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mercy, or linger out a living death in the charnel-houses of prostitution! You see, gentlemen, to what designs like these may lead a man. I have no doubt, if Mr. Dillon had given his heart fair play, had let his own nature gain a moment's ascendancy, he would not have acted so; but there is something in guilt which infatuates its yotaries forward; it may begin with a promise broken, it will end with the home depopulated. But there is something in a seducer of peculiar turpitude. I know of no character so vile, so detestable. He is the vilest of robbers, for he plunders happiness; the worst of murderers, for he murders innocence; his appetites are of the brute, his arts of the demon, the heart of the child and the corse of the parent are the foundations of the altar which he rears to a lust, whose fires are the fires of hell, and whose incense is the agony of virtue! I hope Mr. Dillon's advocate may prove that he does not deserve to rank in such a class as this; but if he does, I hope the infatuation inseparably connected with such proceedings may tempt him to deceive you through the same plea by which he has defrauded his miserable. dupe.

I dare him to attempt the defamation of a character, which, before his cruelties, never was even suspected. Happily, gentlemen, happily for herself, this wretched creature, thus cast upon the world, appealed to the parental refuge she had forfeited. I need not describe to you the parent's anguish at the heart-rending discovery. God help. the poor man when misfortune comes upon him! How few are his resources! how distant his consolation! You must not forget, gentlemen, that it is not the unfortunate victim herself who appeals to you for compensation. Her crimes, poor wretch, have outlawed her from retribution, and, however, the temptations by which her erring nature was seduced may procure an audience from the ear of mercy, the stern morality of earthly law refuses their interference. No, no; it is the wretched parent who comes this day before you--his aged locks withered by misfortune, and his heart broken by crimes of which he was unconscious. He resorts to this tribunal, in the language of the law. claiming the value of his daughter's servitude; but let it not be thought that it is for her mere manual labours he solicits compensation. No, you are to compensate him for all he has suffered, for all he has to suffer, for feelings outraged, for gratifications plundered, for honest pride put to the blush, for the exiled endearments of his once happy home, for all those innumerable and instinctive ecstasies with which a virtuous daughter fills her father's heart, for which language is too poor to have a name, but of which nature is abundantly and richly eloquent! Do not suppose I am en

deavouring to influence you by the power of declamation, I am laying down to you the British law, as liberally expounded and solemnly adjudged. I speak the language of the English Lord Eldon, a judge. of great experience and greater learning-(Mr. Phillips here cited several cases as decided by Lord Eldon.)-Such, gentlemen, is the language of Lord Eldon. I speak on the authority of our own Lord Avonmore, a judge who illustrated the bench by his genius, endeared it by his suavity, and dignified it by his bold uncompromising probity; one of those rare men, who hid the thorns of law beneath the brightest flowers of literature, and, as it were, with the wand of an enchanter, changed a wilderness into a garden! I speak upon that

high authority-but I speak on other authority paramount to all !— on the authority of nature rising up within the heart of man, and calling for vengeance upon such an outrage. God forbid, that in a case of this kind, we were to grope our way through the ruins of antiquity, and blunder over statutes, and burrow through black letter, in search of an interpretation which Providence has engraved in liv ing letters on every human heart. Yes; if there be one amongst you blessed with a daughter, the smile of whose infancy still cheers your memory, and the promise of whose youth illuminates your hope, who has endeared the toils of your manhood, whom you look up to as the solace of your declining years, whose embrace alleviated the pang of separation, whose glowing welcome hailed your oft anticipated return -ob, if there be one amongst you, to whom those hopes are precious--let him only fancy that daughter torn from his caresses by a seducer's arts, and cast upon the world, robbed of her innocence,and then let him ask his heart, what money could reprise him!" The defendant, gentlemen, cannot complain that I put it thus to you. If, in place of seducing, he had assaulted this poor girl-if he had attempted by force what he has achieved by fraud, his life would have been the forfeit; and yet how trifling in comparison would have been the forfeit; and yet how trifling in comparison would have been the parent's agony! He has no right, then, to complain, if you should estimate this outrage at the price of his very existence ! I am told, indeed, this gentleman entertains an opinion, prevalent enough in the age of a feudalism, as arrogant as it was barbarous, that the poor are only a species of property, to be treated according to interest or caprice; and that wealth is at once a patent for crime, and an exemption from its consequences. Happily for this land, the day of such opinions has passed over it-the eye of a purer feeling and more profound philosophy now beholds riches but as one of the aids to virtue, and sees in oppressed poverty only an additional stimulus to increased protection. A generous heart cannot help feeling, that in cases of this kind, the poverty of the injured is a dreadful aggravation. If the rich suffer, they have much to console them; but when a poor man loses the darling of his heart--the sole pleasure with which nature blessed himhow abject, how cureless is the despair of his destitution! Believe me, gentlemen, you have not only a solemn duty to perform, but you have an awful responsibility imposed upon you. You are this day, in some degree, trustees for the morality of the people--perhaps of the whole nation; for, depend upon it, if the sluices of immorality are once opened among the lower orders, the frightful tide, drifting upon its surface all that is dignified or dear, will soon rise even to the habitations of the highest. I feel, gentlemen, I have discharged my duty -I am sure you will do your's. I repose my client with confidence in your hands; and most fervently do I hope, that when evening shall find you at your happy fire-side, surrounded by the sacred circle of your children, you may not feel the heavy curse gnawing at your heart, of having let loose, unpunished, the prowler that may devour

them.

EXTRACT

FROM THE REPLY OF

JAMES MUNROE,

President of the United States, to an Address presented to him, by the President of the College of Athens, in the State of Georgia, on behalf of the Citizens and Members.

The name of your village brings forcibly to my recollection the great incidents of the ancient Grecian city, after which it is called; whose inhabitants were renowned for their learning, eloquence, and skill in the arts, and likewise for their love of liberty, and manly efforts to support it. That small republic left a name, which sheds a lustre on the ancient world, and does more honour to mankind than the conquests of the Macedonian hero. May you equal that city in renown, in every circumstance in which it was great. A better fate cannot fail to attend you, because your liberty is secure, under the protection of a great nation, composed of many confederated republics, of one of which you are a part, and all of which are founded on the equal rights of the people, bound together by a national government, founded on the same principles, and endowed with sufficient strength to accomplish all the great objects for which it was instituted."

AMERICA'S

RISING GREATNESS.

(FROM THE LONDON STATESMAN.)

By looking over the newspapers of the three great sea-ports of America, any man, without being a statesman, may discover the gi gantic growth of that infant state in the new world; but if the politician examines its treaties with the different powers it is connected with, he cannot but discover its wise and firm policy. Nothing can

shake it in any one respect. Even with Great Britain it has so far gained its point with respect to the great article of the fisheries, that a middle-aged man may live to see the time when the Americans will inquire of us what business we have to fish on their shores and beds. In fact, our state is attenuating by extravagance and luxury, their's is acquiring additional strength by temperance and economy. Sir W. Jones ('tis thought in the Muse Recall'd,) says

Beyond the vast Atlantic deep,

A dome by viewless Genii shall be rais'd;
The walls of adamant, compact and steep,
The portals with sky-tinctured gems emblaz'd.

There, on a lofty throne shall Virtue stand,
To her the youth of Delaware shall kneel:
And when her siniles rain plenty o'er the land,
Bow, Tyrants, bow beneath th' avenging steel.

CHARACTER

OF

BONAPARTE.

FROM THE CLASSIC PEN OF

CHARLES PHILLIPS, ESQ.

THE IRISH BARRISTER.

He is fallen!

We may now pause before that splendid prodigy which towered among us like some ancient ruin, whose frown terrified the glance its magnificence attracted. Grand, gloomy and peculiar, he sat upon the throne, a sceptered hermit, wrapt in the solitude of his awful originality. A mind, bold, independent and decisive; a will, despotic in its dictates; an energy, that distanced expedition; a conscience, pliable to every touch of interest, marked the outline of this extraordinary character, the most extraordinary, perhaps, that, in the annals of this world, ever rose, or reigned, or fell. Flung into life, in the midst of a revolution, that quickened every energy of a people that acknowledged no superior, he commenced his course, a stranger by birth, and a scholar by charity !— With no friend but his sword, and no fortune but his talents, he rushed into the lists where rank and wealth, and genius, had arrayed

themselves, and competition fled from him as from the chance of destiny. He knew no motive but interest--he acknowledged no criterion but success--he worshipped no God but ambition, and with a stern devotion knelt at the shrine of his idolatry. Subsidiary to this, there was no creed that he did not profess--there was no opinion he did not promulgate; in the hope of a dynasty, he upheld the crescent; for the sake of a divorce, he bowed before the cross; the orphan of St. Louis, he became the adopted child of the republic, and with a parricidal ingratitude, on the ruins of the throne and the tribune, he reared the tower of his despotism! A professed Catholic, he imprisoned the Pope; a pretended patriot, he impoverished the country, and in the name of Brutus, he grasped without remorse, and wore without shame, the diadem of the Cæsars!

Through this pantomime of his policy, fortune played the clown to his caprices. At his touch, crowns crumbled, beggars reigned, systems vanished, the wildest theories took the colour of his whim; all that was venerable, and all that was novel, changed places with the rapidity of a drama. Even apparent defeat, assumed the operations of victory-his flight from Egypt confirmed his destiny-ruin itself only elevated him to empire.

But, if his fortune was great, his genius was transcendant! decision flashed upon his councils, and it was the same, to decide, and perform. To inferior intellects, his combinations appeared perfectly impossible--his plans perfectly impracticable; but, in his hand, simplicity marked their developement, and success vindicated their adoption. His person partook the character of his mind; if the one never yielded in the cabinet, the other never bent in the field. Nature had no obstacles which he did not surmount; in space, no opposition that he did not spurn; and whether amid Alpine rocks, Arabian sands, or Polar snows, he seemed proof against peril, and empowered with ubiquity! The whole continent of Europe trembled at beholding the audacity of his designs, and the miracle of their execution. Scepticism bowed to the prodigies of his performance; romance assumed the air of history; nor was there aught too incredible for belief, or too fanciful for expectation, when the world saw a subaltern of Corsica waving his imperial flag over her most ancient capitals.--All the visions of antiquity became common places in his contemplation; kings were his people; nations were his outposts; and he disposed of courts, and camps, and churches, and cabinets, as if they were the titular dignities of the chess-board.

Amid all these changes, he stood immutable as adamant. It mattered little whether in the field or in the drawing-room; with the mob or the levee; wearing the jacobine bonnet or the iron crown ; banishing a Branganza or espousing a Lorraine; dictating peace on a raft to the czar of Russia; or contemplating defeat at the gallows of Leipsic; he was still the same military despot.

Cradled in the camp, he was, to the last hour, the darling of the army. Of all his soldiers, not one forsook him, till affection was useless; and their first stipulation was the safety of their favourite. They well knew that if he was lavish of them, he was prodigal of himself; and if he exposed them to peril, he repaid them with plunder For the soldier, he subsidized every people; to the people he made even pride pay tribute.

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