In pamphlets, however, and political essays—and even speeches, when revised and sent forth singly, may be comprehended in that class,—the personal disadvantages of Burke could no longer apply; and as regards that class of writings, it may be doubted whether he has ever, in any age, or in any country, been excelled. The philosophy and deep thought of his reflections—the vigor and variety of his style—his rich flow of either panegyric or invective—his fine touches of irony—the glowing abundance and beauty of his metaphors—all these might separately claim applause; how much more, then, when all blended into one glorious whole! To give examples of these merits would be to transcribe half his works. Yet still if one single and short instance from his maxims be allowed me, I will observe that the generous ardor and activity of mind called forth by competition has formed a theme of philosophic comment from a very early age. It is touched both by Cicero and Quintilian; it has not been neglected either by Bacon or Montaigne. Yet still, as handled by Burke, this trite topic beams forth, not only with the hues of eloquence, but even with the bloom of novelty. He invites us to "an amicable conflict with difficulty. Difficulty is a severe instructor set over us by the supreme ordinance of a parental guardian and legislator, who knows us better than we know ourselves, as he loves us better too. He that wrestles with us strengthens our nerves and sharpens our skill. Our antagonist is our helper!" If amidst so much of eloquence and feeling as Burke’s writings display we are desired to seek for faults, we shall find them, not in the want, but only in the exuberance and overflow of beauties. The palate becomes cloyed by so much richness, the eye dazzled by so much glare. His metaphors, fraught with fancy though they be, are often bold; they seem both too numerous and strained too far; they sometimes cease to please, and occasionally border even on the ludicrous and low. Of this defect, as of his excellences, a single instance shall suffice me. In the "Letter to a Noble Lord," in 1796, Burk compares the Duke of Bedford to a lamb already marked for slaughter by the Marats and Robespierres of France, but still unconscious of his doom, "pleased to the last," and who "licks the hand just raised to shed his blood." Thus far the simile is conducted with admirable force and humor. But not satisfied with his success, Burke goes further; he insists on leading us into the shambles, and makes the revolutionary butchers inquire as to their ducal victim, "how he cuts up? how he tallows in the caul or on the kidneys?" Apart from the beauty of the style, the value, as I conceive, of Burke’s writings, is subject to one not unimportant deduction. For most lofty and far-sighted views in politics they