who, arrogantly perhaps, presume that they understand what the features, what the duties of justice are here and in India;—let them learn a lesson from this great statesman, this enlarged, this liberal philosopher:-" I hope I shall not depart from the simplicity of official language, in saying, that the Majesty of Justice ought to be approached with solicitation, not descend to provoke or invite it, much less to debase itself by the suggestion of wrongs, and the promise of redress, with the denunciation of punishment before trial, and even before accusation." This is the exhortation which Mr. Hastings makes to his Counsel. This is the character which he gives of British justice.

But I will ask your Lordships, do you approve this representation? Do you feel, that this is the true image of Justice? Is this the character of British Justice? Are these her features? Is this her countenance? Is this her gait or her mien? No; I think even now I hear you calling upon me to turn from this vile libel, this base caricature, this Indian pagod, formed by the hand of guilty and knavish tyranny, to dupe the heart of ignorance,—to turn from this deformed idol, to the true Majesty of Justice here. Here, indeed, I see a different form, enthroned by the sovereign hand of Freedom,—awful, without severity-commanding, without pride-vigilant and active, without restlessness or suspicion-searching and inquisitive, without meanness or debasement—not arrogantly scorning to stoop to the voice of afflicted innocence, and in its loveliest attitude when bending to uplift the suppliant at its feet.

It is by the majesty, by the form of that Justice, that I do conjure and implore your Lordships, to give your minds to this great business; that I exhort you to look, not so much to words which may be denied or quibbled away, but to the plain facts,—to weigh and consider the testimony in your own minds: we know the result must be inevitable. Let the truth appear, and our cause is gained. It is this-I conjure your Lordships, for your own honour, for the honour of the nation, for the honour of human nature, now entrusted to your care, it is this duty that the Commons of England, speaking through us, claim at your hands.

They exhort you to it by every thing that calls submely upon the heart of man-by the Majesty of that

Justice which this bold man has libelled-by the wide fame of your own tribunal-by the sacred pledge by which you swear in the solemn hour of decision; knowing that that decision will then bring you the highest reward that ever blessed the heart of man-the consciousness of having done the greatest act of mercy for the world, that the earth has ever yet received from any hand but Heaven.My Lords, I have done.

Panegyric on the Eloquence of Sheridan.

He has this day surprised the thousands who hung with rapture on his accents, by such an array of talents, such an exhibition of capacity, such a display of powers, as are unparalleled in the annals of oratory; a display that reflected the highest honour on himself-lustre upon letters-renown upon parliament-glory upon the country. Of all species of rhetoric, of every kind of eloquence that has been witnessed or recorded, either in ancient or modern times; whatever the acuteness of the bar, the dignity of the senate, the solidity of the judgment-seat, and the sacred morality of the pulpit, have hitherto furnished; nothing has equalled what we have this day heard. No holy seer of religion, no statesman, no orator, no man of any literary description whatever, has come up, in the one instance, to the pure sentiments of morality; or, in the other, to that variety of knowledge, force of imagination, propriety and vivacity of allusion, beauty and elegance of diction, strength and copiousness of style, pathos and sublimity of conception, to which we, this day, listened with ardour and admiration. From poetry up to eloquence, there is not a species of composition, of which a complete and perfect specimen might not, from that single speech, be culled and collected.

Burke

168

ADDITIONAL SELECTIONS IN PROSE AND VERSE.

On Criticism

"AND how did Garrick speak the soliloquy last night?" "Oh, against all rule, my lord, most ungrammatically; betwixt the substantive and the adjective, which should agree together in number, case, and gender, he made a breach thus-stopping as if the point wanted settling ;and betwixt the nominative case, which your lordship knows should govern the verb, he suspended his voice in the epilogue a dozen times, three seconds, and three-fifths by a stop-watch, my lord, each time."

"Admirable grammarian! But in suspending his voice, was the sense suspended likewise? Did no expression of attitude or countenance fill up the chasm? the eye silent? Did you narrowly look ?"

Was

"I looked only at the stop-watch, my lord." "Excellent observer! And what of this new book the whole world makes such a rout about?"

"Oh ! 'tis out of all plumb, my lord, quite an irregular thing not one of the angles at the four corners was a right angle-I had my rule and compasses, &c., my lord, in my pocket."

"Excellent critic !"

"And for the epic poem your lordship bid me look at ; -upon taking the length, breadth, height, and depth of it, and trying them at home upon an exact scale of Bossu's -'tis out, my lord, in every one of its dimensions." "Admirable connoisseur !—And did you step in to take a look at the grand picture in your way back?"

""Tis a melancholy daub, my lord, not one principle of the pyramid in any one group,-and what a price!-for there is nothing of the colouring of Titian-the expression

of Rubens-the grace of Raphael-the purity of Dominichino-the corregiescity of Corregio-the learning of Poussin-the air of Guido-the taste of the Caraccis-or the grand contour of Angelo."

Grant me patience, just Heaven! Of all the cants which are canted in this canting world, though the cant of hypocrisy may be the worst, the cant of criticism is the most tormenting. I would go fifty miles on foot to kiss the hand of that man whose generous heart will give up the reins of his imagination into his author's hands—be pleased he knows not why, and cares not wherefore.

The Archery of William Tell.

Sterne.

"PLACE there the boy," the tyrant said; "fix me the apple on his head: ha! rebel-now there is a fair mark for thy shaft, there, try thy boasted archer craft!" And hoarsely the dark Austrian laughed, with quivering brow. The Switzer gazed-his cheek grew pale-his bold lips throbbed, as if would fail their labouring breath. "Ha! so you blench ?" fierce Gesler cried: "I've conquered, slave, thy soul of pride." No word to that stern taunt replied-all still as death.

"And what the meed?" at length Tell asked. "Bold fool when slaves like thee are tasked, it is MY WILL; but that thine eye may keener be, and nerved to such nice archery, if thou cleav'st yon, thou goest free. What -pause you still? Give him a bow and arrow thereone shaft--but one." Madness, despair, and tortured love, one moment swept the Switzer's face; then passed away each stormy trace, and high resolve reigned like a grace, caught from above.

"I take thy terms," he murmured low; grasped eagerly the proffered bow; the quiver searched; chose out an arrow keen and long-fit for a sinewy arm and strong and placed it on the sounding thong, the tough yew arched.

Deep stillness fell on all around-through that dense crowd was heard no sound of step or word; all watched with fixed and shuddering eye, to see that fearful arrow fly-the light winds died into a sigh, and scarcely stirred.

The gallant boy stood firm and mute-he saw the strong bow curved to shoot, yet never moved; he knew that pale fear ne'er unmanned the daring coolness of that hand; he knew it was the father scanned the boy he loved. Slow rose the shaft :-it trembled-hung. "My only boy!" gasped on his tongue: he could not aim. "Ha!" cried the tyrant, "doth he quail? he shakes! his haughty brow is pale !" "Shoot!" cried a low voice, "canst thou fail ?-shoot, in God's name !"

Again the drooping shaft he took-cast to the heavens one burning look-of all doubts reft. "Be firm, my boy!" was all he said he drew the bow-the arrow fled-the apple left the stripling's head-" "Tis cleft! 'tis cleft!" And cleft it was-and Tell was free. Quick the brave boy was at his knee with flushing cheek. But ere the sire his child embraced, the baffled Austrian cried in haste, "An arrow in thy belt is placed-what means it? speak!"

The Switzer raised his clenched hand high, whilst lightning from his glaring eye incessant flashed: and the deep awful tones, which hung in menace on his fearless tongue, echoed like thunder up among the rent Alps dashed. "To smite thee, tyrant, to the heart, had heaven so willed it that my dart touched this, my boy!" "Treason! rebellion! chain the slave !" A hundred swords around him wave, and hate to Gesler's features gave infuriate joy.

They chained the Switzer, arm and limb,-they racked him till his eyes grew dim, and reeled his brain; nor groan, nor pain-wrung prayer gave he, but smiled, beneath his belt to see that shaft, whose point he swore should be not strung in vain!

And that same arrow found its goal, red with revenge, in Gesler's soul, when Lucerne's lake heard him his felon soul out-moan; and Freedom's call abroad was blown, and Switzerland a giant grown-her fetters brake. From hill to hill the summons flew-from lake to lake that tempest grew with wakening swell, till balked oppression crouched in shame, and Austrian haughtiness grew tame, and freedom's watchword was-the name of William Tell! Baine.