Mr. Brougham has one considerable advantage in debate:  he is overcome by no false modesty, no deference to others.  But then, by a natural consequence or parity of reasoning, he has little sympathy with other people, and is liable to be mistaken in the effect his arguments will have upon them.  He relies too much, among other things, on the patience of his hearers, and on his ability to turn every thing to his own advantage.  He accordingly goes to the full length of his tether (in vulgar phrase) and often overshoots the mark. C’est dommage.  He has no reserve of discretion, no retentiveness of mind or check upon himself.  He needs, with so much wit,

  “As much again to govern it.”

He cannot keep a good thing or a shrewd piece of information in his possession, though the letting it out should mar a cause.  It is not that he thinks too much of himself, too little of his cause:  but he is absorbed in the pursuit of truth as an abstract inquiry, he is led away by the headstrong and over-mastering activity of his own mind.  He is borne along, almost involuntarily, and not impossibly against his better judgment, by the throng and restlessness of his ideas as by a crowd of people in motion.  His perceptions are literal, tenacious, epileptic—­his understanding voracious of facts, and equally communicative of them—­and he proceeds to

“--------Pour out all as plain
As downright Shippen or as old Montaigne”—­

without either the virulence of the one or the bonhommie of the other.  The repeated, smart, unforeseen discharges of the truth jar those that are next him.  He does not dislike this state of irritation and collision, indulges his curiosity or his triumph, till by calling for more facts or hazarding some extreme inference, he urges a question to the verge of a precipice, his adversaries urge it over, and he himself shrinks back from the consequence—­

  “Scared at the sound himself has made!”

Mr. Brougham has great fearlessness, but not equal firmness; and after going too far on the forlorn hope, turns short round without due warning to others or respect for himself.  He is adventurous, but easily panic-struck; and sacrifices the vanity of self-opinion to the necessity of self-preservation.  He is too improvident for a leader, too petulant for a partisan; and does not sufficiently consult those with whom he is supposed to act in concert.  He sometimes leaves them in the lurch, and is sometimes left in the lurch by them.  He wants the principle of co-operation.  He frequently, in a fit of thoughtless levity, gives an unexpected turn to the political machine, which alarms older and more experienced heads:  if he was not himself the first to get out of harm’s way and escape from the danger, it would be well!—­We hold, indeed, as a general rule, that no man born or bred in Scotland can be a great orator, unless he is a mere quack; or a great statesman unless he