The Percy Anecdotes: |
Animoque supersunt Jam prope post animani. -APOLL. SIDON.
GORGIAS of Leontium is the first orator we read of who possessed the gift so much prized in modern times, and so distinctly characteristic of modern eloquence - the gift of extemporaneous speaking. He made it his boast, that in a public assembly he could on the instant declaim as fluently on any subject which might be proposed to him as persons who had pondered over the subject ever so long, in gloomy caves, or by the wild sea-shore. This faculty of the Leontine orator exposed him, however to great disadvantage in the race of immortality with his contemporaries - a disadvantage from which the more recent of his successors in the same path have been happily exempted. There were no reporters in those days: and of the first of extempore speeches, not one is now extant.
That the world has lost something by their passing into oblivion, we may fairly conclude from the effects which some of them are recorded to have produced. In the war between his native city, Leontium, and Syracuse, the citizens of the former sent Gorgias and Tesias as ambassadors to the Athenians, to supplicate their assistance. On their arrival at Athens, about the year 427 B.C., Gorgias made such an artful address to the passions of the Athenian people, on the grievances which he made them suppose they had suffered from the Syracusans, and on the advantages which they might reap from an alliance with his countrymen, that he prevailed on them to rush headlong into a war that proved in the end more fatal to them than any war in which they had ever engaged.
'Quem mirabantur Athenae
Torrentem, et pleni moderantem fraena theatri.'
JUV. SAT. X
Demosthenes has been styled, by one second only to himself in the gift of eloquence, 'the Prince of Orators :' and the rank which Tully conferred, the common consent of the learned of all succeeding ages has amply confirmed How delightful would it be, were we able to add that. while a 'Prince among Orators,' he was also a 'Prince among Men.' But truth' always most stubborn when it treats of great examples, shuts its book on the willing encomium. In the life of this Prince of Orators we see unhappily exemplified almost everything which is a reproach to the reputation of this noble faculty, ORATORY. Everything which is most calculated to make its importance to the interests of society undervalued and despised. We see in Demosthenes the first great instance of an orator without courage, an orator without honesty, an orator without principle. We see in the story of his life eloquence alternately exalted and debased: now exerted for the noblest of purposes, the next moment silenced for the basest. We see a man whose philippics seem animated by the purest spirit of patriotism, afterwards sacrificing the honour of his country for a paltry bribe. We see a man who is a very hero in rousing others to fight bravely for their rights, the veriest poltroon himself in the field. We see, finally, a man who made it the pride of his life to animate others to die for their country, pusillanimously flying from the evils which environ him, and resolved to die for himself alone, seeking the coward's refuge in a suicide's grave. But, gentle reader, we forget that our business is not to expatiate but to narrate.
His dastardly flight from the battle of Cheronaea:
His skulking from the presence of Alexander, when commissioned to propitiate his clemency.
We dwell not on these facts. They are circumstances which display more of the weakness than of the wickedness of human nature.
When Harpalus, one of Alexander's officers, after betraying his master and purloining his treasures, made his escape to Athens, it became a question with the Athenians whether they should give the traitor-robber shelter? Demosthenes, to whose opinion the people looked up with reverence, declared at first that they ought on no account to disgrace the character of the republic, by affording refuge to one so infamous. A day was appointed for the solemn decision of the matter, and in the meantime Harpalus, sensible how much his success depended on gaining over 'the Prince of Orators' to his side, sought and obtained an opportunity of showing Demosthenes the precious store of goodly things of which he had robbed his royal master. The orator was particularly struck with the sight of a messy golden cup, and, poising it in his hand, he asked Harpalus, 'What was its weight?' Harpalus replied, 'To you it shall weigh twenty talents.' When Demosthenes had departed, the cup was accordingly sent after him to his house, along with twenty talents in money. Next day, when the case of Harpalus came on for consideration, Demosthenes appeared in the assembly with his throat muffled up, and when called on to speak, he made signs that he had lost his voice!
To the honour of Athens, this act of abominable venality was not allowed to pass unpunished. It was the cause of a fine of fifty talents being imposed on the orator, to avoid the payment of which he fled to AEgina, where he remained m exile, until an emergency in the affairs of the republic produced his recal.
Demosthenes once observed to Phocion, who was at the head of a party of orators whom Philip had bribed over to his interest that 'the Athenians would one day murder him in a mad fit.' 'Take care,' replied Phocion, 'that they do not murder you in a sober one.'
The warning was prophetical. The Athenians, as the puce of their reconciliation with Antipater, were obliged to pass a decree condemning Demosthenes to death. The orator fled for refuge to the temple of Neptune at Celaura: but, inwardly convinced that no place could afford him a sanctuary from such vengeance as pursued him, he drank of poison, and died.
The character of Isocrates presents the rare combination of a man, who, devoid of fear is recorded to have passed through a long life without having made an enemy of a single individual, by the boldness of his eloquence. When Theramenes, proscribed by the thirty tyrants, took refuge at the altar, Isocrates generously volunteered to plead in his defence at the hazard of his own life; and after the death of Socrates, when all his disciples, struck with dismay, fled into distant parts, Isocrates alone had the courage to appear in mourning in the public streets of Athens.
The eloquence of Pericles, which his countrymen were wont to designate by the attribute of 'thunder and lightning,' must have mingled a wondrous share of the persuasive in its power over the passions. When Thucydides, the Milesian, one of his great opponents in state matters, was asked by Archidamus, King of Sparta, which was the better wrestler, Pericles or himself?' 'It is in vain,' replied Thucydidos, 'to wrestle with that man. As often as I have cast him to the ground, he has as stoutly denied it; and when I would maintain that he had got the fall, he would as obstinately maintain the reverse; and so efficaciously withal, that he has made all who heard him - nay, the very spectators, believe him.'
The eloquence of Plato is said by Tully to have been thus beautifully prefigured in his youth. When yet an infant, his father, Aristo, went to Hymettus with his wife and child to sacrifice to the muses: and while they were busied in the divine rites, a swarm of bees came and distilled their honey on his lips.
Apuleius relates that Socrates, the night before Plato was recommended to him dreamed that a young swan fled from Cupid's altar to the academy, and settled in his lap: thence soared to heaven, and delighted the gods with its music: and when Aristo the next day presented Plato to him, 'Friends,' said Socrates, 'this is the swan of Cupid's academy.'
The Greeks were so nice in point of eloquence, and so offended with a vicious pronunciation, that they would not suffer even the public crier to proclaim their laws, unless he was accompanied by a musician, who, in case of a vicious tone, might be ready to give him the proper pitch and expression. It would seem that the town criers of classic story could boast of a degree of oratorical propriety, from which their modern successors must have sadly degenerated: since to speak as a town crier, is now become a bye-word of shame among the people:-
'I'd as lieve the town-crier spoke the lines.'
We find from Quintilian that even Gracchus, one of the greatest orators of his time, thought It necessary to have a flutenist to stand by while he was speaking, in order to give him the proper pitch to regulate his elevation and cadences, and to assist him with a proper tone In case he made a false inflexion of the voice.
Cicero, however, thought it beneath an orator (as it certainly is) to have occasion for such an assistance. 'Leave,' says he, 'the pipe at home, but carry the custom with you.'
A law made by Otho for the assignment of separate seats in the theatres to the equestrian order, gave a great offence to the Roman people. Otho, on coming in to the theatre one night was received by the populace with an universal hiss: but by the knights with loud applauses. From clamour and reproaches, the parties were proceeding to blows: when Cicero, informed of the tumult, hastened to the theatre, and calling the people out into the temple of Bellona, so tamed and stung them by the power of his words, and made them so ashamed of their folly and perverseness, that on their return to the theatre, they vied with the knights in testifying their respect for Otho. In this speech, which was published, he reproached the rioters for their went of taste and good sense, in making such a disturbance while Roscius was acting. This memorable instance of Cicero's command over men's passions, is supposed to be alluded to in that beautiful passage of Virgil, thus translated by Pitt:
'And when sedition fires th' ignoble crowd,
And the wild rabble storms and thirsts for blood:
Of stones and brands, a mingled tempest flies,
With all the sudden arms that rage supplies:
If some grave sire appears amidst the strife,
In morals strict, and innocence of life,
All stand attentive, while the sage controls
Their wrath, and calms the tempest of their souls.'
It appears from several of the ancient Royal Ordinances of France, and particularly from one of Charles VII. of France, that lawyers in that country (would to heaven it were so in all countries!) were subjected to heavy penalties, when guilty of prolixity in their pleadings. The Roman advocates used to make a sort of agreement with the court, how long they might have liberty to speak in defence of their client. Martial alludes to this practice in the following epigram:
'Septem clepsydras magna tibi voce petenti
Arbiter invitus, Caeciliane, dedit;
At tu multa diu dicis, vitreisque tepentem
Ampullis, potas semisupinus aquam.
Ut tandem saties vocemque sitimque rogamus
Jam de clepsydra, Caeciliane bibas.'
'Seven glasses, Caecilian, thou loudly didst crave:
Seven glasses the judge full reluctantly gave:
Still thou bawl'st and bawl'st on, and as ne'er to bawl off,
Tepid water in bumpers, supine thou cost quaff.
That thy voice and thy thirst at a time thou may'st slake
We entreat from the glass of old Chronus thou'dst take.'
It was owing to Mark Antony, according to the testimony of Cicero, that Rome could boast of being a rival to Greece in the art of eloquence.
One of the most remarkable of his pleadings was that in favour of Marcus Aquilius. He moved the judges in so sensible a manner by the tears he shed, and the scars he showed on the breast of his client, that he procured his acquittal.
He would never publish any of his speeches, that he might not, as he said, be proved to say in one cause, what might be contrary to what he should advance in another.
He was unfortunately killed during those bloody commotions which arose out of the contentions of Marius and Cinna. He was discovered in a secret hiding place to which he had fled, and soldiers were sent to dispatch him, but he supplicated their forbearance in so eloquent a manner, that the only man who had the cruelty to kill him, was one who had not heard his discourse.
'The genius of Hortensius,' says Cicero, 'like the statue of Phidias, had only to be seen in order to be admired.'
For a long time he was the reigning orator in Rome, and was popularly styled the King of the Forum.
Hortensius was rendered, however, more remarkable by one single defeat, than by all his triumphs. He was employed as advocate for C. Verres, in the celebrated prosecution instituted against him for his conduct in the government of Sicily, but was so confounded by the admirable speech in which Cicero fulminated his charges of injustice, rapine, and cruelty, against the guilty orator, that he felt all his powers of speech taken from him, and threw up the case of his client without saying a word in his defence. Verres, equally confounded with his advocate, did not wait for sentence being pronounced, but instantly fled into exile, where he died some years afterwards, forgotten and deserted by all his friends.
The daughter of Hortensius inherited the eloquence of her father, and when the Roman women were required to render on oath an account of their property, preparatory to a heavy tax, she pleaded the cause of her sex with such force, that the decree was annulled. The harangue which she delivered on this occasion before the triumvirs, Antony, Octavius and Lepidus, was extant in the time of Quintillian, who speaks of it with great applause
'Vita enim mortuorum in memoria vivorum est posita.' CICERO.
The origin of the custom of pronouncing funeral orations over departed worth, is generally ascribed to Velerius Publicola. We are told by Plutarch, that Velerius having honoured the obsequies of his colleague with an eloquent discourse in praise of his many virtues, the Romans were so pleased with the novelty, that it became a regular custom ever afterwards to have the characters of their great men illustrated in a funeral oration by the most eloquent among their survivors.
The custom of the Romans has been continued among the Christians: and it is to be wished, that with the custom we had also borrowed one of their laws by which it was regulated. 'It was part of the laws of burial,' says Cicero, 'that only honourable men should be honoured with funeral orations.'
The shortest, and perhaps also the best, funeral oration extant, is that pronounced by the Earl of Morton over the grave of the illustrious Scottish reformer, John Knox. 'Here lies he who never feared the face of man.'
In the time of Nero, when the bondage of the Romans became so oppressive, that the Britons were determined to resist, Boadicea animated them to shake it off by an eloquent address, which she concluded in these words: 'Let the Romans, who are not better than hares and foxes, understand, that they make a wrong match with wolves and greyhounds.' As she said this, she let a hare out from her lap, as a token of the fearfulness of the Romans. The result of the battle, however, proved that there was more wit than truth in the comparison.
The brave Crillon attending on a Good Friday the public offices of devotion, was so affected by an eminent preacher's delineation of our Saviour's death and sufferings, that, laying his hand upon his sword, he cried out in a transport of generous resentment, 'Where art thou, Crillon?'
It would be idle to suspect Crillon of plagiarism in his honest anger and mode of venting it. Yet his behaviour was merely a copy of that of King Clovis, on a similar occasion. 'Had I been present at the head of my valiant Franks,' exclaimed that monarch indignantly, I would have redressed his wrongs!'
It is difficult to fix limits to human achievements, when superstition or enthusiasm is aided by the power of eloquence. The celebrated Peter the Hermit having made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, towards the close of the eleventh century, was deeply impressed with the oppression sustained by the Christians from the 'Turks, and resolved to make an effort to rouse the western nations to arms in their behalf. The appearance of Peter was mean, his stature small, his body meagre, and his countenance shrivelled; but with these disadvantages, he had a keen and lively eye, and a ready eloquence. Being encouraged by Pope Urban II., he travelled as a missionary through the provinces of Italy and France. He rode on an ass: his head and feet were naked, and he bore a weighty crucifix. He prayed frequently fed on bread and water, gave away in alms all that he received, and by his saintly demeanour and fervid address, drew innumerable crowds of all ranks to listen to his preaching. When he painted the indignities offered to the true believers at the birth-place and sepulchre of the Saviour, every heart was melted to compassion, and animated to revenge. His success was such as might be expected from the rude enthusiasm and martial spirit of the age: and Peter soon collected an army of 60,000 followers, with which he proceeded towards Jerusalem.
Pope Urban II. finding a general ardour for the crusade against the Turks, proposed by Peter the Hermit on his return from Palestine in 1093, assembled a grand and numerous council at Placentia, and recommended an expedition against the infidels. Soon after the proposal was renewed with success at the council of Clermont; at which were present, the papal court and council of Roman cardinals, thirteen archbishops, two hundred and twenty-five bishops, four hundred mitred prelates, four thousand ecclesiastics, and three hundred thousand laymen. In the marketplace of Clermont, Pope Urban II. ascended a lofty scaffold, and addressed a well-prepared and impatient audience. Such was the success and power of his eloquence that he was interrupted by the clamorous shouts of thousands who with one voice exclaimed 'Deus vult! Deus vult!' 'God wills it! God wills it!' 'It is indeed the will of God,' replied the pope; 'and let this memorable word, the inspiration surely of the Holy Spirit, be for ever adopted as your cry of battle, to animate the devotion and courage of the champions of Christ. His cross is the symbol of your salvation; wear it; a red, a bloody cross, as an external mark on your breasts or shoulders, as a pledge of your sacred and irrevocable engagement.'
'-There stands
The legate of the skies! his theme divine,
His office sacred, his credentials clear.
By him the violated law speaks out
Its thunders; and by him, in strains as sweet
As angels use, the gospel whispers peace.'
When this illustrious preacher was asked where a man like him, whose life was dedicated to retirement, could borrow his admirable descriptions of real life, he answered, 'from the human heart; however little we examine it, we shall find in it the seeds of every passion. When I compose a sermon, I imagine myself consulted upon some doubtful piece of business. I give my whole application to determine the person who has recourse to me, to act the good and proper part. l exhort him, I urge him, and I quit him not till he has yielded to my persuasions.'
On preaching the first Advent sermon at Versailles, Louis XIV. paid the following most expressive tribute to to the power of his eloquence. 'Father, when I hear others preach I am very well pleased with them; when I hear you, I am dissatisfied with myself.'
The first time he preached his sermon on the small number of the elect, the whole audience were at a certain part of it seized with such violent emotion that almost every person half rose from his seat, as if to shake off the horror of being one of the cast-out into everlasting darkness.
When Baron, the actor, came from hearing one of his sermons, 'Friend,' said he, to one of the same profession who accompanied him, 'here is an orator; we are only actors.'
In 1565, Lord Darnley, who had lately married Mary Queen of Scots, consented, at the desire of his friends, to go and hear Mr. Knox preach, in hopes thereby of conciliating him
instead of which he took occasion to declaim against the government of wicked princes who, for the sins of the people, are sent as tyrants and scourges to torment them. Darnley complained of the insult to the council, who interdicted the preacher from the use of his pulpit for several days.
'Rigid and uncomplying himself,' says Dr. Robertson, 'he showed no indulgence to the infirmities of others. Regardless of the distinction of rank and character, he uttered his admonitions with acrimony and vehemence, more apt to irritate than to reclaim. Those very qualities, however, which now render his character less amiable, fitted him to be the instrument of Providence for advancing the reformation among a fierce people; and enabled him to face dangers and to surmount opposition, from which a person of a more gentle spirit would have been apt to shrink back.'
When Bossuet was a very young preacher the king, Louis XIV., was so delighted with him that he wrote in his own name to his father, the Intendant of Soissons, to congratulate him on having a son that would immortalize himself An unbeliever going to hear Bossuet preach, said, on entering the church, 'This is the preacher for me, for it is by him alone I know that I shall be converted, if ever I am so.' Bossuet pronounced the funeral oration on the Duchess of Orleans, who died so suddenly in the midst of a brilliant court, of which she was the glory and delight. No person better possessed the talent of infusing into the soul of his auditors the profound sentiments with which he was himself penetrated. When he pronounced these words, 'O nuit desastreuse, nuit effroyable! ou retentit tout-a-coup comme un eclat de tonnerre, cette nouvelle; MADAME se meurt! MADAME est morte!' all the court were in tears. The pathetic and the sublime shone equally in this discourse. A sensibility more sweet, but less
sublime, is displayed in the last words of his funeral oration on the Great Conde. It was with this fine discourse that Bossuet terminated his career of eloquence. He concluded by thus apostrophising the hero that France mourned: 'Prince, vous mettrez fui a tous ces discours! Au lieu deplorer la mort des autres, je veux desormais apprendre de vous a rendre la mienne sainte; heureux si, avert, par ces cheveux blancs, du compte que je dois rendre de mon administration, je reserve au troupeau que je dois nourir de la parole de vie, le reste d'une voix qui tombe, et d'une ardeur qui s'eteint!'
The first time that Abbadie, the celebrated Calvinist minister, heard M. Saurin preach, he exclaimed, 'Is it an angel or a man that speaks?'
Charles II. was wont in his humorous way to say of his chaplain, Dr. Barrow, that 'he was the most unfair preacher in England because he exhausted every subject, and left no room for others to come after him.' It was indeed too much the doctor's way; when he got hold of a topic, he never knew how to leave anything unsaid upon it. One of his best discourses, that on 'The duty and reward of bounty to the poor,' actually took him up three hours and a half in delivering!
So low in point of independence was the profession of the bar in the time of Henry VI. that in the case respecting precedence between the Earl of Warwick and the Earl Marshal, both the advocates for the parties, viz., Sir Walter Beauchamp (the first lawyer, by-the-bye, who ever wore the spurs of knighthood in England) and Mr. Roger Hunt, made most humble protestations, each entreating the peer against whom he was retained not to take amiss what he might be obliged to advance on the part of his client.
Mr. Hume, speaking of a later period, says, 'That the answers given into court by the famous Prynn and his associates were so full of invectives against the prelates, 'that no lawyer could be prevailed on to sign them.' The truth, however, is, that the lawyers allowed themselves to be intimidated by the menaces of the court from defending them at all. Mr. Holt, one of their number, signed Prynn's answer, and was told by Lord Chief Justice Finch that he deserved to have his gown pulled over his ears for drawing it, though it contained nothing but mere explanations of points of fact, and a dry recital of acts of parliament, and afterwards, when it was expunged by order of the judges, and another prepared, Mr. Holt, in excuse for not signing the second, being appealed to by Prynn in open court, submissively replied that 'he durst not set his hand to it for fear of giving their honours distaste.'
The Rev. John Howe, when minister of Great Torrington, in Devonshire, having occasion to take a journey to London, went as a hearer to the chapel at Whitehall. Cromwell was present; and struck with his demeanour and person, sent a messenger to inform him, that he wished to speak with him when the service was over. In the course of the interview the Protector desired him to preach before him the following Sunday. Mr. Howe requested to be excused, but Cromwell was not to be denied. Mr. Howe preached accordingly, and the Protector was so pleased with him that he immediately appointed him his domestic chaplain. To some of the peculiar notions of Cromwell Mr. Howe could not, however, assent; and in one particular instance he had the boldness to preach against them in his presence believing that they might lead to practical ill consequences. The friends of the preacher were alarmed for him; and one of them predicted that he would find it difficult, if not impossible, to regain his favour. 'I have,' said the worthy man 'discharged my conscience, and the event must be left to God.' From this period the friendship of Cromwell was less ardent, and his manners cool and reserved; but he never took any notice of the subject.
There perhaps was no period in the history of the British senate, in which our senators more nearly approached the nervous eloquence of the Greeks and Romans, than during the sitting of the long parliament. The language was clear and copious, and often displayed strong marks of the most animated eloquence. In one of the debates at this period, the lord keeper, Finch, having observed, 'That whatever supplies had been raised from the subject, had been again restored to them in fructifying showers ,' to this remark Lord Digby very spiritedly answered, 'It has been a frequent metaphor with these ministerial oppressors, that whatever supplies have been raised from the subject, have been again restored to them in fructifying showers; but it has been in hail-stones and mildews, to wither our hopes, and batter and prostrate our affections.'
'In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt
But, being seasoned with a gracious voice,
Obscures the show of evil!'
MERCHANT OF VENICE.
James the First, soon after his accession to the English throne, was present in a court of justice, to observe the pleadings in a cause of some consequence. The counsel for the plaintiff having finished, the king was so perfectly satisfied, that he exclaimed, Tis a plain case!' and was about to leave the court. Being persuaded, however, to stay and hear the other side of the question, the pleaders for the defendant made the case no less plain on their side. On this, the monarch rose and departed in a great passion, exclaiming, 'They are all rogues alike!'
Mr. Fletcher is allowed to have been by far the finest speaker in the parliament of Scotland at the time of the union. He was remarkable for a close and nervous eloquence which commanded the admiration of all who heard it. To an uncommon elevation of mind, he added a warmth of temper which would suffer him to brook from no man, or in any place, the slightest indignity. Of this he exhibited on one occasion an eminent proof. The Earl of Stair, Secretary of State, and Minister for Scotland, having in the heat of debate used an improper expression against Mr. Fletcher, he seized the lord by his robe, and insisted upon immediate and public satisfaction. The Earl was instantly obliged to beg his pardon in presence of parliament.
The author of the Characteristics, when Lord Ashley, and soon after he had taken his seat in the House of Commons, rose to speak' in support of the act 'for granting counsel to prisoners in cases of high treason ,' but found himself so embarrassed, that he was unable to express his sentiments. The house cheered him; and, recovering from his confusion, he very happily converted the difficulty and embarrassment of his own situation in favour of the bill. 'If I, sir,' said he addressing the speaker, 'if I, who rise only to offer my opinion on the bill now depending, am so confounded that I am unable to express the least of what I intended to say, what must the condition of that man be, who, without any assistance, is pleading for his life?'
A singular specimen of parliamentary eloquence, at a very early period of English history, is furnished in the speech of the Archbishop of Canterbury to the House of Peers, in 1377, the first year of the reign of Richard II., who ascended the throne at the age of eleven years. The cause of the summons was declared by the archbishop in a speech beginning with this text, rex tuus venit tibi: which subject he divided into three parts, saying, 'That for three causes every friend ought to be welcome to another. first, if he came to rejoice or be merry with his friend, for any singular benefit or good hap that had befallen him: and, therefore, made use of this odd expression, for a male friend: et exultavit infans in utero ejus. The next was, if the said friend came to comfort another in adversity, as is mentioned in the book of Job. And the last, for trying his friend in the time of adversity, according to the Scripture, in necessitate probabiter amicus. To this preface he applied, 'That the king, their undoubted liege lord, was now come unto them, not for one, but for all the three causes. For the first, to rejoice with them in the great providence and grace of God, by sending his person amongst them; not by any collateral means, or election, but by special descent of inheritance: and for their good wills towards him, he was, therefore, come to give them thanks. For the second, to visit and comfort them in their necessities and adversities he was also come, not only for the death of the noble King Edward, and the prince, his son, but also for the great losses which they had sustained on the sea coasts and elsewhere, within the realm, by their enemies, whereunto he was now come, not only to proffer himself in aid, but to confirm all their liberties: to maintain the laws and peace of the kingdom; and to redress all that was to the contrary. Thirdly, to try or assay them, he was also come to advise and counsel with them for suppressing the enemy; and to require an aid of them, without which they could not perform the same. For all which reasons, he desires them to consult together.'
When Richard II. had been deposed by the usurpation of Henry of Bolingbroke, afterwards Henry IV., the House of Peers decreed, that he should be 'put under a safe and secret guard, and in such a place, where no concourse of people might resort to him.' The only man, either in the clergy or laity, that had the courage to oppose this usurpation at the time, was Thomas Merks, Bishop of Carlisle. Sir Walter Raleigh, in speaking of this prelate, says, that 'he was the only honest man in this parliament, who scorned his life and fortune, in respect to his sovereign's right, and his own allegiance.' This prelate suffered dearly for his integrity; for he was instantly deprived of his dignity, and suffered long imprisonment; and had it not been for his order, which was then held inviolable, he would have died the death of a traitor. The following are some of the most remarkable passages of this eloquent speech.
'But, alas! good King Richard, why such cruelty? What such impiety hath he ever committed? Examine rightly those imputations which are laid against him, without any false circumstance of aggravation, and you shall find nothing objected, either of any truth, or of great moment. It may be that many errors and oversights have escaped him, yet none so grievous to be termed tyranny; as proceeding rather from unexperienced ignorance, or corrupt counsel, than from any natural or wilful malice. Oh! how shall the world be pestered with tyrants, if subjects may rebel upon every presence of tyranny? How many good princes shall daily be suppressed by those whom they ought to be supported? If they levy a subsidy, or any other taxation, it shall be claimed oppression: if they put any to death for traitorous attempts against their persons, it shall be exclaimed cruelty; if they do anything against the lust and liking of the people, it shall be proclaimed tyranny.' He concluded by declaring that the duke whom they called king, had more offended against the king and the realm than Richard had done; and conjured the house, that 'if this injury and this perjury cloth nothing more as yet, let both our private and common dangers somewhat withdraw us from these violent proceedings.'
When England was threatened with invasion by the 'invincible armada' of Spain, and a camp was formed at Tilbury, of twenty three thousand men, to protect the capital, on this memorable and momentous occasion, Queen Elizabeth resolved to visit in person the camp, for the purpose of encouraging her troops. Like a second Boadicea, armed for defence against the invader of her country, she appeared at once the warrior and the queen; the sacred feelings of the moment, superior to all the artifices of royal dignity and the tricks of royal condescension, inspire] her with that impressive earnestness of look, of words, of gesture, which alone is truly dignified, and truly eloquent.
Mounted on a noble charger, with a general's truncheon in her hand, a corslet of polished steel laced on over her magnificent apparel, and a page in attendance bearing her white plumed helmet, she rode, bareheaded, from rank to rank, with a courageous deportment, and smiling countenance; and amid the affectionate plaudits, and shouts of military ardour, which burst from the animated and admiring soldiery, she addressed them in the following short but spirited harangue.
'My loving people, I have been persuaded by some that are careful of my safety, to take heed how I committed myself to armed multitudes, for fear of treachery. But I tell you, that I would not desire to live to distrust my faithful and loving people. Let tyrants fear; I have so behaved myself, that under God, I have placed my chiefest strength and safeguard in the loyal hearts and good will of my subjects. Wherefore, I am come among you at this time but for my recreation and pleasure, being resolved, in the midst and heart of the battle to live and die amongst you all; to lay down for my God, and for my kingdom, and for my people, mine honour and my blood even in the dust. I know I have the body but of a weak and feeble woman, but I have the heart and stomach of a king, and of a king of England too; and take foul scorn that Parma, or any prince of Europe, should dare to invade the borders of my realm. To the which, rather than any dishonour shall grow by me, I myself will venture my royal blood. I myself will be your general, judge, and reward* of your virtue in the field. I know that already for your forwardness you have deserved reward, and crowns and I assure you, on the word of a prince you shall not fail of them. In the meantime, my lieutenant general shall be in my stead, than whom never prince commanded a more noble or worthy subject; not doubting, but by your concord in the camp, and velour in the field, and your obedience to myself and my general, we shall shortly have a famous victory over those enemies of my God and of my kingdom.'
As the preceding speech differs in some points from the copy of it already printed, it may be necessary to state, that it has been faithfully transcribed from No. 6798 of the Harleian MSS. in the British Museum, the orthography alone being corrected. It is there stated to have been 'Gathered by on yt heard itt, and was commanded to utter itt to ye . whole army ye next day, to send itt gathered to ye queen herself.'
During the summer of 1597, a Polish ambassador sent to Queen Elizabeth, then in the sixty-fourth year of her age, to complain of an invasion of neutral rights. Speed, the ablest of our chroniclers, gives at length her extempore Latin reply to the harangue of the ambassador, adding, in his quaint but expressive phrase, that she, 'Thus lion-like rising daunted the male pert orator no less with her stately port and majestical departure, than with the tartness of her princely cheeks: and turning to the train of her attendants, thus said, '- 's death, my lords, I have been informed this day to scour up my old Latin, that hath laid so long in rusting!"
In a volume of the Harleian MSS., No. 6798, there is a copy of this celebrated speech as delivered in Latin, with an English translation by Harry Capel. It is as follows:
'The answer of the queene, to the orator of the Kinge of Polonia, the 25th day of July, 1597.
'Oh, how I was beguiled! I expected an ambassador, but you have brought me a complaint. I understand by my letters you were an ambassador, but I have founde you an heralde. I never in my life hearde such an orator. I cannot but admire so great and so strange boldness in an open assembly, and I can hardly be induced to believe, that your kinge himselfe, if he had hither arrived unto our presence, woulde ever entertaine such wordes, so rudely attired, into his mouthe; otherwise if this your oration cancell itselfe within the limits of his commandement, (whereof I am halfe afrayde) must needes impute it unto this, that sith your prince's head IS not as yet seasoned with grey haires, as also challenging the right of his government, not by any lawfull descent, but by a favourable election, and as yet but lately invested with the Polonian diademe, he cannot fathome the hidden mystery of managinge these state matters with other princes so perfectly as either his predecessors have to us performed, or those that are afterwards themselves to be inthroned in his kingdome may peradventure observe. And to approache a little nearer unto you, you seeme to have tossed many volumes, yet scarcely with your forefinger to have touched any treatises of kings, but rather to be a very raw scholar in judginge of princes' behaviour, nay, even in that which your mother Nature, or the accustomed law of all nations, might have taught you, that when princes are up in armes, it is no point of injustice for the one to arrest the other, his warlike compliments, not regardinge then the place from whence they came, and to carry a provident eye, lest peradventure they might returne to his owne damage. This IS I say that same law of nature and of all nations. Whereas you make intention of the new alliance contracted with the house of Austria: wherein you secure to repose great confidence; you are not ignorant, that out of that stocke some have sprange out, which would have disrobed your hinge of all kingly authority. As to the rest to which this place and tyme seem to deny an answere, because they are many in number, and those also severally to be examined, you shall attende the determination of certayne of my counsel! assigned by mee for the same purpose. In the mean tyme content yourself, and trouble me no more.'
The death of Mary Queen of Scots so affected one of her retinue, that he died soon after of grief, leaving his widow, Margaret Lambrun, who became so infuriated in consequence, that she resolved to revenge the death of both upon the person of Queen Elizabeth. To accomplish her purpose, she dressed herself as a man, assumed the name of Anthony Spark, and attended at the court of Elizabeth with a pair of pistols, with one of which she intended to kill the queen, and with the other to shoot herself, should she be discovered. One day, as she was pushing through the crowd in order to get to her majesty, she accidentally dropped one of her pistols. This being observed by one of the guards, she was immediately seized. The queen interfered, and desired to examine the culprit. She accordingly demanded her name: to which Margaret, with undaunted resolution, replied:-
'Madame, though I appear before you in this garb, yet I am a woman. My name is Margaret Lambrun. I was several years in the service of Mary, a queen whom you have unjustly put to death, and thereby deprived me of the best of husbands, who could not survive that bloody catastrophe of his innocent mistress. His memory is hardly more dear to me than that of my injured queen: and regardless of consequences, l determined to revenge their death upon you. Many, but fruitless, were the attempts made to divert me from my purpose. I found myself constrained to prove by experience the truth of the maxim, that neither reason nor force can hinder a woman from vengeance, when she is impelled to it by love.'
Highly as the queen had cause to resent this speech, she heard it with coolness and moderation. 'You are persuaded, then,' said her majesty, 'that in this step you have done nothing but what your duty required. What think you is my duty to you?' 'Is that question put in the character of a queen, or that of a judge?' inquired Margaret, with the same intrepid firmness. Elizabeth professed to her it was in that of a queen. 'Then,' continued Lambrun, 'it is your majesty's duty to grant me a pardon.' 'But what security,' demanded the queen, 'can you give me, that you will not make the like attempt upon some future occasion?' 'A favour ceases to be one, madam,' replied Margaret' 'when it is yielded under such restraints; m doing so, your majesty would act against me as a judge.'
Elizabeth, turning to her courtiers, exclaimed, 'I have been a queen thirty years; I never had such a lecture read to me before.' She then immediately granted an unconditional pardon to Margaret Lambrun, though in opposition to the advice of her council.
One of the earliest and most pleasing triumphs of the trial by jury in this country was displayed in the case of Sir Nicholas Throckmorton, accused of high treason in 1554. He was indicted for being concerned in Wyatt's rebellion, and was brought to trial before Lord Chief Justice Bromley, and a special commission of privy counsellors, judges, and crown lawyers. He had been in close confinement for fifty-eight days, without any of his friends being allowed access to him, or any assistance of counsel, which was never then permitted. Sir Nicholas was no lawyer by profession: yet under all these disadvantages he made a defence not only distinguished for its plain good sense and strong reasoning, but incomparably more learned as a legal argument, than anything that was urged against him by the united knowledge of the bench and bar. In every question of law that occurred, he baffled the whole host of lawyers opposed to him; and the judges got at last so irritated, that they made an attempt to put him to silence, by refusing to order certain statutes which he called for to be read. To their astonishment, however, he repeated them with perfect accuracy, after complaining indignantly, that instead of law, they gave him 'only the form and image of law.' When he had finished, the chief justice exclaimed with surprise, 'why do not you of the queen's learned counsel answer him? Methinks, Throckmorton, you need not have the statutes for you have them perfectly.' When the judges quoted cases against him, he retorted others in which these had been condemned as erroneous; till Sergeant Stanford on the part of the crown, peevishly remarked, that if he had known the prisoner was so well furnished with cases, he would have come better prepared. Throckmorton coolly replied, that he had no law, but what he had learned from Mr. Sergeant Stanford himself, when attending in parliament. At length Griffin, the attorney-general, fairly lost all patience at the dexterity and acuteness displayed by the prisoner, and called out, 'I pray you, my lords, that be the queen's commissioners, suffer not the prisoner to use the queen's counsel thus: I was never interrupted thus in my life, nor I never knew any thus suffered to talk as this prisoner is suffered; some of us will come no more at the bar, an we be thus handled.'
The jury acquitted the prisoner; for which (such was the degree of freedom then in England) they were immediately imprisoned, and those who did not make due acknowledgment of their fault in deciding according to their consciences, were afterwards heavily fined by the Star Chamber, even to the ruin of some of them, particularly the foreman and another who lay in jail eight months.
His late majesty observed one day to a gentleman of high literary character, and of distinguished political reputation, that oratory, in this country was carried to a height far beyond its real use; and that the desire of excelling in this accomplishment, made many young men of genius neglect the more solid branches of knowledge. 'I am sure,' said his majesty, 'that the rage for public speaking, and the extravagant length to which some of our most popular orators carry their harangues in parliament, is very detrimental to the national business, and I wish that in the end it may not prove injurious to the public peace.' It is remarkable, that the opinion of the king agrees exactly with that of Aristotle, who says, 'Nothing so effectually contributes to the ruin of popular governments as the petulance of their orators.' (Polit. lib. v.)
In the debate relative to the impeachment of the treasurer, the Earl of Danby, in the House of Lords, 1678, several noblemen spoke very warmly on both sides of the question, and among others, the Earl of Carnarvon, a nobleman who had never opened his lips before in the house. Having been dining with the Duke of Buckingham, the Duke (who intended no favour to the treasurer, but only ridicule) had got the earl to promise, before he went to the house, that he would speak upon any subject that should offer itself Accordingly he rose in the debate, and spoke as follows: 'My lords, I understand but little Latin, but a good deal of the English History, from which I have learnt the mischiefs of such kinds of prosecutions as these, and the ill fate of the prosecutors. I could bring many in stances, and those very ancient; but, my lords, I shall go no farther back than the latter end of Queen Elizabeth's reign; at which time the Earl of Essex was run down by Sir Walter Raleigh. My Lord Bacon he ran down Sir Walter Raleigh, and your lordships know what became of Lord Bacon. The Duke of Buckingham he ran down my Lord Bacon, and your lordships know what happened to the Duke of Buckingham. Sir Thomas Wentworth, afterwards Earl of Stafford, ran down the Duke of Buckingham, and you ail know what became of him. Sir Harry Vane he ran down the Earl of Stafford, and your lordships know what became of Sir Harry Vane. Chancellor Hyde he ran down Sir Harry Vane, and your lordships know what became of the chancellor. Sir Thomas Osborne, now Earl of Danby, ran down Chancellor Hyde, but what will become of the Earl of Danby, your lordships best can tell. But let me see that man that dare run the Earl of Dandy down, and we shall soon see what will become of him.'
This speech being delivered with remarkable humour and tone, the Duke of Buckingham, both surprised and disappointed, cried out, 'The man is inspired, and claret has done the business.' The majority, however, were against the commitment.
When the tax on newspapers, proposed by Mr. Pitt in 1789, was under discussion in the House of Commons, Mr. Drake said that he disliked the tax, and would oppose it from a motive of gratitude. 'The gentlemen concerned in writing for them, had been particularly kind to him. They had made him deliver many well-shaper speeches, though he was convinced that he had never spoke so well in his whole life.'
Jeremy Taylor, Bishop of Down. I
This eloquent prelate, from the fertility of his mind and the extent of his imagination, has been styled the Shakspeare of Divines. His sermons abound with some of the most brilliant passages, and embrace such a variety of matter, and such a mass of knowledge and of learning, that even the acute Bishop Warburton said of him, 'I can fathom the understandings of most men, yet I am not certain that I can always fathom the understanding of Jeremy Taylor.' His comparison between a married and single life, in his sermon on the Blessedness of Marriage, is rich in tender sentiments, and exquisitely elegant imagery. 'Marriage,' says the bishop, is the mother of the world, and preserves kingdoms, and fills cities, churches, and even heaven itself. Celibacy, like the fly in the heart of an apple, dwells in a perpetual sweetness; but sits alone, and is confined, and dies in singularity but marriage, like the useful bee, builds a house and gathers sweetness from every flower, and labours and unites into societies and republics; and sends out colonies, and fills the world with delicacies; and obeys their king, keeps order, and exercises many virtues, and promotes the interest of mankind; and is that state of things to which God hath designed the present constitution of the world. Marriage hath in it the labour of love, and the delicacies of friendship; the blessings of society, and the union of hands and hearts. It hath in it less of beauty, but more of safety, than a single life; it is more merry and more sad; is fuller of joys and fuller of sorrow; it lies under more burthens, but is supported by all the strength of love and charity; and these burthens are delightful.'
In the debate on the Occasional Conformity and Schism Bills in the House of Lords, in December, 1718, they were very warmly opposed by Atterbury, Bishop of Rochester, who said, 'he had prophecied last winter this bill would be attempted in the present session, and he was sorry to find he had proved a true prophet.' Lord Coningsby, who always spoke m a passion, rose immediately after the bishop, and remarked, that 'one of the right reverends had set himself forth as a prophet; but for his part, he did not know what prophet to liken him to, unless to that famous prophet Balaam, who was reproved by his own ass.' The bishop, in reply, with great wit and calmness exposed his rude attack, concluding in these words: 'Since the noble lord bath discovered in our manners such a similitude, I am well content to be compared to the prophet Balaam; but, my lords, I am at a loss how to make out the other part of the parallel. I am sure that I have been reproved by nobody but his lordship.' From that day forth, Lord Coningsby was called 'Atterbury's Pad.'
Logan, the celebrated Indian chief, who had long been a zealous partisan of the English, and had often distinguished himself in their service, was taken prisoner, and brought before the General Assembly of Virginia, who hesitated whether he should be tried by a court martial as a soldier, or at the criminal bar for high treason. Logan interrupted their deliberations, and state& to the assembly, that they had no jurisdiction to try him; 'that he owed no allegiance to the King of England, being an Indian chief, independent of every nation.' In answer to their inquiries, as to his motives for taking up arms against the English, he thus addressed the assembly:
'I appeal to any white man to say, If ever he entered Logan's cabin hungry, and I gave him not meat? if ever he came cold or naked, and I gave him not clothing? During the last long and bloody war, Logan remained idle in his tent, an advocate for peace, nay, such was my love for the whites, that those of my own country pointed at me, as they passed' by' and said, Logan is the friend of white men. I had ever thought to live with you, but for the injuries of one man. Colenel Cressop, the last spring, in cold blood and unprovoked, cut off all the relations of Logan, not sparing even my women and children. There runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of any human creature. This called on me for revenge. I have sought it. I have killed many. I have fully glutted my vengeance. For my country I rejoice at the beams of peace. But do not harbour the thought that mine is the joy of fear. Logan never felt fear. He will not turn his heel to save his life. Who is there to mourn for Logan? Not one.'
This pathetic and affecting speech touched the sensibility of all who heard him. The General Assembly applauded his noble sentiments, and immediately set him at liberty. Every house in Virginia vied with each other which should entertain him the best, or show him the most respect, and he returned to his native country, loaded with presents and honours.
Philip, Duke of Wharton, in one of his speeches in the House of Lords, in the reign of George the First, said, 'My lords, there was in the reign of Tiberius a favourite minister, by name Sejanus: the first step he took was to wean the emperor's affections from his son; the next, to carry the emperor abroad: and so Rome was ruined.' To which Lord Stanhope replied, 'That the Romans were most certainly a great people, and furnished many illustrious examples in their history which ought to be carefully read: and which he made no doubt the noble peer who spoke last had done. The Romans were likewise universally allowed to be a wise people: and they showed themselves to be so in nothing more than by debarring young noblemen from speaking in the senate, till they understood good manners and propriety of language; and as the duke had quoted an instance from their history of a bad minister, he begged leave to quote from the same history an instance of a great man, a patriot of his country, who had a son so profligate, that he would have betrayed the liberties of it, on which account his father himself (the elder Brutus) had him whipped to death!'
Frederic the Great being informed of the death of one of his chaplains, a man of considerable learning and piety, determined to select a successor with the same qualifications and took the following method of ascertaining the merit of one of the numerous candidates for the appointment. He told the applicant that he would furnish him with a text the following Sunday, when he was to preach at the Royal Chapel. The morning came, and the chapel was crowded to excess. The king arrived at the end of the prayers, and on the candidate ascending the pulpit, he was presented with a sealed paper by one of his majesty's aides-de-camp. The preacher opened it, and found nothing written. He did not however lose his presence of mind; but turning the paper on both sides, he said, 'My brethren, here is nothing, and there is nothing: out of nothing God created all things ,' and proceeded to deliver a most eloquent discourse on the wonders of the creation.
Sir Thomas Sewell, Master of the Rolls, who usually sat in the House of Commons in his great wig, spoke in favour of the adjournment of the debate on the illegality of general warrants in 1764, because that such adjournment, though short, would afford him an opportunity to examine his books and authorities upon the subject, and he should then be prepared with an opinion upon it: which at present he was not.' Upon the adjourned debate, the same gentleman said, that 'he had that very morning turned the whole matter over in his mind as he lay upon his pillow, and after ruminating and considering upon it a good deal, he could not help declaring, that he was of the same opinion as before.' Mr. Charles Townshend, on this, started up, and said, 'He was very sorry to find that what the right honourable gentleman had found in his night-cap, he had lost in his periwig.'
When Patrick Henry, who gave the first impulse to the ball of the American revolution, introduced his celebrated resolution on the Stamp Act into the House of Burgesses of Virginia (May, 1765), he exclaimed, when descanting on the tyranny of the obnoxious act, 'Caesar had his Brutus; Charles the First his Cromwell; and George the Third' - Treason!' cried the speaker: 'treason! treason!' echoed from every part of the house. It was one of those trying moments which are decisive of character. Henry faltered not for an instant: but rising to a loftier attitude, and fixing on the speaker an eye flashing with fire continued, "may profit by their example." If this be treason, make the most of it.'
The Indian warrior Tecumseh, who fell in the late American war, was not only an accomplished military commander, but also a great natural statesman and orator. Among the many strange, and some strongly characteristic, events in his life, the council which the American General Harrison held with the Indians at Vincennes, in 1811, affords an admirable instance of the sublimity which sometimes distinguished his eloquence. The chiefs of some tribes had come to complain of a purchase of lands which had been made from the Kickafous. This council effected nothing but broke up in confusions in consequence of Tecumseh having called General Harrison 'a liar.' It was in the progress of the long talks that took place in the conference, that Tecumseh having finished one of his speeches, looked round, and seeing every one seated, while no seat was prepared for him, a momentary frown passed over his countenance. Instantly, General Harrison ordered that a chair should be given him. Some person presented one, and bowing, said to him, 'Warrior, your father, General Harrison, offers you a seat.' Tecumseh's dark eye flashed. 'My father!' he exclaimed, indignantly, extending his arm towards the heavens; 'the sun is my father, and the earth is my mother; she gives me nourishment, and I repose upon her bosom.' As he ended, he sat down suddenly on the ground.
Lord Chancellor Loughborough stands foremost among the few eloquent lawyers who have been eloquent speakers in parliament; and it is not a little singular, that his rise in life should have been owing to the bitterness of a sarcasm which he pronounced on the very quality in which he so much excelled. He was brought up not to the English, but to the Scottish, bar; and not long after commencing practice, happened to be opposed in a case to Mr. * * * *, at that time one of the brightest luminaries of which the Scottish bar could boast. Mr. * * * * had made a very impassioned appeal to the judge: and in replying to it, Mr. Wedderburn (Lord L.) summed up a most ironical picture of Mr. * * * *'s powers of eloquence, in these words. 'Nay, my lords, if tears could have moved your lordships, tears sure I am would not have been wanting.' The lord president immediately interrupted Mr. W., and told him that he was pursuing a very indecorous course of observation. Mr.W. spiritedly maintained that he had said nothing but what he was well entitled to say, and would have no hesitation in saying again. The lord president, irritated probably at so bold an answer from so young a man, rejoined in a manner, the personality of which provoked Mr. W. to tell his lordship, that the had said that as a judge, which he durst not justify as a gentleman. An observation such as this, which put an end to all observation, was not of course to be brooked; the lord president threw himself on the judgment and protection of his brother judges: and the result was, that Mr. W. was unanimously ordered to make a most abject and ample apology, under pain of deprivation. Mr. W. declared indignantly that 'he never would make an apology for what his conscience told him was no offence;' and with these words throwing off his gown, he cast it on the ground, and rubbing the dust from off his feet upon it, bade the court and his brethren at the bar farewell. Fortune, it would seem, was in one of her tricky moods. Exiled by mere accident from that native scene of action on which all his hopes of success had been originally set, and where he could never have attained to more than a provincial eminence, Mr. W. bent his steps towards England; he devoted himself to the study of its laws, and in no long time became the first law officer in England, and the right arm of as able a minister as ever wielded the destinies of Britain.
Mr. Lee, the barrister, was famous for studying effect when he pleaded. On the circuit of Norwich, a brief was brought to him by the relatives of a woman who had been deceived into a breach of promise of marriage. Lee inquired among other particulars, whether the woman was handsome? 'A most beautiful face, was the answer. Satisfied with this, he desired she should be placed at the bar, immediately in front of the jury. When he rose, he began a most pathetic and eloquent address, directing the attention of the jury to the charms which were placed in their view, and painting in glowing colours the guilt of the wretch who could injure 50 much beauty. When he perceived their feelings worked up to a proper pitch, he sat down, under the perfect conviction that he should obtain a verdict. What then must have been his surprise, when the counsel retained by the opposite party rose and observed, that it was impossible not to assent to the encomiums which his learned friend had lavished on the face of -the plaintiff; but he had forgot to say, that she had a wooden leg!' This fact, of which Lee was by no means aware, was established to his utter confusion. His eloquence was thrown away; and the jury, who felt ashamed of the effects it had produced upon them, instantly gave a verdict against him.
A witness was one day called to the bar of the House of Commons, when some one took notice, and pointedly remarked, upon his ill-looks. Mr. Fox (afterwards Lord Holland), whose gloomy countenance strongly marked his character, observed, 'That it was unjust, ungenerous, and unmanly, to censure a man for that signature which God had impressed upon his countenance, and which therefore he could not by any means remedy or avoid.' Mr. Pitt rose hastily and said, 'I agree from my heart with the observation of my fellow member; it is forcible, it is judicious and true. But there are some (throwing his eyes full on Fox) upon whose face the hand of Heaven has so stamped the mark of wickedness, that it were IMPIETY not to give it credit.'
On this prince's declaration of war against Louis Xl. of France, he addressed his parliament in an able speech, which concluded with the following impressive words:
'But I detain you too long by my speech from action. I see the clouds of dire revenge gathered in your hearts, and the lightning of fury break from your eyes, which bodes thunder against our enemy; let us therefore lose no time, but suddenly and severely scourge this perjured court to a severe repentance, and regain honour to our nation, and his kingdom to our crown.'
During the French Revolution, the inhabitants of a village in Dauphiny had determined on sacrificing their lord to their revenge, and were only dissuaded from it by the eloquence of their curate, who thus addressed them. 'My friends,' said he, 'the day of vengeance is arrived; the individual who has so long tyrannized over you, must now suffer his merited punishment. As the care of this flock has been entrusted to me,- it behoves me to watch over their best interests, nor will I forsake their righteous cause. Suffer me only to be your leader, and swear to me that in all circumstances you will follow my example.' All the villagers swore they would. 'And,' continued he, 'that you further solemnly promise to enter into any engagement which I may now make, and that you remain faithful to this your oath.' All the villagers exclaimed, 'We do.' 'Well then,' solemnly taking the oath, 'I swear to forgive our lord.' Unexpected as this was, the villagers all forgave him.
'Slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers. SHAKSPEARE.
'The funeral orations of Flechier,' says D'Alembert, 'were not only pure and correct in style, but full of sweetness and eloquence. Nothing could be more truly pathetic; they exceeded everything when delivered by the author himself. His serious action, and his slow and sometimes feeble voice, brought the hearers into a disposition of sympathetic sorrow; the soul felt itself gradually penetrated by the simple expressions of the sentiment; and the ear by the soft cadence of the periods. Hence he was sometimes obliged to make a pause in the pulpit, that he might leave a free course to plaudits not of the tumultuous kind which resound at profane spectacles, but expressed by that general and modest murmur which eloquence arrests even in our temples from an audience deeply moved; a kind of involuntary enthusiasm which not even the sanctity of the place can repress '
The most admired of Flechier's orations, was that on Marshal Turenne. Mark Antony, with the dead body of Caesar before him could scarcely have produced a more vivid impression on his hearers, than Flechier did by the following noble exordium.
'Do not expect, my friends, that I shall set before your eyes the tragic scene of this great man's death; that I shall exhibit the hero stretched lifeless on his own trophies; that I shall point to the pale and bloody corpse still enveloped m the smoke of the thunderbolt which struck it; that I shall make his blood cry out like that of Abel; or that I shall afflict your sight with the melancholy spectacle of religion and patriotism leaning over his remains, all drowned in tears.'
The following similitude is of a still higher order of eloquence; it is an example of sublimity of the very tenderest description. 'The man who defended the cities of Judah; who subdued the puce of the children of Ammon and of Esau; who returned charged with the spoils of Samaria, after having burnt upon their own altars the gods of the heathens - that man whom God hath set around Israel as a wall of brass, against which the forces of Asia were broken to pieces, who, after having defeated numerous armies, disconcerted the ablest and proudest generals of the kings of Syria - came every year in common with the meanest of the Israelites, to repair with his triumphant hands the ruins of the sanctuary and wished to have no other recompense for the good he had rendered to his country than the honour of having done it some service.' This valiant man pursuing, with a courage invincible, the enemy whom he had compelled to a shameful flight, received at last his death wound, falling, as it were, overwhelmed in the triumph he had achieved. On the first I report of this disastrous event, all the cities of Judah were deeply affected; rivers of tears flowed from the eyes of their inhabitants they were in one moment overcome, mute immoveable. After a long and mournful silence, they at last cried out in a voice broken by the sighs which sadness, pity, fear, forced from their hearts, " How, is the mighty fallen who saved the people of Israel!" At these words, all Jerusalem wept more and more, the roofs of the temple shook; the Jordan was troubled, and all Its banks re-echoed the mournful strains, "How is the mighty fallen who saved the people of Israel!" '
In 1686, Flechier was nominated to the bishopric of Lavaur; on which occasion Louis XIV. paid him the following handsome compliment. 'I have,' said he, 'made you wait some time for a place which you have long deserved; but I was unwilling sooner to deprive myself of the pleasure of hearing you.'
The published sermons of Tillotson rank among the best in the English language; and it is probable that there would not have been a bad one from his pen to complain of, had his ability in delivering his sermons been equal to his ability m writing them. But it happened to Tillotson (too much after the manner of the pulpit orators of his country) that he once preached his king asleep, and by way of making amends for the sleeping draught he was ordered to publish what, had it been heard, neither king nor subject could have wished but to forget. In 1680, an extreme dread of popery induced him to deliver before the king the sermon which bears in the published collection of his works the title of 'The Protestant religion vindicated from the charge of Singularity and Novelty.' The king dropped asleep, and slept nearly all the time the archbishop was delivering it. When the preacher had finished, and the king rose to depart, a nobleman who was with him said, 'It is a pity your majesty was asleep, for we have had the rarest piece of Hobbism that ever you heard in your life.' 'Have we?' replied Charles; 'then, odds fish, he shall print it.' And so his majesty was pleased to order, to the no small mortification of the archbishop, who knew that, designed for a temporary purpose, the sermon rested on none of those eternal principles which could enable it Lo appear with credit in the eyes of posterity.
In one of the debates in the House of Peers in 1794, a noble lord quoted the following lines from Bishop Porteus's Poem on War.
'One murder makes a villain;
Millions, a hero! Princes are privileged
To kill, and numbers sanctify the crime.
Ah! why will kings forget that they are men;
And men, that they are brethren? Why delight
In human sacrifice? Why burst the ties
Of nature, that should knit their souls together
In one soft bond of amity and love?
They yet still breathe destruction, still go on,
Inhumanly ingenious to find out
New pains for life; new terrors for the grave.
Artificers of DEATH! Still monarchs dream
Of universal empire growing up
From universal ruin. Blast the design,
Great God of Hosts! Nor let thy creatures fall
Unpitied victims at Ambition's shrine.'
The bishop, who was present, and who generally voted with the minister, was asked by a noble earl, then accustomed to stand alone in the discussions of the house, if he were really the author of the excellent lines here quoted? The bishop replied, 'Yes, my lord: but they were not composed for the present war!'
When the court of Rome, under the pontificates of Gregory IX. and Innocent IV., set no bounds to their ambitious projects, they were opposed by the Emperor Frederic, who was of course anathematized. A curate of Paris, a humorous fellow, got up in his pulpit, with the bull of Innocent in his hand. 'You know, my brethren,' said he,: 'that I am ordered to proclaim an excommunication against Frederic. I am ignorant of the motive. All that I-know is, that there exists between this prince and the Roman Pontiff great differences, and an irreconcilable hatred.
God only knows which of the two is wrong. Therefore, with all my power, I excommunicate him who injures the other; and I absolve him who suffers, to the great scandal of all Christianity.'
Sewel, who is more generally known by his Dutch and English Dictionary, than as an English writer, relates the following anecdote of his mother, Judith Zinspenning, who visited England, and was much esteemed there among the quakers. Being at a meeting in London, and finding herself stirred up to speak of the loving kindness of the Lord to those that feared him, she desired one Peter Sybrands to be her interpreter; but he, though an honest man, being not very fit for that service, one or more friends told her they were so sensible of the power by which she spoke, that though they did not understand her words, yet they were edified by the life and power that accompanied her speech; and, therefore, they little regretted the want of interpretation. And so she went on without any interpreter!
AEschines having drawn up an accusation against one Ctesiphon, or rather against Demosthenes, a time was fixed for hearing the trial. No cause ever excited so much curiosity, or was pleaded with so much pomp. 'People flocked to it from all parts,' says Cicero, 'and they had great reason for so doing, for what sight could be nobler than a conflict between two orators, each of them so excellent; both formed by nature, improved by art, and animated by perpetual dissensions and an insuperable jealousy. The disposition of the people, and the juncture of affairs, seemed to favour AEschines; but, notwithstanding, he lost his cause, and was sentenced to banishment for his rash accusation. He then went and settled in Rhodes, where he opened a school of eloquence, the fame and glory of which continued for many ages. He began his lectures with the two orations that had occasioned his banishment. Great encomiums were given to that of AEschines; but when they heard that of Demosthenes, the plaudits and acclamations were redoubled and it was then that he spoke these words, so generous in the mouth of an enemy: 'But what applauses would you have bestowed, had you heard Demosthenes speak it himself!'
Mr. Campbell, the missionary, mentions in his 'Travels in South Africa,' that during his stay at Graaf Reynet, Boozak and Cupido, two converted Hottentots, frequently 'addressed the heathen;' and he gives the following among other specimens of their oratorical powers:-
'Before the mssionaries,' said Boozak, 'came to us, we were as ignorant of everything as you now are. I thought then I was the same as a beast; that when I died, there would be an end of me; but after hearing them, I found I had a soul that must be happy or miserable for ever. Then I became afraid to die. I was afraid to take a gun into my hand, lest it should kill me; or to meet a serpent, lest it should bite me. I was then afraid to go to the hill to hunt lions or elephants, lest they should devour me. But when I heard of the Son of God having come into the world to die for sinners, all that fear went away. I took my gun again, and without fear of death, went to hunt lions, and tigers, and elephants.'
The following specimen from a sermon of the other convert, Cupido, is in a higher strain.
'He illustrated,' says Mr. Campbell, 'the immortality of the soul; by alluding to the serpent, who, by going between the two branches of a bush which press against each other, strips himself once a year of his skin.'
"When we find the skin," said he, "we do not call it the serpent; no, it is only the skin: neither do we say the serpent is dead; no, for we know he is alive, and has only cast his skin." The serpent he compared to the soul, and the skin to the body of man.'
Caractacus, after defending himself with invincible bravery against the Romans, who had invaded his dominions, was treacherously seized and betrayed to his enemies, by whom he was sent, with the rest of his family, in chains to Rome. The behaviour of Caractacus, in that metropolis of the world, was truly great. When brought before the emperor, he appeared with a manly and undaunted countenance, and thus addressed himself to Claudius:- 'If in my prosperity the moderation of my conduct had been equivalent to my birth and fortune, I should have come into this city, not as a captive, but as a friend, nor would you, Caesar, have disdained the alliance of a man born of illustrious ancestors, and ruler over several nations. My present fate is to me dishonourable; to you magnificently glorious. I once had horses; I once had men, I once had arms; I once had riches; can you wonder then I should part with them unwillingly? Although, as Romans, you may aim at universal empire, it does not follow that all mankind must tamely submit to be your slaves. If I had yielded without resistance, neither the perverseness of my fortune, nor the glory of your triumph, had been so remarkable. Punish me with death, and I shall soon be forgotten. Suffer me to live, and I shall remain a lasting monument of your clemency.'
The manner in which this noble speech was delivered, affected the whole assembly, and made such an impression on the emperor, that he ordered the chains of Caractacus and his family to be taken off; and Agrippine, who was more than an equal associate in the empire, not only received the captive Britons with great marks of kindness and compassion, but confirmed to them the enjoyment of their liberty.
The most able and strenuous opponent m the Scottish Parliament, to the Union between England and Scotland, was the representative of the ancient and illustrious house of Belhaven. He delivered a speech on the occasion, which made so powerful an impression on the house, that it had nearly gone the length of overturning the project entirely. Nobody felt equal to the task of replying to it; and nobody did reply to it. The petty criticism, however, of a noble lord reconciled a majority of the members to vote, against the impression of their minds, in the way in which they had been bribed; and with such men, the eloquence even of an angel could have been of no avail.
The speech is a fine specimen of simple and unaffected oratory. After a very brief exordium, the speaker proceeded at once to fix the attention of the house on the essence of the question they were about to determine, by picturing to their imagination all the melancholy consequences which he thought (happily with no spirit of prophecy) would ensue from the union which he deprecated.
'I think,' said his lordship, 'I see a free and independant kingdom delivering up that which all the world hath been fighting for since the days of Nimrod; yea, that for which most of all the empires, states, principalities, and dukedoms of Europe are at this very time engaged in the most cruel wars that ever were, viz., a power to manage their own affairs by themselves, without the assistance and counsel of others.
'I think I see a national church founded upon a rock, a secured claim of right, hedged and fenced about by the strictest and pointedest legal sanction that sovereignty could contrive, voluntarily descending into a plain upon an equal level with Jews, Papists, Socinians, Arminians, Anabaptists, and other sectaries.
'I think I see the noble and honourable peerage of Scotland, whose valiant predecessors led armies against their enemies upon their own proper charges and expenses, now divested of their full orders and vassalages, and put upon such an equal footing with their vassals, that I think I see a petty English exciseman receive more homage and respect than was formally paid to their Maccallanmores.
'I think I see the present peers of Scotland, whose noble ancestors conquered provinces, over-ran counties, reduced and subjected towns, and fortified places through the greatest part of England, now walking in the Court of Requests, like so many English attorneys, laying aside their walking swords when in company with the English peers, lest their self-defence should be found murder.
'I think I see the honourable estate of barons, the bold assertors of their nation's rights and liberties in the worst of times, now setting a watch upon their lips, and a guard upon their tongues, lest they be found guilty of scandalum magnatum.
'I think I see the royal state of boroughs walking their desolate streets, hanging down their heads, wormed out of all the branches of their old trade, uncertain what hand to turn to, necessitated to become apprentices to their unkind neighbours, and yet after all, finding their trade so fortified by companies, and secured by proscription, that they despair of any success therein.
'I think I see our learned judges laying aside their practiques and decisions, studying the common law of England, gravelled with certioraris, nisi priuses, writs of error, injunctions, demurrers, &c., and frightened with appeals and advocations, because of the new regulations and rectifications that they may meet with.
'I think I see the valiant and gallant soldiery either sent to learn the plantation trade abroad, or at home petitioning for a small subsistence as the reward of their honourable exploits; while our old corps are broken, the common soldiers left to beg, and the youngest English corps kept standing.
'I think I see the honest industrious tradesman loaded with new taxes and impositions disappointed of the equivalents, drinking water instead of ale, eating his saltless porridge, petitioning for encouragement to his manufactures, and answered by counterpetitions.
'In short, I think I see the laborious ploughman with his corn spoiling on his hands for want of sale, cursing the day of his birth, dreading the expense of his burial, and uncertain whether to marry or to do worse.
'I think I see the incurable difficulties of the landsmen fettered under the golden chain of equivalents; their pretty daughters petitioning for want of husbands, and their sons for want of employment.
'I think I see our mariners delivering up their ships to their Dutch partners; and, what through presses and necessities, earning their bread as underlings in the royal English navy.
'But, above all, my lord, I think I see our ancient mother, Caledonia, like Caesar sitting in the midst of our senate, ruefully looking round about her, covering herself with her royal garment, waiting the fatal blow, and breathing out her last,' looking to where the squadron (a soi-disant independent party) sat, 'with an et tu quoque, mi fili!'
Following up the affecting image thus presented to his hearers, he proceeded to charge the advocates for the union with conspiring to give the death-blow to their country, and called on all who would avoid participating in the damned guilt, to join with him in protecting it from violation.
'Shall we not,' he exclaimed, 'speak for that for which our fathers have fought and bled? Shall the hazard of a father unbind the ligaments of a dumb son's tongue? And shall we be silent when our more than father - our country, is in danger?'
After speaking for some time in the same strain, he made a solemn pause.
'My lord,' he said, 'I shall here make a pause, till I see if his grace, the lord commissioner, will receive any proposals for removing misunderstandings from amongst us, and putting an end to our fatal divisions. Upon honour, I have no other design; and I am content to beg the favour on my bended knees.'
He stopped, and threw himself on his knees. None interposed. He could expect none to interpose; but the impression upon the house was very powerful. He then arose, and finished his speech.
A considerable time elapsed before any member on the opposite side attempted to speak. At length, the Earl of Marchmont rose, and said, 'My Lord Chancellor, and gentlemen, I have heard a long speech, and a very terrible one; but it only requires, I think, this short reply: Behold, I dreamed, but when I awoke, lo! I found it was all a dream!'
Admiral Blake, when a captain, was sent with a small squadron to the West Indies, on a secret expedition against the Spanish settlements. It happened in an engagement, that one of the ships blew up, which damped the spirits of the crew; but Blake, who was not to be subdued by one unsuccessful occurrence, called out to his men, 'Well, my lads, you have seen an English ship blown-up, and now let's see what figure a Spanish one will make in the same situation!' This well-timed harangue raised their spirits immediately, and in less than an hour he set his antagonist on fire. 'There, my lads,' said he, 'I knew we should have our revenge soon.'
During the mutiny which unfortunately appeared to pervade almost the whole British navy in 1797, Admiral Duncan was blockading the Dutch fleet. The disaffection raged to such an extent in his squadron, that he was left with only three ships, but with these he still remained firm in his station off the Texel, and succeeded in keeping the Dutch navy from proceeding to sea. The speech which he made on this occasion to the crew of his own ship, on the 3rd of June, 1797, was an admirable specimen of artless an] affecting eloquence. His men being assembled, the admiral thus addressed them from the quarter-deck: 'My lads, I once more call you together with a sorrowful heart, from what I have lately seen of the disaffection of the fleets; I call it disaffection, for the crews have no grievances. To be deserted by my fleet, in the face of an enemy, is a disgrace which I believe never before happened to a British admiral, nor could I have supposed it. My greatest comfort, under God, is, that I have been supported by the officers, seamen, and marines, of this ship; for which, with a heart overflowing with gratitude, I request you to accept my sincere thanks. I flatter myself much good may result from your example, by bringing those deluded people to a sense of the duty which they owe, not only to their king and country, but to themselves. The British navy has ever been the support of that liberty which has been handed down to us by our ancestors, and which, I trust, we shall maintain to the latest posterity, and that can only be done by unanimity and obedience. The ship's company, and others, who have distinguished themselves by their loyalty and good order, deserve to be, and doubtless will be, the favourites of a grateful country; they will also have from their individual feelings a comfort which must be lasting, and not like the fleeting and false confidence of those who swerved from their duty. It has often been my pride with you to look into the Texel, and see a foe which dreaded coming out to meet us. My pride is now humble indeed! My feelings are not easily to be expressed! Our cup has overflowed, and made us wanton. The all-wise Providence has given us this check as a warning, and I hope we shall improve by it. On him, then, let us trust, where our only security can be found. I find there are many good men among us, for my own part, I have had full confidence of all in this ship, and once more beg to express my approbation of your conduct. May God, who has thus so far conducted you, continue to do so! and may the British navy, the glory and support of our country, be restored to its wonted splendour, and be not only the bulwark of Britain, but the terror of the world! But this can only be effected by a strict adherence to our duty and obedience; and let us pray that the Almighty God may keep us in the right way of thinking. God bless you all.' The crew of the Venerable were so affected by this impressive address, that on retiring, there was not a dry eye among them.
'I must tell thee, sirrah, I write Man, to which title age cannot bring thee.' SHAKSPEARE.
In the parliamentary session of 1740, Sir Charles Wager brought in a bill for the encouragement of seamen and speedier manning the royal navy, which was strongly opposed by Mr. Pitt. His speech on this occasion produced an answer from Mr. H. Walpole, who in the course of it said, 'Formidable sounds and furious declamation, confident assertions and lofty periods may affect the young and inexperienced; and perhaps the honourable gentleman may have contracted his habits of oratory, by conversing more with those of his own age, than with such as have had more opportunities of acquiring knowledge, and more successful methods of communicating their sentiments.' Mr. Walpole added some expressions, such as vehemence of gesture theatrical emotion, &c., which he applied to Mr. Pitt's manner of speaking. As soon as he sat down, Mr. Pitt rose, and made the following admirable reply:
'The atrocious crime of being a young man, which the honourable gentleman has with such spirit and decency charged upon me, I shall neither attempt to palliate nor deny, but content myself with wishing, that I may be one whose follies may cease with their youth, and not of that number who are ignorant in spite of experience.
'Whether youth can be imputed to any man as a reproach, I will not assume the province of determining. But surely age may become justly contemptible, if the opportunities which it brings have passed away without improvement, and vice appears to prevail when the passions have subsided. The wretch that, after having seen the consequences of a thousand errors, continues still to blunder, and whose age has only added obstinacy to stupidity, is surely the object of either abhorrence or contempt, and deserves not that his grey head should secure him from rebukes.
'Much more is he to be abhorred, who, as he has advanced in age, has receded from virtue, and becomes more wicked with less temptation; who prostitutes himself for money which he cannot enjoy, and spends the remains of his life in the ruin of his country.
'But youth is not my only crime. I have been accused of acting a theatrical part: a theatrical part may either imply some peculiarities of gesture or a dissimulation of one's real sentiments, and an adoption of the opinion and language of other men.
'In the first sense, the charge is too trifling to be confuted, and deserves only to he mentioned that it may be despised. I am at liberty, like every other man, to use my own language; and though I may perhaps have, some ambition, yet, to please this gentleman, I shall not lay myself under any restraint, nor very solicitously copy his diction or his mien, however matured by age or modelled by experience, if any man shall, by charging me with theatrical behaviour, imply that I utter any sentiments but my own I shall treat him as a calumniator and a villain: nor shall any protection shelter him from the treatment which he deserves. I shall on such occasion, without scruple, trample upon all those forms with which wealth and dignity entrench themselves; nor shall anything but age restrain my resentment - age which always brings one privilege, that of being insolent and supercilious without punishment.
'But with regard to those whom I have offended, I am of opinion that if I had acted a borrowed part, I should have avoided their censure; the heat that offended them is the ardour of conviction, and that zeal for the service of my country which neither hope nor fear shall influence me to suppress. I will not sit unconcerned while my liberty is invaded, nor look in silence upon public delinquency. I will exert my endeavours, at whatever hazard, to repel the aggression, and drag the offenders to justice, whatever may protect them in their villainy, and whoever may partake of their plunder.'
Dignity was one of the distinguished characteristics of Lord Chatham's oratory: this presided throughout, and gave force even to the sallies of pleasantry. It was this that elevated the most familiar language, and gave novelty and grace to the most familiar allusions, so that in his hand even the crutch became a weapon of oratory. In one of his speeches on the American war, in which he greatly distinguished himself, he said, 'You talk, my lords, of conquering America: of your numerous friends there to annihilate the Congress, and of your powerful forces to disperse her army: I might as well talk of driving them before me with this crutch.'
'Shall Chatham die, and be forgot? No.
Warm from its source let grateful sorrow flow:
His matchless ardour fir'd each fear-struck mind,
His genius soar'd when Britons droop'd and pin'd.' GARRICK.
Lord Chatham entered the House of Lords for the last time on the 7th of April, 1778, leaning upon two friends. He was wrapped up in flannel, and looked pale and emaciated. His eye was still penetrating: and though with the evident appearance of a dying man, there never was seen a figure of more dignity: he appeared like a being of a superior species. He rose from his seat slowly and with difficulty, leaning on his crutches, and supported under each arm by two of his friends. He took one hand from his crutch, and raised it, casting his eyes towards heaven, and said:- 'I thank God that I have been enabled to come here this day - to perform my duty, and to speak on a subject which has so deeply interested my mind. I am old and infirm: have one foot, more than one foot, m the grave. I am risen from my bed, to stand up in the cause of my country! perhaps never again to speak in this house!' At first he spoke in a very low and feeble tone: but as he grew warm, his voice rose, and was as harmonious as ever, perhaps more oratorical and affecting than at any former period, both from his own situation and from the importance of the subject on which he spoke. He gave the whole history of the American war: of all the measures to which he had objected; and all the evils which he had prophesied would be the consequence of them, adding, at the end of each, 'And so it proved.'
In one part of his speech he ridiculed the apprehension of an invasion, and then recalled the remembrance of former invasions. 'Of a Spanish invasion, of a French invasion, of a Dutch invasion, many noble lords may have read in history: and some lords (looking keenly at one who sat near him) may perhaps remember a Scotch invasion!'
When the Duke of Richmond was speaking, he looked at him with attention and composure: but when he rose to answer, his strength failed him, and he fell backward. He was instantly supported by those who were near him. He was then carried to Mr. Serjent's house in Downing Street, and thence conveyed home to Hayes, and put to bed, from which he never rose. Such was the glorious end of the great Lord Chatham, who died in the discharge of a great political duty, a duty which he came in a dying state to perform.
It has been said of his late majesty, George III., that he recited a speech, or delivered an oration, with more true modulation and eloquence than most men in his dominions. His speeches from the throne to the two houses of parliament were always considered as specimens of beautiful elocution, and this was the snore remarkable, since in common conversation the king spoke with a rapidity which sometimes made him unintelligible to those who were not familiarized to his peculiar mode of expression. His present majesty has the same merit of deliberate articulation, without the fault of an hasty utterance.
When the trial of Mr. Hastings commenced in Westminster Hall, the first two days were taken up in reading the articles of impeachment against him; and four more were occupied by Mr. Burke in opening the case and stating the grounds of the accusation. Never were the powers of that great man displayed to such advantage as on this occasion. The contrast which he drew between the ancient and the modern state of Hindostan, was sketched with the hand of a master, and wrought up in a manner that could not fail to fix the attention and to command admiration. When at length he came to speak of Mr. Hastings, no terms can describe the more than mortal vehemence with which he uttered his manifold accusations against him. He seemed for the moment as if armed to destroy with all the lightning of all the passions. The whole annals of judicial oratory contain nothing finer than his conclusion.
'I impeach Warren Hastings,' said he, 'in the name of the Commons of Great Britain, in Parliament assembled, whose parliamentary trust he has abused.
'I impeach him in the name of the Commons of Great Britain, whose national character he has dishonoured.
'I impeach him in the name of the people of India, whose laws, rights, and liberties ho has subverted, whose properties he has destroyed, whose country he has laid waste and desolate.
'I impeach him in the name of human nature itself, which he has so cruelly outraged, injured, and oppressed. And I impeach him in the name and by the,' virtue of those eternal laws of justice which ought equally to pervade in both sexes, every age, condition, rank, and situation in the world.'
The agitation produced by this speech was such that the whole audience appeared to have felt one convulsive emotion, and when it was over it was some time before Mr. Fox could obtain a hearing
Amidst the assemblage of concurring praises which this speech excited, none was more remarkable than the tribute of Mr. Hastings himself. 'For half an hour,' said that gentleman, 'I looked up at the orator in a reverie of wonder, and during that space I actually felt myself the most culpable man on earth.' Had the sentiment concluded here, our readers would not believe that it was in the language or manner of Mr. Hastings. 'But,' continued he, 'I recurred to my own bosom, and there found a consciousness which consoled me under all I heard and all I suffered.'
Mr. Burke, in speaking of the indisposition of Mr. Fox, which prevented his making a motion for an investigation into the conduct of Lord Sandwich, said:- 'No one laments Mr. Fox's illness more than I do, and I declare, if he should continue ill, the inquiry into the conduct of the First Lord of the Admiralty should not be proceeded upon; and should the country suffer so serious a calamity as his death, it ought to be followed up earnestly and solemnly; nay, of so much consequence is the inquiry to the public, that no bad use would be made of the skin of my departed friend (should such, alas! be his fate), If, like that of John Zisca, it should be converted into a drum, and used for the purpose of sounding an alarm to the people of England.'
While Mr. B. was speaking in the House of Commons on the Scotch anti-Popish mob, which he attributed to the supineness of the Government, he observed that the Prime Minister was indulging himself in a profound nap. 'I hope,' said Burke, 'Government is not dead, but asleep ,' and pointing to Lord North, added, 'Brother Lazarus is not dead, only sleepeth.' The laugh upon this occasion was not more loud on one side of the house than it appeared to be relished on the other Even the noble lord himself enjoyed the allusion as heartily as the rest of the house when he was apprised of the joke.
Though upon great occasions Mr. B. was one of the most eloquent men that ever sat in the British senate, he had in ordinary matters as much as any man the faculty of tiring his auditors. During the latter years of his life, failing gained so much upon him, that he more than once dispersed the house: a circumstance which procured him the nickname of the Dinner-Bell. A gentleman was once going into the house, when he was surprised to meet a great number of people coming out in a body. 'Is the house up?' said he. 'No,' answered one of the fugitives, 'but Mr. Burke is up.'
The following idea of Mr. Burke, attributed to General Fitzpatrick, is very characteristic. Ask any person in either house, who is the best informed man? the answer will certainly be, Mr. Burke. Who is the man of the greatest wit? Mr. Burke. Who is the most eloquent? Mr. Burke. Who is the most tiresome of all orators? he will receive the same answer, Mr. Burke.
Mr. Burke was not the only tiresome speaker in his days, as will be seen from the following anecdote, which Lord North used to relate, as containing the best specimen of wit he ever heard in the House of Commons.
One afternoon, the opposition had come down to the House to give the ministers battle on a very important point. The business was opened by one of the ministerial party. Mr. Burke was ready to rise the moment his antagonist sat down: but beheld David Hartley, who sat a few benches behind Mr. Burke, was on his legs before him. Mr. Hartley received the usual nod from the speaker, and began his oration. The wilderness style of Mr. Hartley's eloquence is well known: in the course of three hours, almost every member who could possibly get away, had left the House. Mr. Burke sat writhing on the tenter-hooks of impatience, till at length Mr. Hartley stumbled on some idea which made him call for the reading of the Riot Act. 'The Riot Act!' said Burke, starting up, 'what does the gentleman mean? Why, they are all dispersed already.'
The prevalent and off-repeated assertion, that William Gerard Hamilton spoke but once in the House of Commons, is not strictly true. His first effort at parliamentary eloquence was made November 13, 1755, when, to use the words of Waller respecting Denham, 'he broke out like the Irish rebellion; threescore thousand strong, when nobody was aware, or in the least suspected it.' Certainly no first speech in parliament ever produced such an effect, or acquired such eulogies both within and without the House of Commons, and yet no copy of this speech remains. For many years it was supposed to have been his only attempt and hence the familiar name of single speech was fixed upon him: but he spoke a second time in February 1756, and such was the admiration that followed this display of his eloquence, that Mr. Fox, then one of the principal secretaries of state, immediately procured him the appointment of a lord of trade. At the time Mr. Hamilton made his first speech it was reported that Mr. Burke had written it for him, in gratitude for his having obtained a pension through his interest. This, however, although talked of in the better circles of that day, is totally without foundation. The connexion between Burke and Hamilton did not last long; for a few years afterwards, on some political contest, Mr. Hamilton, telling Mr. Burke, as coarsely as it was unfounded, that 'he took him from a garrets' the latter very spiritedly replied, 'Then, sir, by your own confession, it was I that descended to know you.'
The powerful eloquence of these distinguished statesmen had long been exerted in the same cause, and they were considered the leading champions of the House of Commons. But on the commencement of the French revolution, they not only took opposite sides in politics, but actually terminated a private friendship of many years, and never afterwards had a private interview. It was on a debate relative to the army estimates on the 9th of February, 1790, that the first violent shock, or conflict of opinions, between Mr. Burke and Mr. Fox, took place, both much regretted the circumstance, and passed the highest eulogies on each other.
Mr. Fox said, 'He must declare, that such was his sense of the judgment of his right honourable friend, such his knowledge of his principles, and such the value which he set upon them, and the estimation in which he held his friendship, that if he were to put all the political information which he had learnt from books, all which he had gained from science, and all which the knowledge of the world and its affairs had taught him, into one great scale; and all the improvements which he had derived from his right honourable friend's instruction and conversation into the other, he should be at a loss to which to give the preference. He had learnt more from his right honourable friend, than from all the men with whom he had ever conversed.'
Mr. Burke said, that 'he could, without the least flattery or exaggeration, assure his right honourable friend, that the separation of a limb from his body could scarcely give him more pain, than the circumstance of differing from him violently and publicly in opinion.'
A bill introduced by Mr. Pitt in the following year for the better government of Canada gave rise to another debate between Mr. Burke and Mr. Fox, which completely dissolved their political connexion.
Mr. Burke, in a very eloquent speech, which treated almost entirely of the French revolution, said, that although on some occasions he had differed with Mr. Fox on political questions, yet, 'in all the course of their acquaintance and intimacy, no one difference of political opinion had ever for a moment affected their friendship. It certainly was indiscretion at any period, but much greater at his time of life, to provoke enemies; or to give his friends cause to desert him: yet if that was to be the case, by adhering to the British constitution, he would risk all: and as public duty and public prudence taught him m his last words exclaim, "Fly from the French constitution."'
On this, Mr. Fox whispered, 'There is no loss of Friendship, I hope.' Mr. Burke answered with some warmth, 'Yes, there is. I know the price of my conduct; our FRIENDSHIP IS AT AN END.' In the course of this brilliant speech, Mr. Burke, reasoning with great warmth, checked himself, and addressing himself to the chair, said, 'I am not mad, most noble Festus, but speak the words of truth and soberness!'
Mr. Fox rose to reply; but for some time was so overpowered by his feelings that the tears trickled down his cheeks. He took a review of the close intimacy which for nearly twenty-five years had existed between Mr. Burke and himself, and complained of the ignominious epithets that his friend had applied to him.
Mr. Burke said he did not recollect that he had used any.
Mr. Fox replied, 'My right honourable friend does not recollect the epithets; they are out of his mind; then they are completely and for ever out of mine. I cannot cherish a recollection so painful; and from this moment they are obliterated and forgotten.'
In February, 1783, Mr. Sheridan first came into direct contact with Mr. Pitt, who was then Chancellor of the Exchequer; and it is evident that the attack was premeditated on the part of Sheridan in an ambitious aim to cope with this extraordinary young man, whose powers as an orator and a statesman were then the general theme of admiration.
When the preliminaries of peace came under consideration, Mr. Sheridan levelled some strong observations against Mr. Pitt, who could not well avoid taking notice of them. Alluding to Mr. Sheridan's dramatic connexions and pursuits, he said, 'no man admired more than he did the abilities of the honourable gentleman, the elegant sallies of his, thoughts, the gay effusions of his fancy, his dramatic turns, his epigrammatic points: and if they were reserved for the proper stage they would, no doubt, receive what the honourable gentleman's abilities always did receive - the plaudits of the audience; and it would be his fortune sui plausu guadere theatre. But this was not the proper scene for the exhibition of these elegancies, and he therefore must beg leave to call the attention of the house to a serious consideration of the very important question before them.'
Mr. Sheridan, in explanation, adverted in a forcible manner to his personality, saying,he need not comment on it, as the propriety, the taste, and the gentlemanly point of It, must have been obvious to the house: but,' added he, 'let me assure the right honourable gentleman that I do now, end will at any time when he chooses to repeat this sort of allusion, meet it with the most sincere good humour: nay, I will say more: flattered and encouraged by the right honourable gentleman's panegyric on my talents, if ever I again engage in the composition he alludes to, I may be tempted to an act of presumption, to attempt an improvement of one of Ben Jonson's best characters, that of the angry boy in the Alchymist.'
This reciprocity of sarcastic ridicule, occasioned much sport at that period, and the whimsical application of Sheridan's dramatic reading, fixed upon his opponent an appellation which he did not get rid of for many years.
The late Lord Ellenborough, when Mr. Law, and at the bar, was unfortunate enough to make an enemy in Lord Kenyon, who took every opportunity to annoy him, and repress his rising talents. This conduct on the part of the judge once drew from Mr. Law a very smart retort. Mr. Erskine, who was engaged on the opposite side, had made a very violent speech, containing some personalities of such a nature, that he felt compelled to notice them. When Mr. Law rose to reply, he commenced with the following passage from Virgil:
'Dicta ferox non me tua fervida torrent Dii me terrent et JUPITER Hostis.'
When Mr. Law became attorney-general and had a seat in parliament, he transferred to it the same copiousness of manner, and energy of thought and language, which had distinguished him at the bar; but he was impatient of contradiction, and assuming in his tone, yet he struck hard, even when he struck indiscreetly. During a debate on the claims of the Prince of Wales, the attorney-general, then Sir Edward Law, remarked, that the revenues of the Duchy of Cornwall were placed under the control of the king, Henry VI. during the minority of the Prince of Wales, in consequence of the refractory spirit of the Duke of York. It was suggested from the opposition benches, that the law was shortly after changed. 'Aye,' said Sir Edward Law, 'in times of trouble; the honourable gentlemen opposite seem well versed in the troubles of their country.' The whole opposition cried out, 'Order!' and an explanation took place.
In certain expressions which Mr. Windham made use of on a motion by Mr. Yorke, for enforcing the standing order for excluding strangers, the newspaper reporters considered themselves to be personally calumniated, and in order to express their resentment, came to a general resolution, that his speeches should no longer be reported, and acted up to this resolution for several months. By this temporary exclusion of Mr. Windham's speeches, some valuable ones have been entirely lost, while of others there have been preserved only a few slight and unsatisfactory fragments. Among the latter, was his celebrated speech on the Walcheren expedition, which presented one of the best examples of that keen irony, which formed so distinguished a feature in the eloquence of Mr. Windham. What, for instance, could be more poignantly sarcastic than the following passage?
'In discussing the conduct of this miserable expedition, this concatenation of blunders, this long lane of mischiefs, which has no turn except to destruction, the first thing to be observed is, that according to all their evidence. the planners of the expedition could have no hope of success, unless all the chances turned out in their favour, unless all their cards turned to be trumps. The wind must blow from a certain point, and it must blow with a certain degree of force; if the wind changed, the expedition could not arrive at the destined point; and if the wind blew fresh, it would produce a surf, and prevent the landing. Now, considering the proverbial certainty of the wind, the expectation that all these things would happen, must be admitted to have been extremely rational; but, supposing that his majesty's ministers could have had sufficient influence to induce the wind to blow exactly as they wished it, still, to insure anything like a prospect of success to the expedition, this mighty armament must, in all its subsequent operations, have moved with the regularity and precision of a piece of machinery, one operation must be performed in three days, another in four, the artillery must move through the sand without friction, and there must be "no enemy to fight withal." Sir, the truth is, that this gallant army, this last hope of England, was committed to imminent hazards, and ultimate destruction, without anything like a plan for the guidance of its operations. The noble lord seems to have thought it quite sufficient to send out an expedition, and leave the rest to chance. My Lord Chatham was sent out to try experiments. I remember a story of a man, who, being asked if he could play on the fiddle said, "he could not tell, but he would try." Such was precisely the situation of my Lord Chatham.'
Parliamentary Courtier of 1626.
'Seest thou not the air of court in these unfoldings?
Hath not my gait in it the measure of the court?
I am a courtier cap-a-pee.'
SHAKSPEARE.
Among the members most active in the impeachment of the Duke of Buckingham in 1626, was Sir Dudley Carleton, vicechamberlain. His speech on the occasion is extremely amusing, on account of the many singular specimens which it contains of that unblushing sycophaney, which disgraced some of the elder periods of English history.
'Indeed,' he says, 'you would count it a great misery, if you knew the subject in