Page:Edinburgh Review Volume 59.djvu/14

2 writer had overlaid the genius of the warrior, and that it was Tacitus, rather than Agricola, whom we admired. Again, when we looked at the mild and philosophic Plutarch selecting a few distinguishing traits of private character, mixing them lightly up with great actions, skimming of the results with a dexterous hand, and pouring them forth to his readers with the gracious benevolence of an admirable old story-teller, we were pleased with the writer, but felt that neither would this method, so agreeable where, other records failing, a number of great men's actions Avere thrown together, serve for one life; because Plutarch has made but a collection of slight sketches, fit enough to excite noble thoughts, yet without one finished portrait, by which the particular men might be known in the crowd. But in the natural, the simple, powerful writings of Xenophon, we thought we had discovered the secret of representing a great man without disguise; and hence, that if any person should undertake to portray Moore's character, such as he would be desirous it should appear; that is, such as it was upon all occasions, it would be necessary to resort to himself;—that to write his life truly, he must be made like Xenophon, to speak for himself. And we knew that he had so spoken. We knew that ample materials were in existence, so ample, so complete, that the dullest of writers, honestly using them, could not fail to produce a work deeply interesting and instructive; treating of great events; full of sense and honour.

We had indeed great hopes that something worthy of the man would appear, until we heard that Mr James Carrick Moore had undertaken to be the author of his brother's life: then our hopes sunk at once. We knew, indeed, that he possessed, besides Letters, a Journal, which, embracing all the important actions of Sir John Moore's life, was a faithful record of the thoughts, the breathings of his inmost soul; a record of all the glorious and generous aspirations of his proud and fiery spirit;—that spirit whose energy no dangers, no misfortunes could quell. We knew that this biographer had the means of displaying in full daylight, how the gallant Moore, now obeying, now commanding, dealing in court and camp with the wise and the weak, the haughty and the mean, with the daring savage in arms, and with the fraudful politician in council, still bore onwards in his own noble career, unstained by vice or fear, untainted by subserviency, the foremost amongst the great, and yet an honest man. We knew all this, but, alas! we also knew, that his would-be biographer possessed a very moderate capacity, and a judgement warped by the most absurd prejudices; that he was an inveterate controversialist, and a virulent Tory; that he abhorred Roman Catholics, Irishmen, and republicans; looked upon a black man as destined by nature