, give the Publick some Notion of my Design.

  The whole turns on the proper Use of Capitals, Italicks, Blanks and Dashes; by which I mean to supply the Place of Learning, Wit, Reflection, and other Excellencies of Writing. Learning is best shewn by the Use of Capitals, and is effected by chusing out the names of celebrated Authors, and putting them in large Letters, so that they may strike the Eye; it would not be amiss to group them handsomely, as thus, HORACE, VIRGIL, POLITIAN, and VALERIUS FLACCUS, or you may have some words between each Author — they have their Beauties either Way. And if you would strengthen any Notion of your own, you may say, HOMER, AULUS GELLIUS and Sir ISAAC NEWTON were of such or such an Opinion; this proves at once the Greatness and Variety of a Man’s Reading. Wit is best expressed by Italicks; a Joke is often lost for Want of them, and many a one taken where really there was none. As Wit is very commendable, no Sentence should be without Italicks; but there is a Secret in the judicious Use of them, which none but Adepts are let into. The great use of Blanks is pretty obvious. It is an excellency in a Writer not to say all that may be said, but leave something for the Reader’s Discovery; Blanks perform this to Admiration, so that they can scarcely be used too often; besides that they give the Work an Air of Treason or Scandal, which move two Passions very laudable. The Dashes are a more modern Invention than any of the former, yet not less excellent they supply the Place of Reflection, and give a Sententious Air to a Discourse; — they are of wonderful Use, as they bring Improvement to the Reader, — Profit to the Author and Printer, and Ease to all three: — To them the Female Spectator, Parrot, and other beautiful Compositions of that Nature, owe their Success; but I know not where Blanks have made a more shining Figure than in the Earl of Shaftsbury’s Characteristics— ’Tis I affirm the Use of those, by which the present Set of Authors have arriv’d to a Renown, which will be the Glory of this Age, the Shame of the past, and the Admiration of all Posterity. As to Quotations, I give no Rules, only advice that Horace and Shakespear be quoted on all Occasions, and let Propriety come of itself, only taking Notice, that the Work should begin and end with one.

  I am sensible, Mr Reformer, that it may be objected, that all these Rules concern the Printer as much, or more than the Writer I readily grant it; for which Reason I advise my Author never to shew his Work to any before it is printed, lest it should not be done by Advice of Friends, who will be surprized to find a Person an Author, whom (as an Author of this City has elegantly expressed) they would sooner have taken for a Conjurer. You have promised to encourage rising Merit; now this has not only Merit in itself, but tends to raise it in others.

  I am, Sir, &c.

  ADVERTISEMENT

  THE Thinness of the Town for the ensuing Summer, obliges us to discontinue this Paper until next Winter, during which Time, Subscriptions will be taken in by the Printer hereof.

  OBSERVATIONS ON THE CONDUCT OF THE MINORITY PARTICULARLY IN THE LAST SESSION OF PARLIAMENT. ADDRESSED TO THE DUKE OF PORTLAND AND LORD FITZWILLIAM. 1793.

  LETTER

  TO

  HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF PORTLAND.

  My dear Lord, — The paper which I take the liberty of sending to your Grace was, for the greater part, written during the last session. A few days after the prorogation some few observations were added. I was, however, resolved to let it lie by me for a considerable time, that, on viewing the matter at a proper distance, and when the sharpness of recent impressions had been worn off, I might be better able to form a just estimate of the value of my first opinions.

  I have just now read it over very coolly and deliberately. My latest judgment owns my first sentiments and reasonings, in their full force, with regard both to persons and things.

  During a period of four years, the state of the world, except for some few and short intervals, has filled me with a good deal of serious inquietude. I considered a general war against Jacobins and Jacobinism as the only possible chance of saving Europe (and England as included in Europe) from a truly frightful revolution. For this I have been censured, as receiving through weakness, or spreading through fraud and artifice, a false alarm. Whatever others may think of the matter, that alarm, in my mind, is by no means quieted. The state of affairs abroad is not so much mended as to make me, for one, full of confidence. At home, I see no abatement whatsoever in the zeal of the partisans of Jacobinism towards their cause, nor any cessation in their efforts to do mischief. What is doing by Lord Lauderdale on the first scene of Lord George Gordon’s actions, and in his spirit, is not calculated to remove my apprehensions. They pursue their first object with as much eagerness as ever, but with more dexterity. Under the plausible name of peace, by which they delude or are deluded, they would deliver us unarmed and defenceless to the confederation of Jacobins, whose centre is indeed in France, but whose rays proceed in every direction throughout the world. I understand that Mr. Coke, of Norfolk, has been lately very busy in spreading a disaffection to this war (which we carry on for our being) in the country in which his property gives him so great an influence. It is truly alarming to see so large a part of the aristocratic interest engaged in the cause of the new species of democracy, which is openly attacking or secretly undermining the system of property by which mankind has hitherto been governed. But we are not to delude ourselves. No man can be connected with a party which professes publicly to admire or may be justly suspected of secretly abetting this French Revolution, who must not be drawn into its vortex, and become the instrument of its designs.

  What I have written is in the manner of apology. I have given it that form, as being the most respectful; but I do not stand in need of any apology for my principles, my sentiments, or my conduct. I wish the paper I lay before your Grace to be considered as my most deliberate, solemn, and even testamentary protest against the proceedings
and doctrines which have hitherto produced so much mischief in the world, and which will infallibly produce more, and possibly greater. It is my protest against the delusion by which some have been taught to look upon this Jacobin contest at home as an ordinary party squabble about place or patronage, and to regard this Jacobin war abroad as a common war about trade or territorial boundaries, or about a political balance of power among rival or jealous states. Above all, it is my protest against that mistake or perversion of sentiment by which they who agree with us in our principles may on collateral considerations be regarded as enemies, and those who, in this perilous crisis of all human affairs, differ from us fundamentally and practically, as our best friends. Thus persons of great importance may be made to turn the whole of their influence to the destruction of their principles.

  I now make it my humble request to your Grace, that you will not give any sort of answer to the paper I send, or to this letter, except barely to let me know that you have received them. I even wish that at present you may not read the paper which I transmit: lock it up in the drawer of your library-table; and when a day of compulsory reflection comes, then be pleased to turn to it. Then remember that your Grace had a true friend, who had, comparatively with men of your description, a very small interest in opposing the modern system of morality and policy, but who, under every discouragement, was faithful to public duty and to private friendship. I shall then probably be dead. I am sure I do not wish to live to see such things. But whilst I do live, I shall pursue the same course, although my merits should be taken for unpardonable faults, and as such avenged, not only on myself, but on my posterity.