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a nation, or religion in India, which will not bless the presiding care and manly beneficence of this House, and of him who proposes to you this great work. Your names will never be separated before the throne of the Divine Goodness, in whatever language, or with whatever rites, pardon is asked for sin, and reward for those who imitate the Godhead in his universal bounty to his creatures. These honors you deserve, and they will surely be paid, when all the jargon of influence and party, and patronage, are swept into oblivion.
CHARACTER OF LORD CHATHAM.
The secretary stood alone. Modern degeneracy had not reached him. Original and unaccommodating, the features of his character had the hardihood of antiquity. His august mind overawed majesty, and one of his sovereigns thought royalty so impaired in his presence that he conspired to remove him, in order to be relieved from his superiority. No state chicanery, no narrow system of vicious politics, no idle contest for ministerial victories, sunk him to the vulgar level of the great: but overbearing, persuasive, and impracticable, his object was England, his ambition was fame. , Without dividing, he destroyed party; without corrupting, he made a venal age unanimous. France sunk beneath him. With one hand he smote the house of Bourbon, and wielded in the other the democracy of England. The sight of his mind was infinite; and his schemes were to affect, not England, not the present age only, but Europe and posterity. Wonderful were the means by which these schemes were accomplished; always seasonable, always adequate, the suggestions of an understanding animated by ardour, and enlightened by prophecy. The ordinary feelings which make life amiable and indolent, were unknown to him. No domestic difficulties, no domestic weakness reached him; but aloof from the sordid occurrences of life, and unsullied by its intercourse, he came occasionally into our system, to counsel and to decide. A character so exalted, so strenuous, so various, so authoritative, astonished a corrupt age, and the treasutrembled at the the name of Pitt through all her classes of venality. Corruption imagined, indeed, that she had found defects in this statesman, and talked much of the inconsistency of his glory, and much of the ruin of his victories; but the history of his country and the calamities of the enemy, answered and refuted her. Nor were his political abilities his only talents: his eloquence was an aera in the senate, peculiar and spontaneous, familiarly expressing gigantic sentiments and instinctive wisdom; not like the torrent of Demosthenes, or the splendid conflagration of Tully; it resembled sometimes the thunder, and sometimes the music of the spheres. Like Murray, he did not conduct the understanding through the painful subtilty of argumentation; nor was he like Townshend, for ever on the rack of exertion; but rather lightened upon the subject, and reached the point by the flashings of the mind, which, like those of his eye, were felt, but could not be followed. Upon the whole, there was in this man something that could create, subvert, or reform; an understanding, a spirit, and an eloquence, to summon mankind to society, or to break the bonds of slavery asunder, and to rule the wilderness of free minds with unbounded authority ; something that could establish or overwhelm empire, and strike a blow in the world that should resound through the universe.
INVECTIVE AGAINST MR. CORRY, IN REPLY TO HIS ASPERSIONS.
o guilt or innocence have little to do with the ques
tion here.—I rose with the rising fortunes of my coun
try—I am willing to die with her expiring liberties.
To the voice of the people I will bow, but never shall I submit to the calumnies of an individual hired to betray them and slander me. The indisposition of my body has left me perhaps no means but that of lying down with fallen Ireland and recording upon her tomb my dying testimony against the flagitious corruption that has murdered her independence. The right honorable gentleman has said that this was not my place— that instead of having a voice in the councils of my country, I should now stand a culprit at her bar—at the bar of a court of criminal judicature, to answer for my treasons. The Irish people have not so read my history—but let that pass—if I am what he has said I am, the people are not therefore to forfeit their constitution. In point of argument the attack is bad—in point of taste or feeling, if he had either, it is worse—in point of fact it is false, utterly and absolutely false, as rancorous a falsehood as the most malignant motives could suggest to the prompt sympathy of a shameless and a venal defence. The right honorable gentleman has suggested examples which I should have shunned, and examples which I should have followed. I shall never follow his, and I have ever avoided it. I shall never be ambitious to purchase public scorn by private infamy—the lighter characters of the model have as little chance of weaning me from the habits of a life spent, if not exhausted, in the cause of my native land. Am I to renounce those habits now for ever, and at the beck of whom? I should rather say of what—half a minister —half a monkey—a prentice politician, and a master coxcomb. He has told you that what he said of me here, he would say any where. I believe he would say thus of me in anyplace where he thought himself safe in saying it.—Nothing can limit his calumnies but his fears—in parliament he has calumniated me to-night, in the king's courts he would calumniate me to-morrow, but had he said or dared to insinuate one-half as much elsewhere, the indignant spirit of an honest man would have answered the vile and venal slanderer with —a blow:
EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH AGAINST WARREN
Had a stranger, at this time, gone into the province of Oude, ignorant of what had happened since the death of Sujuh Dowla, that man, who, with a savage heart, had still great lines of character, and who with all his ferocity in war, had still, with a cultivating hand, preserved to his country the riches which it derived from benignant skies and a prolific soil.—If this stranger, ignorant of all that had happened in the short interval, and observing the wide and general devastation,and all the horrors of the scene—of plains unclothed and brown—of vegetation burnt up and extinguished— of villages depopulated and in ruins—of temples unroofed and perishing—of reservoirs broken down and dry—he would naturally inquire what war had thus laid waste the fertile fields of this once beautiful and opulent country—what civil dissensions have happened, thus to tear asunder and separate the happy societies that once possessed those villages—what disputed succession—what religious rage has, with unholy violence, demolished those temples, and disturbed fervent, but unobtruding piety in the exercise of its duties — What merciless enemy has thus spread the horrors of fire and sword—what severe visitation of Providence has dried up the fountain, and taken from the face of the earth every vestige of verdure? Or rather, what monsters have stalked over the country, tainting and poisoning, with pestiferous breath, what the voracious appetite could not devour ! To such questions, what must be the answer? No wars have ravaged these lands, and depopulated these villages—no civil discord has been felt—no disputed succession—no religious rage —no cruel enemy—no affliction of Providence, which, while it scourged for a moment, cut off the sources of resuscitation—no voracious and poisoning monsters— mo: all this has been accomplished by the friendship, generosity and kindness of the English nation.
They have embraced us with their protecting arms, and lo! these are the fruits of their alliance. What, them, shall we be told, that under such circumstances, the exasperated feelings of a whole people thus goaded and spurred on to clamor and resistance, were excited by the poor and feeble influence of the Begums ?— When we hear the description of the paroxysm, fever, and delirium, into which despair had thrown the natives, when on the banks of the polluted Ganges, panting for death, they tore more widely open the lips of their gaping wounds, to accelerate their dissolution; and j. their blood was issuing, presented their ghastly eyes to heaven, breathing their last and fervent prayer, that the dry earth might not be suffered to drink their blood, but that it might rise up to the throne of God, and rouse the eternal Providence to avenge the wrongs of their country.
The counsel, in recommending attention to the public in preference to the private letters, had remarked, in particular, that one letter should not be taken as evidence, because it was manifestly and abstractedly private, as it contained in one part the anxieties of W. Middleton for the illness of his son. This was a singular argument indeed; and the circumstance, in his mind, merited strict observation, though not in the view in which it was placed by the counsel. It went to show that some at least of those concerned in these transactions, felt the force of those ties, which their efforts were directed to tear asunder; that those who could ridicule the respective attachment of a mother and a son; who would prohibit the reverence of the son to the mother who had given him life;—who could den to maternal debility the protection which filial tenderness should afford;—were yet sensible of the straining of those chords by which they were united. There was something connected with this transaction so horrible, and so loathsome, as to excite the most contemptuous disgust. If it were not a part of his duty, it would be superfluous to speak of the sacredness of the ties