defect of Walpole filled
him with faults. He could not bear the idea of a divided rule; he
would be all or nothing; he would have clerks and servants for his
colleagues in office; not real ministers, actual statesmen. He was
under the mistaken impression that a man of genius is to be reduced to
tame insignificance by merely keeping him out of important office. He
had made this mistake with regard to Carteret; he made it now with
regard to Pulteney. The consequences were far more serious; for
Pulteney was neither so good-humored nor so indolent as Carteret, and
he could not be put aside.

Pulteney was a man of singular eloquence, and of eloquence peculiarly
adapted to the House of Commons. His style was brilliant, incisive,
and penetrating. He could speak on any subject at the spur of the
moment. He never delivered a set speech. He was a born parliamentary
debater. All his resources seemed to be at instant command, according
as he had need of them. His reading was wide, deep, and varied; he was
a most accomplished classical scholar, and had a marvellous readiness
and aptitude for classical allusion. He was a wit and a humorist; he
could brighten the dullest topics and make them sparkle by odd and
droll illustrations, as well as by picturesque allusions and eloquent
phrases. He {254} could, when the subject called for it, break
suddenly into thrilling invective. [Sidenote: 1725--Pulteney] But he
had some of the defects of the extemporaneous orator. His eloquence,
his wit, his epigrams often carried him away from his better judgment.
He frequently committed himself to some opinion which was not really
his, and was led far from his proper position in the pursuit of some
paradox or by the charm of some fantastic idea. He was a brilliant
writer as well as a brilliant speaker. His private character would
have little blame if it were not that a fondness for money kept growing
with his growing years. "For a good old-gentlemanly vice," says Byron,
"I think I must take up with avarice." Pulteney did not even wait to
be an old gentleman to take up with "the good old-gentlemanly vice."
We have in some measure now to take his talents on trust, as we have
those of Carteret. He proved to be little more than the comet of a
season; when he had gone, he left no line of light behind him. But it
is certain that in the estimation of his contemporaries he was one of
the most gifted men of his time; and for a while he was