These memoirs are, as is well known, lost to the world: and though this fact cannot be very fully accounted for, still it is proper to give the only explanation which can be given, in Mr. Moore's words: ، Without entering,” says he, " into the respective claims of Mr. Murray and myself to the property in these memoirs-a question which, now that they are destroyed, can be but of little moment to any one-it is sufficient to say, that, believing the manuscript still to be mine, I placed it at the disposal of Lord Byron's sister, Mrs. Leigh, with the sole reservation of a protest against its total destruction, at least without previous perusal and consultation among the parties. The majority of the persons present disagreed with this opinion, and it was the only point on which there did exist any difference of opinion between us. The manuscript was accordingly torn and burnt before our eyes; and I immediately paid to Mr. Murray, in the presence of the gentlemen assembled, two thousand guineas, with interest, &c., being the amount of what I owed him upon the security of my bond, and for which I now stand indebted to my publishers, Messrs. Longman, and Company. "Since then, the family of Lord Byron have, in a manner highly honourable to themselves, proposed an arrangement, by which the sum thus paid to Mr. Murray might be reimbursed to me; but, from feelings and considerations which it is unnecessary here to explain, I have respectfully but peremptorily declined their offer." Mr. Moore's "Life of Lord Byron" appeared in 1830, and entirely fulfilled the large expectations which had been formed of it. It is unquestionably one of the most fascinating works which have been given to the public for many years. With that modesty and good feeling which have characterized the literary life of the author, he has, as far as possible, suffered his noble friend to be his own biographer, introducing as much of his Lordship's correspondence, journal, &c. as were calculated to elucidate his opinions, character, and habits. In doing so, he has exhibited his subject in a new and most advantageous light. Most of Lord Byron's admirers had considered him only as a poet, and had limited their admiration to this single development of his genius. They are, however, apprized by Mr. Moore's pages, that, as a master of the epistolary style of composition, he is as far rior to most of his contemporaries, as he was in those distinctions on which his fame had formerly rested, and on which it still must ultimately depend. His letters combine the graceful and spontaneous flow of Cowper, with an energy and a pungency characteristic of scarcely any but himself. Since this period, Mr. Moore has given to the world two works, entitled, "The Life and Death of Lord Edward Fitzgerald," and "An Irishman in Search of a Religion." These works have been variously received, according to the political and religious views of readers; though all seem to concur in placing them far below the merits of his former productions. Mr. Moore married a Miss Dyke, by whom he has had several children; and the superintendence of their education, no less than his literary pursuits, has led him to preserve that domestic retirement in which he has spent the later years of his life. We may add, that he is the author of those exceedingly happy and elegant political jeux d'esprit which have for a few years appeared, from time to time, in the Times newspaper; and when we consider his age, and the vigour of his mind at the present time, we can have no doubt that a future biographer will have many additions to make to Mr. Moore's literary life; among which, it is understood that the production of a History of Ireland will be one. 399 THOUGHTS ON GREATNESS. "NOTHING," says Dr. Johnson, " is too little for so little a creature as man ;" and to one who contemplates the brief duration of human life, the vanity of human pursuits, and the mutability and want of character which mark our common nature, the very term greatness would seem altogether inappropriate to the species. One would be disposed to believe, after a serious survey of mankind, present and past, that this and other terms of similar import, together with the ideas they express, were derived alone from the stupendous appearances of the material world, the revolutions of times and seasons, the remains of deceased generations, or the partially revealed attributes of superior beings ;that they were thus derived, and secondarily applied to whatever is human, not without great violation of their primary meaning. Yet, after all, this is only one of the aspects in which the many-sided object, human nature, presents itself. If we turn, for example, from its present condition to its future destiny, our impressions of our own dignity will be greatly heightened. And even if we confine our view to the present character of some individual minds, we may find that which justifies the application of so imposing an epithet. What then are these features of character? What is that which can countervail the depressing causes, and overshadow with its majesty the vanities and petty liabilities of our present condition? These questions it is the object of the following remarks to resolve. The first consideration that naturally suggests itself to the mind upon this subject is, the great variety of opinions entertained respecting it, most of which a little examination is sufficient to falsify. In noticing these sentiments we may remark in general, that all are incorrect, which place true greatness in any thing extrinsic to the individual. This may, indeed, seem too obvious to be insisted on ; and so it would be, did not the conduct of mankind prove that, however they might hesitate to avow it, this is a prevalent feeling among them. It may, perhaps, scarcely be necessary to mention physical strength, as one of the adventitious endowments which has, in many instances, received the honour due to very different qualifications. This sentiment is chiefly perceptible in the lowest and almost brutalized tribes of mankind. It would seem to belong peculiarly to that early condition of society in which brute force rather than political sagacity is the means of extending territory and consolidating empire. Among the civilized and the intellectual, the feeling is only seen in the general wish for a healthy and effective population; and consequently is well nigh extinct in our age and country, except in the case of a few half-civilized, mad-cap boors, who make this feeling (in itself an evidence only of harmless stupidity,) the apology for their savage taste for pugilism. What a satire upon modern institutions, that some of these partially tamed beasts should occupy the benches of our highest legislative assembly. A far more extended error, however, possesses the minds of men, which is in some degree analogous to that which we have noticed. We refer to that by which greatness is attributed, in feeling and external homage, at least, to the accidental distinction of wealth. As the former erroneous notion is peculiar to the infancy of society, so this belongs more especially to a more advanced and cultivated æra. We are far from denouncing this notion as radically absurd and indefensible; nor as entirely destitute of advantages in the social system. Whatever, indeed, fosters respect without engendering servility, and invites patronage without inciting to haughtiness and oppression, must be considered as a valuable cement, uniting the minuter portions of the social fabric. But we should here carefully distinguish between a respectful recognition of superior station, or homage to that enlarged beneficence for which wealth alone affords the occasion, and the more theoretic notion which we are now exposing, namely, that any superiority necessarily attaches to the individual, in consequence of the possession of wealth; much more, that it can confer any thing deserving the name of true greatness. Nor, we may remark again, is there more of rationality in associating true greatness with the distinctions of rank. This is a point on which far more numerous and serious mistakes are incurred. The distinctions of rank, doubtless originated, in a great measure, in the degrees of martial courage, and other species of individual merit. They received further confirmation, and a more imposing character, from the fantastic but gorgeous institutions of chivalry, and thus have come, by long prescription, to exercise a powerful influence on the popular mind. It is not surprising that unthinking minds should regard the quiet and regular transmission of wealth and titles, and all those means of happiness for which others undergo a life of toil, to certain individuals, by virtue of their birth, and without any effort on their part, as indicating some necessary superiority in the privileged class. Their invariable exemption from that labour for their bread, and for honourable distinction, which is the general lot of the species, seems like a by-law of nature in their favour; and, when regarded as simply dependent on their blood, may be mistaken for a mark of radical superiority. Such has, in many countries and times, been the popular sentiment, and in our own days there can be no doubt that it is in some degree maintained by the hereditary right of legislation. To see its fallacy in a strong light, we have only to remember that the only real possession to which this class rightfully succeed is their wealth; to which, as conferring any character of greatness, we have referred above; on the other hand, the titles of rank are merely nominal, and might, with as much natural fitness be appropriated by the worshipful company of barbers; and the hereditary succession to stations of political influence is a very doubtful advantage, as it seems, alas! too frequently to make ignorance conspicuous, to polish dulness, and to place the weapons of mischief in the hands of imbecility. A cursory comparison of the existing aristocracy of our own land with that of the past generation, will convince us that among the possessions to which they have succeeded, the talents and virtues, no less than the mediocrity and vice of the parents, formed no part of the entail. The dissolute fop of the present day lounges into the honoured seat of his noble and learned father, and beside him sits the grey-headed warrior, whose father never dreamed of law-giving, but whose scarred breast wears the opima spolia of the civilized world, a galaxy of honours, in which each emulous nation and monarch of Europe has done itself the honour to plant a glittering memento. It is manifest, then, that the accident of birth is not the principle on which the hereditary succession to the second estate of the realm is founded; and from the same considerations it must be manifest that nothing deserving the name of greatness, any moré than of official capacity, is necessarily connected with rank. Nor, further, does the exercise of office, however important, necessarily involve true greatness. To take the extreme case (which, by the way, is the best mean of testing a general principle,) the kingly office has been vulgarly regarded as necessarily connected with greatness. The majority of mankind are not apt at making nice distinctions. Thus, their very rational homage to the kingly office is easily transferred to the person of the monarch, and deifies the object of their undiscriminating loyalty. It is, indeed, a magnificent moral spectacle to see a monarch whose personal greatness overfills the capacities of the office: and the pleasure we feel in bowing to the mingled majesty of such a person and such functions, results from some of the best and purest feelings of our nature. But it is no less true that we never make a more humiliating surrender of our rationality than when we invest, with all the attributes of greatness and excellence, a man who, should he be stripped of those trappings, which would fit millions of backs in the empire beside his own, and should his sign-manual cease to be the inevitable messenger of death, would probably be the tame butt of village wits, and, perhaps, would not be trusted for a penny at the chandler's shop. Hitherto we have attempted to shew that true greatness cannot consist in any thing extrinsic to the individual. But these are not the only limitations which it is necessary to make. There are some imposing qualities belonging essentially to the individual, between which and true greatness it is important to distinguish. As an example of these, we may mention courage. There is no distinction, perhaps, which has reflected more of eclat upon the possessor, and consequently none has been more hackneyed in those works of fiction, the object of which is to exaggerate character into unnaturally majestic dimensions. Hence the great bard puts into the mouth of his hero such language as the following: "I dare do all that may become a man, and probably few will deny that the attention and interest of the reader is more closely riveted to Lady Macbeth than to her husband, simply because she so far surpassed him in that very courage of which he boasted in the words above quoted. Lest, however, we should mistake courage either for true greatness, or for one of its essential elements, we should consider how intimately it is dependent upon mere physical conformation, and consequently to how great an extent it falls under the remarks made in the earlier part of the essay, upon physical strength. This position is finely stated by a writer,* whose researches in intellectual and moral subjects are so comprehensive, that it is difficult to traverse any district of these vast regions without meeting with the land-marks of his journey, and the signs of his culture. "I assume it as a fact," says he, "that there is in the material construction of some persons, much more than of others, some quality which augments, if it does not create, both the stability of their resolution, and the energy of their active tendencies. There is something that, like the ligatures which one class of the Olympic combatants bound on their hands and wrists, braces round, if I may so describe it, and compresses the powers of the mind, giving them a steady forcible spring and reaction, which they would presently lose if they could be transferred to a constitution of soft yielding treacherous debility. The action of strong character seemed to demand something firm in its material basis, as massive engines require, for their weight and for their working, to be fixed on a solid foundation." With whatever glory, then, it may have pleased historians, poets, and novelists to invest their heroes on the ground of their martial valour, it must be evident that true greatness cannot consist in that to which a condition is essential, over which the individual has no control, which is the mere accident of his being, and which is liable to change with the state of the atmosphere, and subject to all the fluctuations and casualties incident to life and health. But apart from this consideration, if physical courage is to remain unchanged amidst disappointments, and the various wounds to which a sensitive heart is exposed, it must be fed from a separate and a higher source. Cut it off from this, and suppose the excitement of the battle-field, and the gaze of spectators, to be withdrawn; and, perhaps, there never was a hero who would not adopt the language of the soul-sickened Othello: "I have seen the day, When, with this little arm, and this good sword, Be not afraid though you do see me weapon'd; The degree of intellectual and social excellence which can exist in the absence of the imposing quality we are noticing, may be instanced as a reason why, should we not represent it as an essential constituent of true greatness. In illustration of this remark, it is only necessary to mention the name of Cowper; -a man, whose mind was gifted with the loftiest faculties, and enriched with rare endowments, whose heart was overflowing with benevolence; but in whom timidity amounted to a disease; under the unhappy effects of which, it is scarcely too much to say that the great purposes of * John Foster's Essay, 10th edit. p. 103. 2D. SERIES, NO. 45.-VOL. IV. 189.-VOL. XVI. his life remained unfulfilled, that the effects of selfishness itself sprung from a passive self-devotion, and that all the channels of enjoyment were choked with the dregs of suffering. In distinguishing between the real elements of greatness, and those qualities which are often erroneously supposed to constitute it, it seems necessary to notice some excellences of a purely intellectual kind. The powerful influence exerted by pre-eminent intellectual powers over the opinions, the happiness, and the destinies of mankind, cannot but be admitted; and the superiority of such distinctions over those to which we have hitherto adverted is equally obvious. Yet still we conceive that a distinct and broad line must be drawn between even these endowments and the essential components of greatness. For, let it be considered, how much of what is base, contemptible, and pernicious is frequently found associated with the highest excellences of an intellectual kind. In how many instances are we compelled to look back with shame and regret to the essential littleness of those who have led the intellectual march of the human mind, and guided others to the highest elevations which have ever been attained in philosophy and science. How often have we to lament and reprehend the gross vices of those who have awed us with the most celestial representations of virtue, and to shudder at the foul malignity of those who have given us our ideal standards of tenderness and love! Who does not connect associations of this kind, of which he would gladly divest himself, with the names of Bacon, Byron, Porson, and even of that immortal writer, who, in the eagleflight of his hallowed fancy, "Passed the flaming bounds of space and time." Lest, however, we should incur an inconsistency here, we must do some further justice to the intellectual portion of our nature; and in turning, at length, from these negative illustrations of greatness, and adverting to some of a positive kind, we will commence with this last topic, and first endeavour to point out the connexion between intellectual power, and what we understand by greatness. And here, in entering upon the consideration of what it is which constitutes greatness in human nature, it seems manifest that the standard by which our notions should be determined is the judgment of superior beings, supposing such judgment to be within our cognizance. And on the same principle, if we are acquainted with any instance in which the Supreme Being has decided this question in the case of any individual, we have only to study the character of such a one in order to obtain a safe and universal criterion, to which we may bring the claims to greatness which any other mind may seem to possess. Now we have such a decision pronounced by the Spirit of inspiration, respecting John-the precursor of Christ. "He shall be great," says the inspired writer, "in the sight of the Lord." This expression, then, will furnish us with an appropriate illustration in any positions we may lay down. In estimating the connexion to which we are adverting, the truth appears to be, that, so far as it subsists at all, it is not the possession but the application of intellectual endowments on which true greatness is dependent; namely, their employment in the search of truth, and more especially of that class of truths which concern the higher interest of human nature. This is sufficiently manifest from the instances to which we have referred, wherein great intellectual powers have appeared in utter dissociation from any thing like moral dignity and worth; and it might further be deduced from the consideration that nothing tends so much to invigorate, enrich, and beautify the intellect, as this employment of its faculties. Truth, and truth alone, is the native element of the human mind. It is that appropriate food to which God himself has adapted its constitution, the pursuit of which he has connected with an immediate and exalted delight, and which, by placing it in a state of partial concealment and partial development, he has enabled it progressively to procure. Error, on the contrary, is that on which it starves; which not only affords it no nutriment, but lies within it an unnatural and indigestible substance, which it cannot assimilate, and which only connects with its economy |