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Hume, made a weak defence. The fairer presumption is, that he saw defence was unavailing; and this seeming weakness was a resigned and virtuous tranquillity ;-perhaps he also yielded something to his amiable nature, unwilling to compromise his family and friends by using a tone of more frank and undaunted freedom. Sidney, a republican and sage, whose talents were more exercised, and who aspired more at the setting splendour of a nobile lethum, defended himself with greater expertness and éclat. But neither affected eloquence; and the Bar, whilst these two illustrious patriots were judicially murdered by infamous juries and a tyrant judge, remained silent as the grave. trials of Hampden (the grandson), prosecuted, or persecuted, for a misdemeanor, when the charge of treason broke down-of Sir Samuel Barnardiston, tried for a similar offence, in gross violation of private correspondence between friends-both admitting full defence by counsel, yet exhibit no traces of eloquence. In the next short reign, disastrous to the sovereign, but auspicious to the nation, one occasion occurred which should have waked the eloquence of earth and heaven -the trial of the Seven Bishops. But even in these proceedings, long and laboured as they are, the accused, invested with all that is most inspiring in personal innocence, devoted patriotism, spiritual veneration, and political liberty-the public heart beating for their destiny, and bowing homage at their feet-the first talents of the Bar-Lord (then Mr.) Somers, the finest talent of the country, engaged in the defencewith all this, the pleadings never rise beyond plain reasoning and mere legal research.

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In fine, so paralyzed was the Bar, that it continued impervious and unaffected by the electric virtue of the Revolution. Even when the 8th William III. provided the aid of counsel to address the jury in treason, the advocate seemed unconscious of the removal of his bonds, and the enlargement of his sphere of liberty. The first case under the statute was that of Rookwood. Sir Benjamin Shower, his leading counsel, and a person of the first eminence at the Bar, scarcely availed himself of his privilege. Like a manumitted slave, he dared not yet persuade himself that he was free. He seems afraid of volunteering even an objection of law. "My Lord," he says, we are assigned as counsel in pursuance of an act of parliament, and we hope that nothing which we shall say in defence of our client will be imputed to ourselves. If," he continues, "we refused to appear, we thought it would be a proclamation to the world that we distrusted your candour towards us in our future practice on other occasions." It should not be passed over that the Chief Justice-and it was Holt-cuts him short, rather churlishly, with "Look you, Sir Benjamin Shower, go on with your objections; let us hear what you have to say." And, after all, there is nothing like a set speech in defence to the jury.

A new and illustrious age of literature-the age of refined language, pure taste, polished style, and chastened eloquence of wit, and sense, and fancy, and philosophy-now succeeded, or had already commenced. But it was the age peculiarly of fine writing, with so much, therefore, of the excellences of art and discipline, as to be unfavourable to the bold and tumultuous licence of diction, construction, and emotion, which Oratory asserts for herself. The style of Swift would be admirable at the Bar; but it should never, as indeed it could never,

be the leading one. How much of what is called Swift's style resides in his singular cast of thought, wit, humour, wisdom, and imagination! And who could be endured as his imitator? It is, then, not at all surprising that the Bar, which had already failed to seize a congenial style of eloquence by which it was surrounded, should not adopt that which was uncongenial to it. Accordingly, in the most important trials of this period, political or private, there is nothing beyond short and negligent statement, and desultory or interlocutory discussion between the court and all the counsel of both sides. The affair of the Duchess of Norfolk affording matter the most prolific of eloquence in later times-the basest profligacy and the highest rank-was treated without eloquence, or even a set speech. In the trial of Sacheverel, at the bar of the Lords, the speeches of Lawyers are decidedly inferior. In the case of Franklin, tried for a libel in "The Craftsman," written by Lord Bolingbroke, the defence is not alone ineloquent, but common-place.

At length, when about the middle of the century that eloquence of free minds, created and inspired by Lord Chatham with little aid, and sustained by him without an equal, flourished in the senate, the Bar felt something of sympathy or emulation, and ventured in the wake of parliament, upon the untried current of oratory. The best, and one of the first specimens of this new eloquence in the courts, is to be found in the trial of Elizabeth Canning-one of the most truly curious affairs in the history of our jurisprudence. Nine innocent lives were compromised, and two creatures on the verge of execution, "because," as a witty foreigner then in England said, "Elizabeth was pretty and could tell lies." He might have added, because jurors were blockheads, and the populace credulous and cruel. Those who are not acquainted with this trial, which made so much noise in its day, will understand enough of it from the following sketch, somewhat humorously dramatised, but mainly correct, by the same foreigner in his immortal defence of the family of Calas.

"Elizabeth had quitted the house of her parents, and disappeared for a month, when she returned thin, emaciated, and her clothes in rags, Good God! in what condition are you returned! Where have you been? Whence are you come? What has befallen you?' Alas, my dear aunt, as I passed through Moorfields, in order to return home, two strong ruffians threw me down, robbed me, and carried me off to a house ten miles from London."

"Her aunt and her neighbours wept at this tale. 'Oh, my dear child! Was it not to the house of that infamous Mrs. Webb, that the ruffians conveyed you? for she lives about ten miles from town.' 'Yes, aunt, it was to Mrs. Webb's.' 'To a great house on the right?' 'Yes, aunt.' The neighbours then described Mrs. Webb: and the young Canning agreed, that she was exactly such a woman as they described her. One of them told Miss Canning, that people played all night in that woman's house; that it was a cut-throat place, where young men resorted to lose their money and ruin themselves. 'Indeed it is a cut-throat place,' replied Elizabeth Canning. They do worse,' said another neighbour, those two ruffians, who are cousins to Mrs. Webb, go on the highway, take up all the pretty girls they meet, and oblige them to live on bread and water, until they consent to abandon themselves to the gamblers in the house.' 'Good God! I suppose they obliged you, my dear niece, to live upon bread and water.' 'Yes, aunt.'" &c. &c.

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The victims of this girl's wicked falsehoods having been saved, she was herself indicted for perjury. Her trial afforded the strongest ex

citement and the finest sphere to the counsel, and, for the first time, not in vain. Their speeches aim at dialectics in a better style, the constructions and movements, and energy, and fervour of legitimate declamation-something, in fine, which may be called elaborate and avowed oratory. The more inspiring side, from the peculiarity of the case, was that of the crown-on behalf of which Mr. Davy made an excellent reply. A single passage from his peroration will suffice as an example, and deserves moreover to be quoted for its eloquence.

"Of all the crimes (says he) the human heart can conceive, perjury is the most impious and detestable. But the guilt of this person is so transcendent as to defy aggravation. To call upon the God of truth, in the most solemn form, and on the most awful occasion to attest a falsehood-to imprecate the vengeance of Heaven upon her guilty head-to prostitute the law of the land to the vilest purpose-to triumph in the destruction of an innocent fellow-creature-to commit a murder with the sword of justice—and then, having stript her own heart of all humanity, to insinuate herself, by all the arts of hypocrisy into the compassion of others— such is the peculiar sin of this person, not yet twenty years of age!"'

The progress of eloquence from this period, and the distinctive merits of those who became eminent in the new generation which immediately succeeded at the bar, demands, even in mere outline, a separate notice.

THE GREEK WOMAN.*
*

SHE look'd upon the friends around
Her silent bed of death,

Her pale lip utter'd not a sound,
No sigh disturb'd her breath;
The hectic hue was deep
Upon her hollow cheek;
She saw the mourners weep
With resignation meek,

But tearless was that black deep eye,
Its fount of grief had long been dry.-

* See "Letter from the East," vol. 7, page 353, N. M. M. The wife of a Greek, "a young woman of uncommon loveliness, seeing her husband departing, stood on the shore stretching out her hands towards the boat in vain, and imploring in the most moving terms to be taken on board. The Greek saw it without concern or pity, and without aiding her escape bade his companions hasten their flight. This unfortunate woman, left unprotected in the midst of her enemies, struggled through scenes of difficulty and danger, of insult and suffering, till her health and strength failing, with a heart broken by sorrow, brought her to her death-bed*******

Her husband returned at "last, when the enemy had retreated, and the Greeks had sought their homes again; and learning her situation was touched with the deepest remorse. But all hope of life was then extinguished; her spirit had been tried to the utmost; love had changed to aversion, and she refused to see or forgive him." ********

"Her friends, with tears entreated her to speak to and forgive her husband; but she turned her face to the wall, and waved her hand for him to be gone. Soon the last pang came over her, and affection conquered; she turned suddenly round, raised a look of forgiveness to him, placed her hand in his, and died."

She could not force another tear,
She'd wept her last away,
And lay serene without a fear,
Nor pray'd recovery

Her spirit, worn and tried,
Was noble still and strong,
The tomb alone could hide

Her suffering and her wrong.

Her heart had broke, but still 'twas great,
And, spurning love, knew how to hate.

There lay she beautiful and pale,

Her dark locks on her breast,
With looks that told a touching tale
How she should be at rest-
With looks that from her woe
In indignation broke,
And seem'd to come and go
Whene'er her spirit spoke,

And to her soul recall'd the ill

She could not brook though it might kill.

He who had won her from the shore
Had like a coward fled-

Had seen her stretch her arms-implore

His pity on her head

Had left her to the foe,

And ruthless Moslem chain

Nor marvel that she now

Could never love again :

Though keen remorse had wrung his soul,
He well had merited the whole.

She turn'd her face toward the wall,
And, speechless, waved her hand
That he might go, nor thus recall
What she could not command,
Her broken heart's, distate
For her affection's blight,
The love which he had cast to waste,
Her earthly sole delight-

That he might take her scorn and go,
The assassin of her hope below.

Death struck her pallid loveliness—
One pang-a second came!—

As life went out, her hate grew less,
Love cast a parting gleam;

Its momentary ray

Broke on her long, long gloom,
Dispersed her hate away,

And lit her to the tomb;

She turn'd and grasp'd his band, and her glazed eye Told him she could forgive now she could die.

THE THOMPSON PAPERS.

No. XIII.

Hall, Sussex, 13th June, 1825. POSITIVELY, my dear Thompson, I could not endure the drudgery of the House of Commons any longer, though I am willing to allow you and your fellow clerks of the nation full credit for the perseverance with which you carry on the publick business. Among the various requisites for an M. P. surely a good constitution and the power of defying sleep altogether, like the Speaker, or of only waking now and then for a division, like our Somersetshire friend, may be deemed the most indispensable. In watching over the national constitution, I have half-ruined my own. Saint Stephen has had his revenge, for his quondam chapel has made more martyrs than the persecutors under whom he suffered. Besides, as I believe you will readily confess, I got out of humour as well as out of health, irritated with the fate of the Catholic relief bill, the success of which I considered so vitally essential to the peace and consolidation of the empire. Now, however, that I have had time for a little calm consideration, I am disposed to look back upon the events of the present Session with great complacency, as likely to produce infinite good, although they fell short of that consummation so devoutly to be wished. In all my parliamentary experience I never remember so noble an expurgation of inveterate prejudices, so much honest and manly conversion from old errors, so frank and disinterested a homage to the omnipotence of Truth. It is not only of incalculable advantage that the bill should have passed the Commons; but all the details connected with its progress have been so eminently productive of union, reconciliation, and brotherhood, that the natural exasperation of its failure will be neutralized by the universal benevolence elicited in its partial success. For the first time in our recollections, England and Ireland were both in a state of profound tranquillity, party spirit was nearly extinct, we possessed a semi-liberal ministry, who had deservedly become so popular that they were receiving daily eulogiums even from the radicals; there was no subject of difference but this one, and, as if desirous of giving us an antepast of that universal fellowship of love which its removal would generate, the individuals of all persuasions recommending that measure, evinced an undeviating suavity of manner and an amalgamation of kindly feeling that was never before witnessed in any political discussion. All private resentments were deposited upon the altar of patriotism; prejudice yielded to conviction, and the Session must ever be considered a glorious one for the country if it were only for the noble and enlightened conduct of Mr. Brownlow, and the death-blow that he has given to the furious and detestable Orange faction.

One circumstance remarkably developed in the whole proceeding, and which indeed forms the peculiar characteristic of the present age, is the advancement of the commonalty in tolerance and liberality, or, in other words, in knowledge, while a large proportion of the upper ranks remain in a stationary if not a retrogressive state; a fact which, if it be true that knowledge is power, most materially alters the relative

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