Francis Horner was born at Edinburgh, 29th August 1778, a merchant’s son of mixed English and Scottish ancestry. From the High School he passed at fourteen to the university; and, after three years there, spent two more with a clergyman in Middlesex, to “unlearn” his broad native dialect. On his return (1797) he was called to the Scottish bar, from which in 1802 he removed to the English; in 1806 he became Whig member for St. Ives. He had made his mark in the House as a political economist, when, at thirty-eight, he died of consumption at Pisa, 8th February 1817. He left little to preserve his name, beyond some contributions to the “Edinburgh Review,” of which he was one of the founders. Yet, in Lord Cockburn’s words, he was “possessed of greater public influence than any other private man.” See his “Memoir and Correspondence” (1843).
Personal
Horner—the Horner, an Edinburgh Reviewer, an excellent speaker in the “Honourable House,” very pleasing, too, and gentlemanly in company, as far as I have seen.
He had, indeed, qualifications eminently calculated to obtain and to deserve success. His sound principles—his enlarged views—his various and accurate knowledge—the even tenour of his manly and temperate eloquence—the genuineness of his warmth, when into warmth he was betrayed—and, above all, the singular modesty with which he bore his faculties, and which shed a grace and lustre over them all; these qualifications, added to the known blamelessness and purity of his private character, did not more endear him to his friends, than they commanded the respect of those to whom he was opposed in adverse politics; they ensured to every effort of his abilities an attentive and favouring audience; and secured for him, as the result of all, a solid and unenvied reputation.
The only event which now appears interesting to me, is the scene in the House of Commons on Monday. Lord Morpeth opened it in a speech so perfect, that it might have been well placed as a passage in the most elegant English writer; it was full of feeling; every topic was skillfully presented, and contained, by a sort of prudence which is a part of taste, within safe limits; he slid over the thinnest ice without cracking it. Canning filled well what would have been the vacant place of a calm observer of Horner’s public life and talents. Manners Sutton’s most affecting speech was a tribute of affection from a private friend become a political enemy; Lord Lascelles, at the head of the country gentlemen of England, closing this affecting, improving, and most memorable scene by declaring, “that if the sense of the House could have been taken on this occasion, it would have been unanimous.” I may say without exaggeration, that never were so many words uttered without the least suspicion of exaggeration; and that never was so much honour paid in any age or nation to intrinsic claims alone. A Howard introduced, and an English House of Commons adopted, the proposition of thus honouring the memory of a man of thirty-eight, [?] the son of a shopkeeper, who never filled an office, or had the power of obliging a living creature, and whose grand title to this distinction was the belief of his virtue. How honourable to the age and to the House! A country where such sentiments prevail is not ripe for destruction.
Nor do I believe that there is or ever was, a great divided political assembly where so generous and just a testimony would have been borne unanimously to personal merit, joined especially as it was in that individual, with a stern and unaccommodating disdain of all sorts of baseness or falsehood.
I thought his knowledge various, correct, and ready for use. In his language, he united the precision of a philosopher with the elegance of a scholar. He had cheerfulness without levity, and seriousness without austerity. He was sincere in his principles and steady in his attachments. But his manners were mild, his temper was benevolent, and, with a becoming zeal in the support of his own opinions, he was perfectly exempt from intolerance to those who thought differently from himself.
Francis Horner was a rising speaker, when he was taken off in the flower of his age. He was calm, rational, strong, and so argumentative and clear, as to fix the attention, and carry with him very frequently the conviction of a part of his audience against their will; yet he never rose to eloquence, and had always something of a professional manner.
It was the force of his character that raised him; and this character not impressed upon him by nature, but formed, out of no peculiarly fine elements, by himself. There were many in the House of Commons of far greater ability and eloquence. But no one surpassed him in the combination of an adequate portion of these with moral worth. Horner was born to show what moderate powers, unaided by any thing whatever except culture and goodness, may achieve, even when these powers are displayed amidst the competition and jealousy of public life.
There was something very remarkable in his countenance—the commandments were written on his face, and I have often told him there was not a crime he might not commit with impunity, as no judge or jury who saw him, would give the smallest degree of credit to any evidence against him: there was in his look a calm settled love of all that was honourable and good—an air of wisdom and of sweetness; you saw at once that he was a great man, whom nature had intended for a leader of human beings; you ranged yourself willingly under his banners, and cheerfully submitted to his sway.
Francis Horner’s was a short and singular life. He was the son of an Edinburgh shopkeeper; he died at thirty-nine: and when he died, from all sides of the usually cold House of Commons great statesmen and thorough gentlemen got up to deplore his loss. Tears are rarely parliamentary; all men are arid towards young Scotchmen: yet it was one of that inclement nation whom statesmen of the species Castlereagh and statesmen of the species Whitbread—with all the many kinds and species that lie between the two—rose in succession to lament. The fortunes and superficial aspect of the man make it more singular. He had no wealth, was a briefless barrister, never held an office, was a conspicuous member of the most unpopular of all Oppositions,—the opposition to a glorious and successful war. He never had the means of obliging any one. He was destitute of showy abilities: he had not the intense eloquence or overwhelming ardor which enthrall and captivate popular assemblies; his powers of administration were little tried, and may possibly be slightly questioned. In his youthful reading he was remarkable for laying down, for a few months of study, enormous plans, such as many years would scarcely complete; and not especially remarkable for doing anything wonderful towards accomplishing those plans. Sir Walter Scott, who, though not illiberal in his essential intellect, was a keen partisan on superficial matters, and no lenient critic on actual Edinburgh Whigs, used to observe, “I will not admire your Horner: he always put me in mind of Obadiah’s bull, who, though he never produced a calf, went through his business with such a grave demeanor that he always maintained his credit in the parish.” It is no explanation of the universal regret, that he was a considerable political economist: no real English gentleman, in his secret soul, was ever sorry for the death of a political economist…. He may be useful, as drying machines are useful, but the notion of crying about him is absurd. The economical loss might be great, but it will not explain the mourning for Francis Horner. The fact is, that Horner is a striking example of the advantage of keeping an atmosphere.
The plodding assiduity and eminent respectability of Horner enabled him to carry away from Edinburgh a well-earned esteem, although even his friends were obliged to admit that he owed nothing to talent or genius, and we are painfully struck by the truth of Scott’s passing jibe, which found in Horner’s solemn earnestness a certain reminiscence of Obadiah’s bull.
General
I cannot say that I thought Mr. Horner a man of genius. He seemed to me to be one of those men who have not very extended minds, but who know what they know very well—shallow streams, and clear because they are shallow.
His object was not to acquire fame for himself, but to confer benefits on his fellow-men; and his journals and correspondence not only afford evidence the most conclusive of his abilities, his public services, and his virtues, but as it were revive and continue, even after death, the exercise of his active duties. They instruct and benefit mankind, and more especially that country which he ever warmly loved.
Mr. Horner is entitled to a high rank as a political economist. But he was more than this; he was a diligent student of intellectual philosophy, a man of great elevation of character, and unblemished purity in private life.
He was a correct and forcible speaker, and though without the gift of eloquence or humour, exercised a remarkable influence in the House of Commons, owing to his personal character. Few men, with such small advantages at the outset of their career, ever acquired in such a short space of time so great a reputation among their contemporaries. As a political economist Horner ranks deservedly high, and though the bullion report, with which his name is identified, produced no immediate legislative results, its effect upon public opinion was so great that Peel was enabled to pass his bill for the gradual resumption of cash payments by the bank a few years afterwards.
