Their duty

ent crisis.

any of

have been reduced to the sad necessity of ap- | What could be such a tyrant's means of overpearing before you to belie his own better feel-awing a jury? As long as their counings, to prosecute Mr. Peltier for publishing those try exists, they are girt round with im- at the pres sentiments which my friend himself had a thou- | penetrable armor. Till the destruction sand times felt, and a thousand times expressed. of their country, no danger can fall upon them He might have been obliged even to call for for the performance of their duty, and I do trust punishment upon Mr. Peltier for language which | that there is no Englishman so unworthy of life he and all mankind would forever despise Mr. as to desire to outlive England. But if Peltier if he were not to employ. Then, indeed, us are condemned to the cruel punishment of surgentlemen, we should have seen the last humili-viving our country-if, in the inscrutable counation fall on England; the tribunals, the spotless and venerable tribunals of this free country reduced to be the ministers of the vengeance of Robespierre! What could have rescued us from this last disgrace? The honesty and courage of The honesty and courage of a jury. They would have delivered the judges of this country from the dire necessity of inflict-us into our sad exile the consolation that we ouring punishment on a brave and virtuous man, because he spoke truth of a monster. They would have despised the threats of a foreign tyrant, as their ancestors braved the power of oppression at home.

Peroration:

English jury in the times of Cromwell.

sels of Providence, this favored seat of justice and liberty, this noblest work of human wisdom and virtue, be destined to destruction, which I shall not be charged with national prejudice for saying would be the most dangerous wound ever inflicted on civilization; at least let us carry with

selves have not violated the rights of hospitality to exiles-that we have not torn from the altar the suppliant who claimed protection as the voluntary victim of loyalty and conscience! Gentlemen, I now leave this unfortunate gen

Lord Ellenborough charged the jury that any publication which tends to degrade, revile, and defame persons in considerable situations of power and dignity in foreign countries, may be taken to be and treated as a libel, and particularly where it has a tendency to interrupt the pacific relations between the two countries. If the publication contains a plain and manifest incitement and persuasion addressed to others to assassinate and destroy the persons of such magistrates, as the tendency of such a publication is to interrupt the harmony subsisting between two countries, the libel assumes a still more criminal complexion.

In the court where we are now met, Crom-tleman in your hands. His character and his well twice sent a satirist on his tyr- situation might interest your humanity; but, on Conduct of an anny to be convicted and punished as his behalf, I only ask justice from you. I only a libeler, and in this court, almost in ask a favorable construction of what can not be sight of the scaffold streaming with said to be more than ambiguous language, and the blood of his Sovereign, within hearing of the this you will soon be told, from the highest auclash of his bayonets which drove out Parliament thority, is a part of justice. with contumely, two successive juries rescued the intrepid satirist [Lilburne] from his fangs, and sent out with defeat and disgrace the usurper's Attorney General from what he had the insolence to call his court! Even then, gentlemen, when Even then, gentlemen, when all law and liberty were trampled under the feet of a military banditti; when those great crimes were perpetrated on a high place and with a high hand against those who were the objects of public veneration, which, more than any thing else, break their spirits and confound their moral sentiments, obliterate the distinctions between right and wrong in their understanding, and teach the multitude to feel no longer any reverence for that justice which they thus see triumphantly dragged at the chariot-wheels of a tyrant; even His Lordship also showed it to be his decided then, when this unhappy country, triumphant, in- opinion that the words could not be taken irondeed, abroad, but enslaved at home, had no pros-ically, as suggested by Mr. Mackintosh. The pect but that of a long succession of tyrants wad-jury, therefore, found the defendant GUILTY, ing through slaughter to a throne-even then, I without leaving their seats; but as war broke say, when all seemed lost, the unconquerable spirit out almost immediately, Mr. Peltier was not of English liberty survived in the hearts of En- brought up for sentence, but was at once disglish jurors. That spirit is, I trust in God, not charged. extinct; and if any modern tyrant were, in the drunkenness of his insolence, to hope to overawe an English jury, I trust and I believe that they would tell him, "Our ancestors braved the bayonets of Cromwell; we bid defiance to yours. Contempsi Catiline gladios -non pertimescam tuos !1130

30 This was the exclamation of Cicero to Anthony at the close of his second oration against him. "Defendi rempublicam adolescens; non deseram senex: contempsi Catilinæ gladios; non pertimescam tuos." I defended the republic in my youth, I will not desert her in my age; I have despised the daggers of Catiline, and I shall not fear yours.

HHH

The whole of this peroration of Cicero is worthy of the reader's attentive perusal.

The pointed reference to Bonaparte in this and a preceding sentence was called forth, no doubt, by the conduct of the French officers already mentioned. Being functionaries of the Consular government, their appearing at this time in court, their seating themselves alongside of the jury, and in a place directly suited to an inspection of the counsel, as if they meant to hold the Attorney General to his duty, and to face down the advocate of the prisoner-these things had all the appearance of a design to overrule the decision; and it is rather surprising that such conduct did not stir the spirit of an English jury.

CHARACTER OF CHARLES J. FOX.

MR. Fox united in a most remarkable degree quiet dignity of a mind roused only by great ob the seemingly repugnant characters of the mild-jects, the absence of petty bustle, the contempt of est of men and the most vehement of orators. show, the abhorrence of intrigue, the plainness In private life he was gentle, modest, placable, and downrightness, and the thorough good nakind; of simple manners, and so averse from pa- ture which distinguished Mr. Fox, seem to renrade and dogmatism, as to be not only unosten- der him no very unfit representative of that old tatious, but even somewhat inactive in conversa- English national character, which if it ever tion. His superiority was never felt but in the changed, we should be sanguine, indeed, to exinstruction which he imparted, or in the attention pect to see succeeded by a better. The simwhich his generous preference usually directed to | plicity of his character inspired confidence, the the more obscure members of the company. The ardor of his eloquence roused enthusiasm, and the simplicity of his manners was far from excluding gentleness of his manners invited friendship. "I that perfect urbanity and amenity which flowed admired," says Mr. Gibbon, "the powers of a still more from the mildness of his nature than superior man, as they are blended in his attractfrom familiar intercourse with the most polished ive character, with all the softness and simplicisociety of Europe. His conversation, when it ty of a child; no human being was ever more was not repressed by modesty or indolence, was free from any taint of malignity, vanity, or falsedelightful. The pleasantry, perhaps, of no man hood." From these qualities of his public and of wit had so unlabored an appearance. It seem- private character, it probably arose that no Ened rather to escape from his mind than to be pro-glish statesman ever preserved during so long a duced by it. He had lived on the most intimate period of adverse fortunes, so many affectionate terms with all his cotemporaries, distinguished friends and so many zealous adherents. The by wit, politeness, philosophy, learning, or the union of ardor in public sentiment, with mildness. talents of public life. In the course of thirty in social manner, was in Mr. Fox an hereditary years, he had known almost every man in Eu-quality. The same fascinating power over the rope whose intercourse could strengthen, or enrich, or polish the mind. His own literature was various and elegant. In classical erudition, which, by the custom of England, is more peculiarly called learning, he was inferior to few professed scholars. Like all men of genius, he delighted to take refuge in poetry from the vulgarity and irritation of business. The character of his mind was displayed in his extraordinary partiality for the poetry of the two most poetical nations or, at least, languages of the west-those | of the Greeks and of the Italians. He disliked political conversation, and never willingly took any part in it.

To speak of him justly as an orator would require a long essay. Every where natural, he carried into public something of that simple and negligent exterior which belonged to him in private. When he began to speak, a common ob-server might have thought him awkward; and even a consummate judge could only have been struck with the exquisite justness of his ideas, and the transparent simplicity of his manners. But no sooner had he spoken for some time, than he was changed into another being. He forgot himself and every thing around him. He thought only of his subject. His genius warmed, and kindled as he went on. He darted fire into his audience. Torrents of impetuous and irresistible eloquence swept along their feelings and conviction.

He certainly possessed above all moderns that union of reason, simplicity, and vehemence which formed the prince of orators. He was the most Demosthenean speaker since Demosthenes. "I knew him," says Mr. Burke, in a pamphlet written after their unhappy difference, "when he was nineteen; since which time he has risen, by slow degrees, to be the most brilliant and accomplished debater that the world ever saw."

The

attachment of all who came within his sphere is said to have belonged to his father; and those who know the survivors of another generation will feel that this delightful quality is not yet extinct in the race.

Perhaps nothing can more strongly prove the deep impression made by this part of Mr. Fox's character than the words of Mr. Burke, who in January, 1797, six years after all intercourse between them had ceased, speaking to a person honored with some degree of Mr. Fox's friendship, said, "To be sure, he is a man made to be loved!" and these emphatical words were uttered with a fervor of manner which left no doubt of their heartfelt sincerity.

These few hasty and honest sentences are sketched in a temper too sober and serious for intentional exaggeration, and with too pious an affection for the memory of Mr. Fox, to profane it by intermixture with the factious brawls and wrangles of the day. His political conduct belongs to history. The measures which he supported or opposed may divide the opinion of posterity, as they have divided those of the present age. But he will most certainly command the unanimous reverence of future generations, by his pure sentiments toward the commonwealth, by his zeal for the civil and religious rights of all men, by his liberal principles favorable to mild government, to the unfettered exercise of the human faculties, and the progressive civilization of mankind, by his ardent love for a country, of which the well-being and greatness were, indeed, inseparable from his own glory, and by his profound reverence for that free Constitution, which he was universally admitted to understand better than any other man of his age, both in an exactly legal and a comprehensively philosophical sense.

MR. CANNING.

GEORGE CANNING was born in London on the 11th of April, 1770. His father, who belonged to an Irish family of distinction, had been disinherited for marrying beneath his rank, and was trying his fortune as a barrister in the English metropolis with very scanty means of subsistence. He died one year after the birth of his son, leaving a widow, with three young children, wholly destitute of property, and dependent for support on her own exertions.

Under these circumstances, Mrs. Canning, who was a woman of extraordinary force of character, first set up a small school, and soon after attempted the stage. She was successful in her provincial engagements, especially at Bath and Exeter; and in the latter place she married a linen-draper of the name of Hunn, who was passionately attached to theatrical performances, and united with her in the employment of an actor. A few years after, she was again left a widow by the death of Mr. Hunn; but her profession gave her a competent independence, until she saw her son raised to the highest honors of the state, and was permitted to share in the fruits of his success.1

George was educated under the care of his uncle, Mr. Stratford Canning, a London merchant, out of the proceeds of a small estate in Ireland, which was left him by his grandmother. He was first sent to school at Hyde Abbey, near Winchester, where he made uncommon proficiency in the rudiments of Latin and Greek, and was particularly distinguished for his love of elegant English literature. On one occasion, when a mere child, being accidentally called upon to repeat some verses, he commenced with one of the poems of Mr. Gray, and never stopped or faltered until he had gone through the entire volume. His mother's employment naturally led him to take a lively interest in speaking, and especially in acting dialogues; and in one instance, when the boys performed parts out of the Orestes of Euripides, previous to a vacation, he portrayed the madness of the conscience-stricken matricide with a force and tenderness which called forth the liveliest applause of the audience.

Before he was fifteen, George went to Eton, and carried with him a high reputation for writing Latin and Greek verses, which always confers distinction in the great schools of England. He was at once recognized as a boy of surprising genius and attainments; and he used the influence thus gained in promoting his favorite pursuit, that of elegant English literature. When a little more than sixteen, he induced the boys to establish a weekly paper called the Microcosm, to which he contributed largely, and acted as principal editor. Its pages bore such striking marks of brilliancy and wit, as to attract the attention of the leading reviews; and the work became the means of training up some of the most distinguished men of the age to those habits of early composition, which Sir James Mackintosh speaks of as indispensable to the character of a truly great writer.

1 It is a high testimony to Mr. Canning's manliness and warmth of heart, that he never attempted to throw any covering over his mother's early history, but treated her openly throughout life with the utmost reverence and affection. He visited her at her residence in Bath as often as his public employments would permit, and never allowed any business, however urgent, to prevent him from writing to her every Sunday of his life. He obtained pensions for his mother and sisters; and when attacked on the subject, defended himself to the satisfaction of all by saying that, in retiring from his office of Under Secretary in 1801, he was entitled to a pension of £500 a year, and had only procured the settlement of a fair equivalent on his dependent relatives.

His attention, while at Eton, was also strongly turned to extemporaneous speaking. He joined a society for debate, in which the Marquess of Wellesley, Earl Grey and other distinguished statesmen had gone before him in their preparation as orators, and had introduced all the forms of the House of Commons. The Speaker was in the chair; the minister, with his partisans, filled the Treasury benches, and were faced by the most strenuous Opposition that Eton could muster. The enthusiasm with which Canning and his companions entered into these mimic contests was but ättle inferior to what they felt in the real ones that followed, and for which they were thus preparing the way. Canning, especially, showed throughout life the influence of his early habits of writing in conjunction with extemporaneous debate. His speeches bear proofs on every page of the effects of the pen in forming his spoken style. On every important debate, he wrote much beforehand, and composed more in his mind, which flowed forth spontaneously, and mingled with the current of his thoughts, in all the fervor of the most prolonged and excited discussion. Hence, while he had great ease and variety, he never fell into that negligence and looseness of style which we always find in a purely extemporaneous speaker.

After standing foremost among his companions at Eton in all the lower forms, George became "captain" of the school, and was removed to Christ Church, Oxford, in October, 1788. The accuracy and ripeness of his scholarship turned upon him the eyes of the whole University, and justified his entering, even when a freshman, into competition for the Chancellor's first prize, which he gained by a Latin poem entitled "Iter ad Meccam Religionis Causâ Susceptum." The distinction which he thus early acquired, he maintained, throughout his whole college course, by a union of exemplary diligence with a maturity of judgment, refinement of taste, and brilliancy of genius far beyond his years. In Mr. Canning we have one of the happiest exhibitions of the results produced by the classical course pursued at Eton and Oxford, which, “whatever may be its defects, must be owned," says Sir James Mackintosh, "when taken with its constant appendages, to be eminently favorable to the cultivation of sense and taste, as well as to the development of wit and spirit." The natural effect, however, of this incessant competition, in connection with the early tendencies of his mind and his remarkable success, was to cherish that extreme sensitiveness to the opinion of others, that delight in superiority, that quick sense of his own dignity, that sensibility to supposed neglect or disregard, which, with all his attractive qualities, made him in early life not always a pleasant companion, and sometimes involved him in the most serious difficulties. But, though he never lost his passion for distinction, it was certainly true of him, as said by another, "As he advanced in years, his fine countenance, once so full of archness or petulance, was ennobled by the expression of thought and feeling; he now pursued that lasting praise which is not to be earned without praiseworthiness; and if he continued to be a lover of fame, he also passionately loved the glory of his country."

Mr. Canning left the University in the twenty-second year of his age, and after giving a few months to the study of the law, was invited by Mr. Pitt, who had heard of his extraordinary talents, to take a seat in Parliament as a regular supporter of the government. His first predilections were in favor of Whig principles. He had been intimate with Mr. Sheridan from early life, but differed from him wholly in respect to the French Revolution, and was thus prepared to look favorably on the proposals of Mr. Pitt. After mutual explanations, he accepted the offer, and was returned to Parliament from one of the ministerial boroughs at the close of 1793, in the twenty-fourth year of his age.

Mr. Canning's maiden speech was in favor of a subsidy to the King of Sardinia, and was delivered on the 31st of January, 1794. It was brilliant, but wanting in solidity and judgment; and in general it may be remarked, that he rose slowly into

those higher qualities as a speaker, for which he was so justly distinguished during the later years of his life. He was from the first easy and fluent; he knew how to play with an argument when he could not answer it; he had a great deal of real wit, and too much of that ungenerous raillery and sarcasm, by which an antagonist may be made ridiculous, and the audience turned against him, without once meeting the question on its true merits. There was added to this an air of disregard for the feelings of others, and even of willingness to offend, which doubled the sense of injury every blow he struck; so that during the first ten years of his parliamentary career, he never made a speech, it was said, on which he particularly plumed himself, without making likewise an enemy for life. He was continually acting, as one said who put the case strongly, like "the head of the sixth form at Eton squibbing the doctor,' as Mr. Addington was called-fighting my Lord Castlereagh-cutting heartless jokes on poor Mr. Ogden-flatly contradicting Mr. Brougham-swaggering over the Holy Alliance-quarreling with the Duke of Wellington-perpetually involved in some personal scrape." These habits, however, gradually wore off as he advanced in life, and his early political opponents were warmest in their commendations of his conduct at the close of his political career.

In 1797, Mr. Canning projected the Anti-Jacobin Review, in conjunction with Mr. Jenkinson and Mr. Ellis (afterward Lords Liverpool and Seaford), Mr. Frere, and other writers of the same stamp. Mr. Gifford was editor, and its object was to bear down the Radical party in politics and literature, and to turn upon them the contempt of the whole nation by the united force of argument and ridicule. It took the widest range, from lofty and vehement reasoning to the keenest satire and the most bitter personal abuse. It applied the lash with merciless severity to all the extravagances of the day in taste and sentiment-the mawkish sensibility of the Della Cruscan school, the incongruous mixtures of virtue and vice in the new German drama, and the various improvements in literature introduced by Holcroft, Thelwall, and others among the Radical reformers. Such an employment was perfectly suited to the taste of Mr. Canning. It was an exercise of ingenuity in which he always delighted; and a large part of the keenest wit, the most dextrous travesty, and the happiest exhibitions of the laughable and burlesque, were the productions of his pen. The most striking poetical effusions were his. Among these, the "Knife-grinder," and the "Loves of Mary Pottinger," are admirable in their way, and will hold their place among the amusing extravaganzas of our literature, when the ablest political diatribes of the Anti-Jacobin are forgotten.2

2 The reader may be pleased, as a specimen, to see Mr. Canning's sapphics on the Knife-grinder, intended as a burlesque on a fashionable poet's extreme sensibility to the sufferings of the poor, and his reference of all their distresses to political causes. It was also designed to ridicule his hobbling verse and abrupt transitions.