only be equaled by their endless duration. At that awful period, when these woes commence, the sons of vice must take up their abode in the dismal habitations of darkness and despair; in which reside only demons, and the spirits of malevolent men! They must make their bed in hell; a dreadful bed indeed! where rest comes neither day nor night, where the voice of gladness is never heard, where peace and joy can never enter; "but the smoke of their torments ascendeth for ever and ever;" where the soul is ever forced upwards, by the desire of happiness; but is ever pressed downwards by the weight of iniquity; whilst this melancholy reflection ever prays upon the heart-all the treasures of celestial felicity might have been mine, had not my own obstinate wickedness barred against me the gates of heaven. There the worm of conscience never dies, and the fire of appetite is never quenched. There the tears of grief are never banished from the eye, nor the heavings of sorrow from the heart. There the understanding, like a condemned criminal, is shut up in a dark dungeon, to brood for ever on its own calamity. There the passions burn with unquenchable desire, and are perpetually racked with despair of enjoyment. There the memory serves as a cruel engine, to rake up the ashes of guilty deeds, to overwhelm the soul in an abyss of sorrow—whilst remorse, like a gnawing vulture, feeds upon the soul. There are wounds without balm, pains without ease, distress without relief, afflictions without pity, sufferings without limit, and anxiety without interval. All this might yet be borne, did ever hope, that sweet cordial of calamity, break through the sullen gloom, and, with the fair prospects of deliverance, cheer the wretched sufferer. But, alas alas! there even hope, the last refuge of unhappy minds, is for ever excluded; and nothing presents itself, but the gloom of despair, and the blackness of darkness for ever and ever. Just God! how wretched is the situation of thy creatures, when they desert thee, the fountain of life; violate the laws of thy government, and wilfully pursue their own destruction! 18. IMPOSSIBILITY OF CONQUERING AMERICA.-Chatham. It has been usual, on similar occasions of difficulty and distress, for the crown to make application to this house, the great hereditary council of the nation, for advice and assistance. As it is the right of parliament to give, so it is the duty of the crown to ask it. But on this day, and in this extremely momentous exigency, no reliance is reposed on your councilsno advice is asked of parliament; but the crown from itself, and by itself, declares an unalterable determination to pursue its own preconcerted measures; and what measures, my lords? Measures which have produced hitherto nothing but disappointments and defeats. I cannot, my lords, I will not join in congratulation on misfortune and disgrace. This, my lords, is a perilous and tremendous moment: it is not a time for adulation; the smoothness of flattery cannot save us in this rugged and awful crisis. It is now necessary to instruct the throne in the language of truth. We must, if possible, dispel the darkness and delusion which envelop it; and display, in its full danger and genuine colors, the ruin which is brought to our doors. Can ministers still presume to expect support in their infatuation! Can parliament be so dead to its dignity and duty as to give their support to measures thus obtruded and forced upon them? Measures, my lords, which have reduced this great and flourishing empire to scorn and contempt. But yesterday, "and England might have stood against the world. Now, none so poor to do her reverence." The people whom we at first despised as rebels, but whom we now aeknowledge as enemies, are abetted against you, supplied with every military store, their interest consulted, and their ambassadors entertained by your inveterate enemy; and our ministers do not and dare not interpose with dignity and effect. The desperate state of our army abroad is in part known. No man more highly esteems and honors the English troops than I do I know their virtues and their valor: I know they can achieve any thing except impossibilities: and I know that the conquest of English-America is an impossibility. You cannot, my lords, you cannot conquer America. What is your present situation there? We do not know the worst, but we know that in three campaigns we have done nothing and suffered much. You may swell every expense, and strain every effort, accumulate every assistance, and extend your traffick to the shambles of every German despot; your attempts for ever will be vain and impotent; doubly so, indeed, from this mercenary aid on which you rely; for it irritates to an incurable resentment the minds of your adversaries, to overrun them with the mercenary sons of rapine and plunder, devoting them and their possessions to the rapacity of hireling cruelty. If I were an American, as I am an Englishman, while a foreign troop remained in my country, I never would lay down my arms— never, never, never. 19. ORATORICAL ACTION.—Fordyce. It will not, I think, be pretended, that any of our public speakers have often occasion to address more sagacious, learned, or polite assemblies, than those which were composed of the Roman senate, or the Athenian people, in their most enlightened times. But it is well known what great stress the most celebrated orators of those times laid on action; how exceedingly imperfect they reckoned eloquence without it, and what wonders they performed with its assistance; performed upon the greatest, firmest, most sensible, and most elegant spirits the world ever saw. It were easy to throw together a number of commonplace quotations, in support, or illustration of this, and almost every other remark that can be made upon the present subject. But as that would lead me beyond the intention of this address, I need only mention here one simple fact, which every body has heard of; that whereas Demosthenes himself did not succeed in his first attempts, through his having neglected to study action, he afterwards arrived at such a pitch in that faculty, that when the people of Rhodes expressed in high terms their admiration of his famous oration for Ctesiphon, upon hearing it read with a very sweet and strong voice by Eschines, whose banishment it had procured, that great and candid judge said to them, "How would you have been affected, had you seen him speak it. For he that only hears Demosthenes, loses much the better part of the oration.”—What an honorable testimony this from a vanquished adversary, and such an adversary! What a noble idea doth it give of that wonderful orator's action! I grasp it with ardor; I transport myself in imagination to old Athens. I mingle with the popular assembly, I behold the lightning, I listen to the thunder of Demosthenes. I feel my blood thrilled, I see the auditory lost and shaken, like some deep forest by a mighty storm. I am filled with wonder at such marvellous effects. I am hurried almost out of myself. In a little while, I endeavor to be more collected. Then I consider the orator's address. I find the whole inexpressible. But nothing strikes me more than his action. I perceive the various passions he would inspire, rising in him by turns, and working from the depth of his frame. Now he glows with the love of the public; now he flames with indignation at its ene mies; then he swells with disdain, of its false, indolent, or interested friends, anon he melts with grief for its misfortunes; and now he turns pale with fear of yet greater ones. Every feature, nerve, and circumstance about him is intensely ani mated; each almost seems as if it would speak. I discern his inmost soul, I see it as only clad in some thin transparent vehicle. It is all on fire. I wonder no longer at the effects of such eloquence. I only wonder at their cause. 20. APPEAL TO THE JURY IN DEFENSE OF ROWAN.- -Curran. I cannot, however, avoid adverting to a circumstance that distinguishes the case of Mr. Rowan from that of the late sacrifice in a neighboring kingdom. The severer law of that country, it seems, and happy for them that it should, enables them to remove from their sight the victim of their infatuation. The more merciful spirit of our law deprives you of that consolation; his sufferings must remain for ever before our eyes, a continual call upon your shame and your remorse. But those sufferings will do more; they will not rest satisfied with your unavailing contrition, they will challenge the great and paramount inquest of society: the man will be weighed against the charge, the witness, and the sentence; and impartial justice will demand, why has an Irish jury done this deed? The moment he ceases to be regarded as a criminal, he becomes of necessity an accuser: and let me ask you, what can your most zealous defenders be prepared to answer to such a charge? When your sentence shall have sent him forth to that stage, which guilt alone can render infamous, let me tell you, he will not be like a little statue upon a mighty pedestal, diminishing by elevation, but he will stand a striking and imposing object upon a monument, which, if it does not (and it cannot) record the atrocity of his crime, must record the atrocity of his conviction. Upon this subject, therefore, credit me when I say that I am still more anxious for you, than I can possibly be for him. I cannot but feel the peculiarity of your situation. Not the jury of his own choice, which the law of England allows, but which ours refuses; collected in that box by a person, certainly no friend to Mr. Rowan, certainly not very deeply interested in giving him a very impartial jury. Feeling this, as I am persuaded you do, you cannot be surprised, however you may be distressed, at the mournful presage, with which an anxious public is led to fear the worst from your possible determination. But I will not for the justice and honor of our common country, suffer my mind to be borne away by such melancholy anticipation. I will not relinquish the confidence that this day will be the period of his sufferings; and however continent, Hannibal was patient; but it was reserved for Washington to blend them all in one, and like the lovely chefd'œuvre of the Grecian artist, to exhibit in one glow of associated beauty, the pride of every model, and the perfection of every master. As a general, he marshaled the peasant into a veteran, and supplied by discipline the absence of experience; as a statesman, he enlarged the policy of the cabinet into the most comprehensive system of general advantage; and such was the wisdom of his views, and the philosophy of his counsels, that to the soldier and the statesman he almost added the character of the sage! A conqueror, he was untainted with the crime of blood; a revolutionist, he was free from any stain of treason; for aggression commenced the contest, and his country called him to the command. Liberty unsheathed his sword, necessity stained, victory returned it. If he had paused here, history might have doubted what station to assign him, whether at the head of her citizens, or her soldiers—her heroes, or her patriots. But the last glorious act crowns his career, and banishes all hesitation. Who, like Washington, after having emancipated a hemisphere, resigned its crown and preferred the retirement of domestic life to the adoration of a land he might be almost said to have created? "How shall we rank thee upon glory's page, 14. FEMALE PATRIOTISM.- -Madame Roland. Minds which have any claim to greatness are capable of divesting themselves of selfish considerations; they feel that they belong to the whole human race; and their views are directed to posterity alone. I was the friend of men who have been proscribed and immolated by delusion, and the hatred of jealous mediocrity. It is necessary that I should perish in my turn, because it is a rule with tyranny to sacrifice those whom it has grievously oppressed, and to annihilate the very witnesses of its misdeeds. I have this double claim to death from your hands, and I expect it. When innocence walks to the scaffold, at the command of error and perversity, every step she takes is an advance towards glory. May I be the last victim sacrificed to the furious spirit of party! I shall quit with joy this unfortunate |