The earlier part of his life unfortunately presented some assailable points to their hostility.  A committee was chosen by ballot to inquire into the affairs of India; and by this committee the whole history of that great revolution which threw down Surajah Dowlah and raised Meer Jaffier was sifted with malignant care.  Clive was subjected to the most unsparing examination and cross-examination, and afterwards bitterly complained that he, the Baron of Plassey, had been treated like a sheep-stealer.  The boldness and ingenuousness of his replies would alone suffice to show how alien from his nature were the frauds to which, in the course of his Eastern negotiations, he had sometimes descended.  He avowed the arts which he had employed to deceive Omichund, and resolutely said that he was not ashamed of them, and that, in the same circumstances, he would again act in the same manner.  He admitted that he had received immense sums from Meer Jaffier; but he denied that, in doing so, he had violated any obligation of morality or honour.  He laid claim, on the contrary, and not without some reason, to the praise of eminent disinterestedness.  He described in vivid language the situation in which his victory had placed him:  great princes dependent on his pleasure; an opulent city afraid of being given up to plunder; wealthy bankers bidding against each other for his smiles; vaults piled with gold and jewels thrown open to him alone.  “By God, Mr. Chairman,” he exclaimed, “at this moment I stand astonished at my own moderation.”

The inquiry was so extensive that the Houses rose before it had been completed.  It was continued in the following session.  When at length the committee had concluded its labours, enlightened and impartial men had little difficulty in making up their minds as to the result.  It was clear that Clive had been guilty of some acts which it is impossible to vindicate without attacking the authority of all the most sacred laws which regulate the intercourse of individuals and of states.  But it was equally clear that he had displayed great talents, and even great virtues; that he had rendered eminent services both to his country and to the people of India; and that it was in truth not for his dealings with Meer Jaffier, nor for the fraud which he had practised on Omichund, but for his determined resistance to avarice and tyranny, that he was now called in question.

Ordinary criminal justice knows nothing of set-off.  The greatest desert cannot be pleaded in answer to a charge of the slightest transgression.  If a man has sold beer on a Sunday morning, it is no defence that he has saved the life of a fellow-creature at the risk of his own.  If he has harnessed a Newfoundland dog to his little child’s carriage, it is no defence that he was wounded at Waterloo.  But it is not in this way that we ought to deal with men who, raised far above ordinary restraints, and tried by far more than ordinary temptations, are entitled