Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

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 everything 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 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.

EDMUND BURKE:

1728-1797.

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.

COBBETT:

1762-1835.

Rural Rides.

AFTER living within a few hundred yards of Westminster Hall, and the abbey church, and the bridge, and looking from my own windows into St. James's Park, all other buildings and spots appear mean and insignificant. I went to-day to see the house I formerly occupied. How small! It is always thus: the words large and small are carried about with us in our minds, and we forget real dimensions. The idea, such as it was received, remains during our absence from the object. When I returned to England in 1800, after an absence from the country parts of it for sixteen years, the trees, the hedges, and even the parks and woods,

seemed so small! It made me laugh to hear little gutters, that I could jump over, called rivers! The Thames was but a "creek!” But when in about a month after my arrival in London I went to Farnham, the place of my birth, what was my surprise! Everything was become so pitifully small! I had to cross in my postchaise the long and dreary heath of Bagshot. Then at the end of it, to mount a hill called Hungry Hill: and from that hill I knew that I should look down into the beautiful and fertile vale of Farnham. My heart fluttered with impatience, mixed with a sort of fear, to see all the scenes of my childhood; for I had learned before the death of my father and mother. There is a hill not far from the town, called Crooksbury Hill, which rises up out of a flat in the form of a cone, and is planted with Scotch firtrees. Here I used to take the eggs and young ones of crows and magpies. This hill was a famous object in the neighbourhood. It served as the superlative degree of height. "As high as Crooksbury Hill," meant, with us, the utmost degree of height. Therefore the first object that my eyes sought was this hill. I could not believe my eyes! Literally speaking, I for a moment thought the famous hill removed, and a little heap put in its stead; for I had seen in New Brunswick a single rock, or hill of solid rock, ten times as big, and four or five times as high! The post-boy, going down hill, and not a bad road, whisked me in a few minutes to the Bush Inn, from the garden of which I could see the prodigious sand-hill, where I had begun my gardening works. What

a nothing! But now came rushing into my mind all at once my pretty little garden, my little blue smock-frock, my little nailed shoes, my pretty pigeons that I used to feed out of my hands, the last kind words and tears of my gentle, and tender-hearted, and affectionate mother! I hastened back into the room. If I had looked a moment longer I should have dropped. When I came to reflect, what a change! I looked down at my dress. What a change! What scenes I had gone through! How altered my state! I had dined the day before at a Secretary of State's in company with Mr. Pitt, and had been waited upon by men in gaudy liveries! I had had nobody to assist me in the world. No teachers of any sort. Nobody to shelter me from the consequence of bad, and no one to counsel me to good behaviour. I felt proud. The distinctions of rank, birth, and wealth, all became nothing in my eyes; and from that moment (less than a month after my arrival in England) I resolved never to bend before them.

*

The landlady sent her son to get me some cream, and he was just such a chap as I was at his age, and dressed just in the same sort of way, his main garment being a blue smock-frock, faded from wear, and mended with pieces of new stuff, and, of course, not faded. The sight of this smock-frock brought to my recollection many things very dear to me. This boy will, I dare say, perform his part at Billinghurst, or at some place not far from it. If accident had not taken me from a similar scene, how many villains and fools, who had been well teased and tormented, would have slept in peace at night, and have fearlessly swaggered about by day! When I look at this little chap, at his smock-frock, his nailed shoes, and his clean, plain, and coarse shirt, I ask myself, Will anything, I wonder, ever send this chap across the ocean to tackle the base, corrupt, perjured republican judges of Pennsylvania? Will this little lively, but, at the same time, simple boy, ever become the terror of villains and hypocrites across the Atlantic?

SIR WALTER SCOTT:

1771-1832.

The Siege.-From " Ivanhoe."

[Described by Rebecca to Ivanhoe lying wounded.]

"AND I must lie here like a bedridden monk," exclaimed Ivanhoe, "while the game that gives me freedom or death is played out by the hand of others! Look from the window once again, kind maiden, but beware that you are not marked by the archers beneath. Look out once more, and tell me if they yet advance to the storm."

With patient courage, strengthened by the interval which she had employed in mental devotion, Rebecca again took post at the lattice, sheltering herself, however, so as not to be visible from beneath.

"What dost thou see, Rebecca ?" again demanded the wounded knight.

66

Nothing but the cloud of arrows flying so thick as to dazzle mine eyes, and to hide the bowmen who shoot them."

"That cannot endure," said Ivanhoe; "if they press not right on to carry the castle by pure force of arms, the archery may avail but little against stone walls and bulwarks. Look for the

Knight of the Fetterlock, fair Rebecca, and see how he bears himself; for as the leader is, so will his followers be."

"I see him not," said Rebecca.

"Foul craven!" exclaimed Ivanhoe; "does he blench from the helm when the wind blows highest?"

"I see

"He blenches not! he blenches not!" said Rebecca. him now; he leads a body of men close under the outer barrier of the barbican. They pull down the piles and palisades; they hew down the barriers with axes. His high black plume floats abroad over the throng, like a raven over the field of the slain. They have made a breach in the barriers-they rush in—they are thrust back! Front-de-Boeuf heads the defenders; I see his gigantic form above the press. They throng again to the breach, and the pass is disputed hand to hand, and man to man. God of Jacob! it is the meeting of two fierce tides; the conflict of two oceans moved by adverse winds!"

She turned her head from the lattice, as if unable longer to endure a sight so terrible.

"Look forth again, Rebecca," said Ivanhoe, mistaking the cause of her retiring; "the archery must in some degree have ceased, since they are now fighting hand to hand. Look again; there is now less danger."

66

Rebecca again looked forth, and almost immediately exclaimed, 'Holy prophets of the law! Front-de-Bœuf and the Black Knight fight hand to hand on the breach, amid the roar of their followers, who watch the progress of the strife. Heaven strike with the cause of the oppressed and of the captive!" She then uttered a loud shriek, and exclaimed, "He is down!-he is down!" "Who is down?" cried Ivanhoe; "for our dear Lady's sake, tell me which has fallen ?"

"The Black Knight," answered Rebecca, faintly; then instantly again shouted with joyful eagerness: "But no-but no! the name of the Lord of Hosts be blessed!-he is on foot again, and fights as if there were twenty men's strength in his single arm. His sword is broken-he snatches an axe from a yeoman -he presses Front-de-Bœuf with blow on blow. The giant stoops and totters like an oak under the steel of the woodman-he falls -he falls!"

66 Front-de-Boeuf ?" exclaimed Ivanhoe.

"Front-de-Boeuf!" answered the Jewess; "his men rush to the rescue, headed by the haughty Templar-their united force compels the champion to pause. They drag Front-de-Bœuf within the walls."

« AnteriorContinuar »