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ment, and put into the mouths of virtuous and philosoph Brahmins.

Clive was now secure in the enjoyment of his fortune and honours. He was surrounded by attached friends and relatio! and he had not yet passed the season of vigorous bodily a mental exertion. But clouds had long been gathering over mind, and now settled on it in thick darkness. From early you he had been subject to fits of that strange melancholy which i

joiceth exceedingly and is glad when it can find the grave While still a writer at Madras, he had twice attempted to destro himself. Business and prosperity had produced a salutary effet on his spirits. In India, while he was occupied by great affairs in England, while wealth and rank had still the charm of novelty he had borne up against his constitutional misery. But he bat now nothing to do, and nothing to wish for. His active spirit in an inactive situation drooped and withered like a plant in an uncongenial air. The malignity with which his enemies had pursued him, the indignity with which he had been treated by the committee, the censure, lenient as it was, which the House of Commons had pronounced, the knowledge that he was regarded by a large portion of his countrymen as a cruel and perfidious tyrant, all concurred to irritate and depress him. In the mean time, his temper, was tried by acute physical suffering. During his long residence in tropical climates, he had contracted several painful distempers. In order to obtain ease he called in the help of opium ; and he was gradually enslaved by this treacherous ally. To the last, however, his genius occasionally flashed through the gloom. It was said that he would sometimes, after sitting silent and torpid for hours, rouse himself to the discussion of some great question, would display in full vigour all the talents of the soldier and the statesman, and would then sink back into his melancholy repose.

The disputes with America had now become so serious, that an appeal to the sword seemned inevitable; and the ministers were desirous to avail themselves of the services of Clive. Had he still been what he was when he raised the siege of Patna, and annihilated the Dutch army and navy at the mouth of the Ganges, it is not improbable that the resistance of the Colonists would have been put down, and that the inevitable separation would have been deferred for a few years. But it was loo late. His strong mind was fast sinking under many kinds of suffering. On the 22d of November 1774, he died by his.own hand. He had just completed his forty-ninth year.

In the awful close of so much prosperity and glory, the vulgar saw only a confirmation of all their prejudices; and some men of

eal piety and talents so far forgot the maxims both of religion nd of philosophy, as confidently to ascribe the mournsul event o the just vengeance of God, and the horrors of an evil concience. It is with yery different feelings that we contemplate he spectacle of a great mind ruined by the weariness of satiety, y the pangs of wounded honour, by fatal diseases, and more atal remedies.

Clive coinmitted great faults; and we have not attempted to lisguise them. But his faults, when weighed against his merits, and viewed in connexion with his temptations, do not appear to us to deprive him of his right to an honourable place in the estimation of posterity.

From his first visit to India dates the renown of the English arms in the East. Till he appeared, his countrymen were despised as mere pedlars, while the French were revered as a people formed for victory and command. His courage and capacity dissolved the charm. With the defence of Arcot commences that long series of Oriental triumphs which closes with the fall of Ghazpi. Nor must we forget that he was only twenty-five years old when he approved himself ripe for military command. This is a rare if not a singular distinction. It is true that Alexander, Condé, and Charles the Twelfth, won great battles at a still earlier age ; but those princes were surrounded by veteran generals of distinguished skill, to whose suggestions must be attributed the victories of the Granicus, of Roeroi, and of Narva. Clive, an inexperienced youth, had yet more experience than any of those who served under him. He had to form himself, to form bis officers, and to form his army. The only man, as far as we recollect, who at an equally early age ever gave equal proof of talents for war, was Napoleon Bonaparte.

From Clive's second visit to India dates the political ascendency of the English in that country. His dexterity and resolution realized, in the course of a few months, more than all the gorgeous visions which had floated before the imagination of Dupleix. Such an extent of cultivated territory, such an amount of revenue, such a multitude of subjects, was never added to the dominion of Rome by the most successful proconsul. Nor were such wealthy spoils ever borne under arches of triumph, down the Sacred Way, and through the crowded Forum, to the threshold of Tarpeian Jove. The fame of those who subdued Antiochus and Tigranes grows dim when compared with the splendour of the exploits which the young English adventyrer achieved at the head of an army not equal in numbers to one-half of a Roman legion.

From Clive's third visit to India dates the purity of the administration of our Eastern empire. When he landed at Calcutta in 1765, Bengal was regarded as a place to which Englishmen were sent only to get rich, by any means, in the shortest possible time. He first made dauntless and unsparing war on that gigantic system of oppression, extortion, and corruption. In that war he manfully put to hazard his ease, his fame, and his splendid fortune. The same sense of justice which forbids us to conceal or extenuate the faults of his earlier days, compels us to admit that those faults were nobly repaired. If the reproach of the Company and of its servants has been taken away-if in India the yoke of foreiga masters, elsewhere the heaviest of all yokes, has been found lighter than that of any native dynasty--if to that gang of public robbers which once spread terror through the whole plain of Bengal, has succeeded a body of functionaries not more highly distinguished by ability and diligence than by integrity, disinterestedness, and public spirit—if we now see men like Munro, Elphinstone, and Metcalfe, after leading victorious armies, after making and deposing kings, return, proud of their honourable poverty, from a land which once held out to every greedy factor the hope of boundless wealth—the praise is in no small measure due to Clive. His name stands high on the roll of conquerors. But it is found in a better list- in the list of those who have done and suffered much for the happiness of mankind. To the warrior, history will assign a place in the same rank with Lucullus and Trajan. Nor will she deny to the reformer, a share of that veneration with which France cherishes the memory of Turgot, and with which the latest generations of Hindoos will contemplate the statue of Lord William Bentinck.

Art. II.-On the Philosophy of the Mind. By James DOUGLAS,

Esq. of Cavers. 8vo. Edinburgh : 1839.

A
T a time when the study of Mental Philosophy is almost

abandoned, even in those quarters where its cultivation might most naturally be looked for, the appearance of a work on that subject from the pen of a country gentleman, is a phenomenon calculated to excite some attention. For though the class of persons to which the author-more fortunate in this respect than most authors-belongs, no longer deserves to be spoken of as the type of mental crassitude and inertness; yet, among the intellectual characteristics usually ascribed to it, is certainly uot that of a taste for abstract inquiries. But, however foreign to the ordi

nary

habits and tastes of his class Mr Douglas's work may seem, we are bound to say that it is not chargeable with the faults which generally mark the efforts of a mere amateur. Whatever may be its imperfections--and those we shall have occasion to point out are but too considerable--they are not such as spring from any deficiency of preparation in philosophical learning, or from any indisposition to sound the deeper parts of the subject. His reading appears to have ranged over a field of no inconsiderable extent ; indeed, we suspect he has employed more time and pains in making himself acquainted with the opinions of others-in trying to comprehend what is incomprehensible, and to reconcile what is irreconcilable in those opinions--than in prosecuting investigations commenced on his own account. For, besides that his work is not distinguished by much original speculation, we find in it but few traces of those exact and methodical habits of thought, which well-conducted metaphysical researches naturally tend to generate.

Mr Douglas, however, as is probably known to most of our readers, is by no means new to the labours of authorship; having previously published several well-written works on some of the most interesting and important subjects that can engage the human attention--such, namely, as relate to the religious, moral, and social advancement of our species. But though these subjects are connected, at certain points, with the topics which he has here undertaken to discuss, he may be considered, on the whole, as having ventured on a new field.

We should suspect Mr Douglas to have entered on the composition of the present work without any very definite views or objects. He does not, we believe, profess to have any opinions absolutely new on the theory of mind generally, or on the particular questions which it involves; neither can his work be taken, whether in intention or effect, as a systematic outline of the science of mind in what may be regarded its present state. Its character, so far as it possesses any distinctive character at all, is that of a commentary on the history and more prominent doctrines of mental philosophy. In composing it, however, the author seems never to have exactly settled with himself what class of readers be meant more especially to address. Written in that abrupt allusive style, which supposes in the reader a tolerable degree of familiarity with the subject, it yet communicates little beyond what, on that supposition, must be already known. But passing over this defect, and taking the work in the character of a commentary, we cannot but regard its author as very indifferently fitted for discharging what should be the chief part of a commentator's office-namely, to clear up the darker, his way

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and disentangle the more perplexed parts of the subject. M Douglas is a man of a well-stored and contemplative mind; an. the work presents not a few specimens of acute observation, and of ingenious and striking reflection; but he almost uniformly fail in combining his materials with reference to any definite result He is essentially destitute of that which is vulgarly, but expressively, called a clear head. The work is full of examples of his inability to discriminate, in a complicated enquiry, the exact point on which the dispute turns; or when that point has been discriminated, to preserve it free from intermixture with other allied or resembling questions. He is also deficient in the faculty ol perceiving the relation and dependency of the different members of an argument or exposition; and in the art of stating them according to their natural order and connexion. His mind, indeed, presents a singular mixture of acuteness and obtuseness. With evidences of a capacity to apprehend the nicest distinctions, be often confounds subjects the most easily separable. While affording what might be taken as satisfactory indications that he sees

clearly through a subject, he no sooner enters into it than he stumbles and wanders like one blind. It is not the least singular amongst his peculiarities, that often, whilst bimself exhibiting the most helpless perplexity, or labouring under the most inestricable confusion, he yet professes to have afforded a complete key to all the difficulties of the subject under discussion. Jodeed, he is seldom more thoroughly unintelligible than when he appears to feel satisfied of having placed a point beyond all farther possibility of doubt or dispute.

Mr Douglas, however, is not, properly speaking, a wandering or discursive writer. Between a wandering style and that which he here exemplifies, there is much the same difference as in music between modulating into a variely of keys, and frequently changing the pitch on the same key. He does not diverge from his subject-he moves in parallels to it; sometimes in near parallels, but not in the line of it, and not long in one parallel. The motion of his thoughts is like that of a knight in the game of chess, which is neither backward, forward, sideway, nor diagonal, but, with every leap in a certain course, à start out of it. Or, as it is common to speak of a vein of thought, we should say that the vein of Mr Douglas's thoughts is not only separated by frequent interstices; but that the opposite sides of the fracture do not correspond-each of the severed masses being either somewhat heaved up, or somewhat depressed.

The work consists of two principal divisions, respectively entitled, Speculative Opinions,' and Investigation by Iriduc* tion. As we shall require all the space we can devote to it,

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