the rich, and of necessaries for the sustenance of the poor. Birds and animals of beauty and value have been added to the European stocks; and transplantations from the transcendant and unequalled riches of our forests have mingled themselves profusely with the elms, and ashes, and Druidal oaks of England.

America has made contributions far more vast. Who can estimate the amount, or the value, of the augmentation of the commerce of the world, that has resulted from America? Who can imagine to himself, what would be the shock to the Eastern Continent, if the Atlantic were no longer traversable, or there were no longer American productions, or American markets? But America exercises influences, or holds out examples for the consideration of the Old World, of a much higher, because they are of a moral and political character. America has furnished to Europe proof of the fact that popular institutions, founded on equality and the principle of representation, are capable of maintaining governments-able to secure the rights of person, property, and reputation.

America has proved that it is practicable to elevate the mass of mankind-that portion which in Europe is called the labouring, or lower class-to raise them to self-respect, to make them competent to act a part in the great right, and great duty, of self-government; and this she has proved may be done by education and the diffusion of knowledge. She holds out an example, a thousand times more enchanting than ever was presented before, to those nine-tenths of the human race who are born without hereditary fortune or hereditary rank.

America has furnished to the world the character of Washington! And if our American institutions had done nothing else, that alone would have entitled them to the respect of mankind. Washington! “First in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen !" Washington is all our own! The enthusiastic veneration and regard in which the people of the United States hold him, prove them to be worthy of such a countryman; while his reputation abroad reflects the highest honour on his country and its institutions. I would cheerfully put the question today to the intelligence of Europe and the world, what character of the century, upon the whole, stands out in the

relief of history, most pure, most respectable, most sublime; and I doubt not, that by a suffrage approaching to un nimity, the answer would be, Washington!

I claim him for America. In all the perils, in every darkened moment of the state, in the midst of the reproaches of enemies and the misgiving of friends—1 turn to that transcendant name for courage and for consolation. To him who denies, or doubts, whether our fervid liberty ta be combined with law, with order, with the security of property, with the pursuits and advancement of happiness -to him who denies that our institutions are capable of producing exaltation of soul and the passion of true glory -to him who denies that we have contributed anything to the stock of great lessons and great examples-to all these I reply by pointing to Washington!

LESSON LXXXI.

Peroration to the Invective against Warren Hastings—Sher

IDAN.

BEFORE I Come to the last magnificent paragraph, let ne call the attention of those who, possibly, think thembelves capable of judging of the dignity and character of justice in this country;-let me call the attention of those 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 itseli' 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 thisI 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 sublimely upon the heart of man-by the majesty of that Justice which this bold man has libelled-by the wide fame of your 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 rewards 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.

LESSON LXXXII.

Panegyric on the Eloquence of Sheridan.—BURKE.

He has this day surprised the thousands who hung with rapture on his accents, by such an array of talents, such au

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.

LESSON LXXXIII.

Death of Little Nell.-CHARLES DICKENS.

She was dead. No sleep so beautiful and calm, so free from trace of pain, so fair to look upon. She seemed a creature fresh from the hand of God, and waiting for the breath of life; not one who had lived and suffered death. Her couch was dressed with here and there some winterberries and green leaves, gathered in a spot she had been used to favour. "When I die, put near me something that has loved the light, and had the sky above it always." Those were her words.

She was dead. Dear, gentle, patient, noble Nell was dead. Her little bird-a poor, slight thing the pressure of a finger would have crushed-was stirring nimbly in its cage, and the strong heart of its child-mistress was mute and motionless forever! Where were the traces of her early cares, her sufferings, and fatigues? All gone. Sorrow was

dead, indeed, in her; but peace and perfect happiness were born-imaged-in her tranquil beauty and profound repose.

And still her former self lay there, unaltered in this change. Yes! the old fireside had smiled upon that same sweet face; it had passed, like a dream, through haunts of misery and care; at the door of the poor schoolmaster on the summer evening, before the furnace-fire upon the cold wet night, at the still bedside of the dying boy, there had been the same mild, lovely look. So shall we know the angels in their majesty after death.

The old man held one languid arm in his, and that the small tight hand folded to his breast for warmth. It was the hand she had stretched out to him with her last smile-the hand that had led him on through all their wanderings. Ever and anon he pressed it to his lips; then hugged it to his breast again, murmuring that it was warmer now; and, as he said it, he looked in agony to those who stood around, as if imploring them to help her.

She was dead, and past all help, or need of it. The ancient rooms she had seemed to fill with life, even while her own was waning fast, the garden she had tended, the eyes she had gladdened, the noiseless haunts of many a thoughtless hour, the paths she had trodden, as it were, but yesterday, could know her no more.

"It is not," said the schoolmaster, as he bent down to kiss her on the cheek, and gave his tears free vent, "It is not in this world that Heaven's justice ends. Think what it is, compared with the world to which her young spirit has winged its early flight, and say, if one deliberate wish, expressed in solemn tones above this bed, could call her back to life, which of us would utter it !"}

She had been dead two days. They were all about her. at the time, knowing that the end was drawing on. She died soon after daybreak. They had read and talked to her in the earlier portion of the night, but, as the hours crept on, she sunk to sleep. They could tell, by what she faintly uttered in her dreams, that they were of her journeyings with the old man: they were of no painful scenes, but of those who had helped them, and used them kindly; for she often said "God bless you!" with great fervour. Waking, she never wandered in her mind but once, and that was at