should possess good-nature and delicacy, these persons will probably be treated with insipid or exaggerated complaisance-justly enough in one respect, because being brought involuntarily before the public as mere subordinates to the principal figure, it would be cruel to treat them otherwise than civilly, and the keeping of the picture forbids their being treated with more than civility: but, on the other hand, if the pen happens to be caustic, and the hero of the book has had much dealings with mankind, it is almost impossible that there should not supervene a great deal of prejudice, and consequent misrepresentation; so that, what between cautious good breeding on the one hand, and rivalry and scandal on the other, the secondary characters of a contemporaneous biography are in general still less justly delineated than the hero himself: and, upon the whole, we feel corroborated in our doubts whether the very best of this species of biography can be considered in any higher light than a romance of real life—a picture, of which the principal figure must be considerably flattered, and everything else sacrificed to its pro

minence and effect.

These considerations-on a popular and thriving, but we think abused branch of literature are suggested rather by the general nature than the individual details of the work whose title stands at the head of our article. Sir James Mackintosh was a very amiable and a very able man, and the book now before us is highly interesting in its matter, and, on the whole, highly respectable in its style and spirit. As a composition, it is as much superior to the common class of biographies to which we have alluded, as its subject was to theirs; but truth obliges us to state, that it is not (indeed, how could it be?) exempt from some of those drawbacks which we have noticed as incident to a publication of this contemporaneous nature. It gives an-in some not trivial respects-imperfect account of Sir James himself-an unsatisfactory one of his political principles and associates-and it must be read, we think, rather, like any other gossiping diary, for amusement and literary instruction-than consulted as an adequate authority either as to the life of Sir James Mackintosh himself, or for the history of the times in which he lived. These more serious matters must, if wanted, be sought elsewhere: here, they are to be traced only in hints and allusions, tinged by the pious reverence and partiality of the accomplished editor.

The work is composed of three distinct classes of materials, woven together;-fragments of Journals kept, and a few private letters written, by Sir James himself a dozen long, we will not say tedious, panegyrics- testimonia clarorum virorum-in the shape of letters to the editor from some of Sir James's early friends

and

and eminent contemporaries, and a scanty connecting narrative and commentary by the editor himself. The much larger and most valuable part of these are the Journals; though even they contain little more than memoranda of his literary and judicial opinions for a very few years. He evidently contemplated a regular autobiography, but had completed only the first twenty years of his life, 1765-1784, and this sketch occupies the first thirty pages of this work. From that period to 1800 is continued in a narrative by the editor, exceedingly meagre of facts, and which, though it comprises sixteen years in less than a hundred pages, is eked out by extracts from the Vindicia Gallica.' The history of the next five years, up to his arrival at Bombay, is very imperfectly told in half-a-dozen private letters. During the residence at Bombay, and up to the return to England in 1812, the journals and private letters are copious; but from that period, all the most distinguished and important part of Mackintosh's life, his whole senatorial and official existence, is slurred over in a few pages of the scantiest narrative, interspersed, however, with some fragments of Journal. These latter fragments will be found exceedingly interesting — but they are few. Mackintosh,' says the editor, wanted perseverance to complete his autobiography.' Who, indeed, except Dangeau and Pepys, ever had the patience to journalize for a series of years? Mackintosh was naturally indolent, and it would really be surprising if he had succeeded in executing a species of task which we believe to be the very strongest test of dogged diligence. Indeed, the Journal seems to have been prosecuted only when external circumstances left him little choice of occupation. When on board ship or in ill health, the Journal thrives; but, unfortunately for us, this renders it copious in the inverse ratio of its interest. The incidents on board the good ship Caroline' are given with accuracy and abundance, while the anecdotes of Holland House are rare and dry-the no life of a sultry and empty house at Bombay is faithfully recorded, but we have no register of the still hotter atmosphere of Brookes's. There is, however, another reason for the irregularity of the Journals, which it is but justice to the amiability of Sir James's private life to notice-the greater part, if not all, of these diaries were written for Lady Mackintosh's information after she had been obliged by ill health to return to England sooner than prudential and official reasons allowed her husband to do so and after his return, during his occasional absences from her. The two years of the first separation occupy alone one third of the whole work :-and when we add that these were the two most listless and eventless years of Mackintosh's whole life, it will be safely concluded that there are left but little room and narrow verge

to

to trace his busier and more important days. Nor can we with truth say that the journals kept for Lady Mackintosh's information are in all respects-at least, as they now appear-what might have been expected there is little 'épanchement,' little of the natural overflow of familiar confidence; the greater portion consists of criticism and commentaries on the books he has happened to read, and though he is always kind and even affectionate, somehow the journal seems rather addressed to his correspondent's head than her heart. It is rather the kind of critical lecture which Cadenus. might have prepared for the improvement of Vanessa's mind, than the full fond familiar all-telling Journal to Stella.' The editor's delicacy, no doubt, has induced him to suppress not only all such effusions of conjugal confidence, but also what constitutes the chief charm of a diary-all private anecdotes and personal history of individuals and he is quite right in having done so. But this is only another reason against these premature publications it would have been better to have waited till all could be told, and when the world might have seen Mackintosh as he really was. We think his memory would-we are sure the public must-have gained by it. A narrative, however honest and true, may by omissions and selections be so garbled as to produce all the effect of falsehood. We by no means wish to insinuate that this is the case in the present instance-but we have a strong impression, amounting indeed to certainty, that punctilious reverence for the writer, and cautious delicacy towards surviving friends, have rendered this work considerably different in tone and spirit from what it must have been, had Mackintosh been fearlessly allowed to have told all his own story, and in his own way. A life thus compiled and fashioned cannot command implicit confidence, and the good taste and moderation of the editor only serve to render his absolute fidelity more problematical.

We shall now endeavour to condense from these materials, such as they are, the principal events of Sir James Mackintosh's life, interspersed with some extracts from his own pen characteristic of his mind, principles, and manners. He was born, as we have said, in 1765. His father was Captain John Mackintosh, who was the representative of an ancient family which had for two centuries possessed a small estate called Killachie, which Sir James inherited, but was obliged in after life to sell.' His mother was Marjory M'Gillivray, who, though of a less eminent clan, appears to have had better immediate connexions than her husband: to her personal merits Sir James bears affectionate testimony, while he passes over in suspicious silence the life, deeds, and death of his father. It is remarkable that all autobiographers that we recollect (except Lord Byron) are abundant in praise of their mothers.

This arises, we suppose, from two causes: first, because women are intrinsically more amiable, more attaching, than even the best and gentlest of men ;-but chiefly perhaps because they are the first objects of instinctive affection-the earliest ideas are the strongest and most lasting-the care and tenderness of the mother occupy without rivalry the young mind; which, when it begins to take notice of the father, finds his image commingled with the restraint of discipline, the irksomeness of study, and, in fact, all the disagreeables of early life. The father is our master and our judge, and sometimes our executioner-the mother our confidant, our advocate, our consoler. Byron's case is probably an exception only in terms he knew but one parent, and the alternations of fondness and severity which arose from her peculiar position-assisted, no doubt, by the natural waywardness of the boy and some congenial irregularity of her own temper-deprived him, by a double misfortune, of the affection which happier children feel towards an indulgent mother, and of the respect which they involuntarily pay to a judicious father. Mackintosh accounts for the intensity of the reciprocal tenderness of his mother rather differently-the circumstances of the family were narrow, and his mother loved him,' he says, ' with that fondness which we are naturally disposed to cherish for the companions of our poverty.' We a little doubt that poverty quickens natural affection; and from a pregnant hint that his mother was not happy' (p. 3) we should—if obliged to look beyond the instinct of maternal tenderness--rather suppose that a community in sufferings more poignant than mere poverty might have concentrated in a peculiar degree the affection of the mother on her sympathizing boy.

At ten years old he was sent to school, where, as every other autobiographer does, and, as we suppose, every one else is inclined to do, he complains of how little he acquired. A complaint so universal cannot apply to any particular school, or any individual boy, and those who, upon similar testimonies, decry our great public schools, ought in fairness to see whether every man, whereever educated, does not tell the same story. It was but the other day that we heard one of the greatest, the most gifted, and the most accomplished men of the age-a great statesman and an admirable scholar-lamenting over the lost opportunities of his education; yet he had been from his earliest youth remarkable for a combination of genius and diligence, which, in the opinion of every one but himself, has been crowned with the most brilliant results. The truth is, we are too apt to forget that the young mind can no more do the work of maturity than the young body; and a man of general acquirements-conscious of how little he knows compared with the wide range of knowledge, and how imperfectly,

perfectly, compared with those who follow a single pursuit-is apt to do injustice to himself and his instructors. The mind that learns little at school might have been broken down under an attempt to carry more; and we incline to concur in the spirit of the opinion with which Mackintosh's old nurse moderated the elation of his friends at his precocious talents-' Wait awhile; its no aye that wise bairns mak wise men!' Many and many a man, we firmly believe, has been over-educated into dullness.

At school, however, he seems to have learned something which it were better he had been untaught he fell in with a freethinking usher. 'I became,' he says, in consequence of the turn this man's disquisitions gave his mind, a warm advocate for free-will; and before I was fourteen I was probably the boldest heretic in the country' (p. 6). How far these heretical opinions went, and how long they lasted, we are not told by the editor-but we have good reason to believe that, if not transient, they were at least not enduring. In his own published writings, Mackintosh speaks, whenever he alludes to sacred subjects, in a tone of reverence; and if we do not find in them any distinct avowal of his own Christian conviction, it is, his personal acquaintances do not need to be told, because no occasion for such a profession of faith seemed to present itself. We regret the silence of the editor on this important topic-but, here as in many other points, we must not forget that, able and intelligent as he obviously is, he must be a very young man, and a wholly inexperienced author.

In 1799 Mrs. Mackintosh left her son to rejoin his father, then in camp near Plymouth, and soon accompanied him to Gibraltar, where she died;' and where, thirty years afterwards, Sir James with pious care erected a monument to her memory.

He remained at school till October, 1780. He had, he says, been latterly deputed by the master to teach

'what very little I knew to the younger boys. I went and came, read and lounged, as I pleased. I could very imperfectly construe a small part of Virgil, Horace, and Sallust. There my progress at school ended. Whatever I have done beyond has been since added by my own irregular reading. But no subsequent circumstance could make up for that invaluable habit of vigorous and methodical industry which the indulgence and irregularity of my school life prevented me from acquiring, and of which I have painfully felt the want in every part of my life.'-vol. i. pp. 7, 8.

The four years subsequent to 1780 were passed, the winters at the college of Aberdeen, the vacations with his grandmother; and as here, according to his own very probable account, his political and literary character received its first impulse, we shall make a copious extract :

VOL. LIV. NO. CVII.

S

'I fell