our past public men. And regarding him, not in the light of temporary party politics, but as a man whose course of conduct affects the material comfort of the born and the unborn, we cannot but consider him as fulfilling a great mission-that of bringing the Past into conformity with the Present, and of enabling the Present to prepare for the Future.

Entering the House of Commons when he was just of age; passing through all the gradations of Under Secretary, Secretary for Ireland, Home Secretary, and Prime Minister, it cannot be said of him that the character of man is fixed at forty years of age. Superficial people reproach him with being a cameleon; but at all events he reflects the changing tints of the times. In youth he adopted and repeated opinions he had heard, but had never digested; in age he abandons his views, not because closet reflection has quietly shown their erroneousness, but because the force of circumstances has made him look abroad, and measure realities with ideal affirmations. Therefore, throughout his whole life he has been-shall we term it a changeling? If the term is permitted, it must be in somewhat of that sense in which wise men are presumed to be school-boys from the cradle to the grave. True, there are always some individuals who are "ever learning, and never able to get to the knowledge of the truth ;" and Sir Robert Peel is open to the reproach of being comparatively insensible to the force of principles before they make themselves felt in actual exigency. But his great distinction is that, which for a want of a more precise or better phrase, we term being a "practical" man. Within his range, he discerns with microscopic accuracy. He may be no astronomer, penetrating the nebulous clouds of futurity; but he can discern well the immediate signs of the sky, and is unrivalled in taking precautions against an impending storm. He has avowed his ambition to be of that lofty kind which looks forward to posterity; and his course, especially in his later years, confirms the idea, that without regard to circumstances or consistency, he seeks to be remembered hereafter for what he has done now.

Suppose we enter the House of Commons on some one of those great nights on which Sir Robert Peel is to make a statement." It may have been in the year 1842, on the separate occasions when he changed the Corn Law, and altered the Tariff; or it may have been on the 14th of February, 1845, when he was about to promulgate further financial changes; or more recently it may have been on the 22nd of January, 1846, when public expectation was screwed up to its highest pitch, to learn what were to be the further movements of the government. And here, it is not unworthy of notice, that public opinion is not unlike that of Sir Robert Peel's, following results rather than anticipating them. When he changed the Corn Law, in 1842, the House of Commons was crowded, because country gentlemen were anxious to ascertain the nature of the proposed change. And when he propounded the New Tariff, in the same year, there was also a crowded House; for financial legislation, or rather commercial reform, was a great novelty. But the excitement on the 14th of February, 1845, far exceeded that of the year 1842; nevertheless, the occasion was much smaller. The public, however, had been practically taught, like Sir Robert Peel, that principles might be productive; and they rushed down to the House of Commons, in 1845, more anxious to learn about the repeal of the duties on wool, cotton, and vinegar, than they were about the promulgation, in 1842, of the great truth, that the soul of commerce lies in "buying in the cheapest and selling in (comparatively) the dearest market."

The excitement, on the 22nd of January, 1846, was still greater than in 1842 or 1845. Political events conspired to render the course to be adopted by the govern

ment the subject of the deepest public interest. But though the latter night was rendered remarkable by the fact that His Royal Highness Prince Albert paid, for the first time, a visit to the House of Commons, sitting, as a 66 stranger," to witness and to hear the debates, and that a large number of the peerage were also present, the scene did not differ essentially from similar preceding occasions. A crowd, armed with members' orders, block up the entrance to the strangers' gallery; hundreds are eagerly waiting who cannot be accommodated. Even members are not indifferent to the necessity of coming down early, in order to be in their places. The side galleries are thronged-the one opposite to where Sir Robert Peel sits being preferred for the facility of hearing. Public business is to commence at half-past four, and about that time Sir Robert Peel enters. A messenger has brought down to the door a box containing the documents to which reference is to be made, and some ministerial member carries it up to the Treasury bench. Sir Robert Peel, in an under tone, moves the "Order of the Day," that the House resolve itself into a Committee of the whole House. The question is put; the Speaker declares that the "Ayes" have it; he quits the chair; one of the clerks lifts the mace, and places it under the table; the chairman of committees takes his seat in a little chair, and Sir Robert Peel rises. Addressing the chairman of committees by name (" Mr. Bernal," or " Mr. Greene,” as the case may be), he proceeds with his financial statement. He speaks for three, or possibly it may be four hours; and on concluding the listener is surprised by the fact that for so long a period his attention has been enchained by that which, in other hands, would have proved a tedious statement of dry facts and figures.

This is the great charm of the orations of Sir Robert Peel. Sir John Hobhouse once paid him the compliment of saying that one was never tired of listening to him. He neither startles nor tires; rarely works up the feelings into enthusiasm, still more rarely permits them to subside into sluggishness. The voice is not sonorous; but it is clear, pleasing, never arresting the ear by over-powering harmony, yet never permitting it to be grated by a harsh note. The elocution is itself an illustration of his character. Great orators condense original ideas into startling phrases, and these pass current among men as the coinage of intellect. Sir Robert Peel has never done this. "Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn," are not emitted from his lips. Yet for the three or four hours during which we have been listening to him, he never has halted for a word, never misplaced a phrase, and never excited the sensation of fatigue. The stream is not deep, but it is perfectly lucid; the pebbles at the bottom can all be counted. No member of the present House of Commons surpasses-nay, even rivals-Sir Robert Peel in that artistic management of his topics, and that level clearness and facility of expression which imprint on the mind a fac simile of his speech. He is continuous without monotony, fascinating without fire, and calm (at least on all ordinary occasions) without feebleness. When he attempts, as occasionally he does, a higher flight of oratory, he becomes turgid. But he is somewhat conscious of this, and rarely ascends. Accordingly, the staple of his speeches is business, and though not unfrequently verbose, he never opens his mouth without addressing himself to the apprehension of his audience; his prime quality consists in a combined uniformity of mind and voice, which carry him through a long statement at a sustained level, without exhausting his own powers or those of his auditors.

One of the greatest of living orators, Lord Brougham, lays down, as a test of a great mind, the power of making a vigorous reply to an able attack. As "iron sharpens iron," the clash of intellect, like the collision of flint and steel, throws out a sparkling stream. Next to Lord Brougham, this power has been most strikingly

exemplified by Lord Stanley. If his faculties are stimulated by assault, he rises with the occasion, and with wonderful rapidity pours out a torrent of unhalting sarcasm or invective, delivered with an easy, careless air, which drives every pointed observation home. In the great contests of former days, Lord Stanley was the only speaker in the House of Commons of whom Mr. O'Connell professed himself to be afraid. Again, who has ever heard Lord Brougham speak, without wonder at the power which mind can confer upon voice? An enunciation naturally harsh is so modulated and controlled that we are carried through a series of involved sentences without perplexity, until, at the close, the Ciceronian orator literally pierces the intellect by the concluding phrase, which is the key-note to the whole. In days now gone by, before railroads compelled newspapers to start at a moment's notice, and when the House of Commons, on "field nights," thought nothing of sitting till four or five o'clock in the morning, Brougham and Canning used to watch each other across the table, eagerly waiting for the advantage of reply: the graceful and accomplished orator being aware that his rival, by a single intonation, or even a pointing of the finger, could overwhelm with ridicule the substance of a well-prepared speech. No such things are now witnessed in the present House of Commons. Mr. Macaulay is grand, stately, striking; in despite of a somewhat ungraceful person and discordant voice, he never speaks without commanding the attention of the House, and hurrying it into raptures of approbation. Yet Mr. Macaulay cannot speak in reply; preparation is essential to him; and even with preparation he is nervous, anxious, uneasy, until he has poured out his cogitations. On the nights, too, on which he intends to speak, a child might discern the fact. He sits with his arms crossed; his head is frequently thrown back, as if he were attentively surveying the roof; and though the SPEAKER of the House of Commons is a perfectly impartial man, and fills his office to the satisfaction of every member, one can scarcely doubt that he often relieves a poet and an orator from his uneasiness by naming Mr. Macaulay at an early period of the evening.

Sir James Graham is an able administrative member of the executive government, and occasionally made a "heavy, pounding speech," when the occasion was exciting, and the topic a party one. But on ordinary occasions he is tame, subdued, with a voice pitched frequently too low to be heard with comfort. Lord Palmerston, who, at sixty-two years of age, still preserves the vigorous appearance and graceful proportions of a handsome man of forty, is perhaps as effective a speaker as any member of the present House of Commons. Intellectually, he is one of the ablest men of the party to which he professes to belong. Yet he is not good in reply, despite of a House of Commons' training of the same duration as that of Sir Robert Peel's. Lord John Russell is frequently much better; his sententious method rendering a retort telling, and sometimes most effective. But there is no great oratorical mind in the existing House. Sir Robert Peel is heard and seen to best advantage in making an important statement. Measuring him, however, with his present rivals, he is most effective in reply. His memory is excellent, his attention is great, and his practical intellect enables him at once to hit an objection between "wind and water." Never running before the breeze, never outstripping the intelligence of his contemporaries, he waits until the pioneers of intellect and progress have mapped out the road, and then calls on his compeers to follow him. In reply, he collects the scattered topics of the debate, arranges them all in admirable order, and if he fail, as unquestionably he does, in leaving the impress of genius, he yet inspires the feeling that he is the readiest, the best, the most effective exponent of the hour. Though not

witty, he has some share of humour, and can "shake the sides" of the House by a ludicrous exhibition of an argument.

We live in an age which is peculiarly one of transition; and Sir Robert Peel is a transition minister. Entering the House of Commons in the year 1809, when he was just turned twenty-one years of age (he is now fifty-eight), his ideas were formed on pre-existing notions; and he possessed no intuitive power to divine the future. His first great error was on the currency question. On this subject, his father, that successful manufacturer whom Pitt created a baronet, was thoroughly enthusiastic. His intellect, like that of his son's, was practical, and its range made it narrower. At a time when the newly discovered powers which science had placed in the hands of manufacture were developing the latent resources of our ingenuity, old Sir Robert Peel, calico-printer and cotton-manufacturer, rose to opulence. But practical as he was, he was in the habit of confounding cause with effect. Pitt was to him a very great minister; and Pitt's worst measure, the suspension of cash payments, was the glory of his premiership. The old man's motto was "Pitt and paper-money ;" and he once told the House of Commons that his highest ambition was to produce a son who might serve his country as effectually as Pitt did.

His son, the second, and to all purposes of history, the Sir Robert Peel, entered the House of Commons without an idea on currency but what his father taught him. Qn this question he exhibited his first great act of apostacy. Having voted in support of inconvertible paper currency, he took to studying the subject, and, to the dismay of his father, and the surprise of the country, adopted "cash payments," and brought in the bill of 1819. And herein is the clue to his conduct. Francis Horner may speak; Ricardo may expound; Canning or Brougham may concentrate all their power; Villiers or Cobden may enlighten: he resists them all until circumstances compel him to study the subject for himself. Conviction comes at last, though it may come slowly; he will not walk until his crutch assures him that the ground is secure; and then he walks firmly forward. Thus has it been, in currency reform, in amelioration of the criminal law, in the Corporation and Test Acts, in Catholic Emancipation, in Commercial Reform; other men laboured, and Sir Robert Peel, waiting till theory had done its work, walks in to carry out into practice the fruit of toilsome years. He is not precisely the APOSTLE of public opinion, but he is its practical realiser.

Sir Robert Peel is exemplary in his private morals. Reserved in his manners, and somewhat jealous and secretive in his course of action, he has frequently exposed himself to the imputation of being both an egotist and a double-dealer. But all men, whose habits are reserved and secret, are liable to be suspected by those who observe them; and the art of managing men frequently requires a caution that approaches cunning. As a party leader, Sir Robert Peel has evinced much skill; and since he became Prime Minister, his methods of reconciling individuals to inevitable changes have exposed him to taunts of inconsistency and deception. Yet he has balanced conflicting forces with extraordinary precision; and having gained office by party, achieves his purposes without it. Though not profuse in his expenditure, he is not mean in the distribution of his superfluous funds, though more discreet than generous. A natural love of art leads him to purchase pictures, of which he has a splendid collection; but he is rather chary in their exhibition. He carries his purest feelings into his official conduct; and whatever opinion may be formed of his political course, his assertion cannot be contradicted, that he has never debased the powers which office has conferred upon him to unworthy objects. In his present capacity, as head of

the government, he strikingly exemplifies the remark of Mr. Pitt, that patience is the chief quality required in a prime minister. Night after night, be the subject discussed trivial or otherwise, Sir Robert Peel is in his place in the House of Commons during the whole session. And day by day he receives dispatches, reads letters, confers with deputations, and concocts plans. His life is a course of as patient industry as that of any private individual who toils for his daily bread; and no man can doubt that since he last became Prime Minister his course of action has been that of a man who wishes to improve his country, and to leave his name impressed upon posterity by the beneficent exercise of power.

THE POTATO DISEASE, AND THE USE OF MAIZE.

THE potato is subject to a disease which, although it has been observed for some years past on the continent of Europe and in the United States, did not excite much attention till the year 1845, when Great Britain became alarmed by the appearance of this disease in the potato crops of Ireland. One of the earliest writers on the diseases of potatoes is Von Martius, who, in a work * *Die Kartoffeln-Epidemie.

| published at Munich in 1842, described several diseases which had been observed in the potato in various parts of Germany, and one closely resembling that which appeared in Great Britain in 1845. For several years, more especially during 1842, 1843, and 1844, a disease of the potato was observed in the United States of America, and during the latter year it was so prevalent as to induce the American government to appoint a com