not feel, and for the best of all possible reasons—because I have not the slightest idea it is lost. I have no more doubt, before the expiration of the winter, that this bill will pass, than I have that the annual tax bills will pass, and a greater certainty than this no man can have, for Franklin tells us, there are but two things certain in this world-death and taxes. As for the possibility of the House of Lords preventing ere long a reform of Parliament, I hold it to be the most absurd notion that ever entered into human imagination. I do not mean to be disrespectful, but the attempt of the lords to stop the progress of reform, reminds me very forcibly of the great storm of Sidmouth, and of the conduct of the excellent Mrs. Partington on that occasion. In the winter of 1824, there set in a great flood upon that town—the tide rose to an incredible height-the waves rushed in upon the houses, and everything was threatened with destruction. In the midst of this sublime and terrible storm, Dame Partington, who lived upon the beach, was seen at the door of her house with mop and pattens, trundling her mop, squeezing out the sea-water, and vigorously pushing away the Atlantic Ocean. The Atlantic was roused. Mrs. Partington's spirit was up; but I need not tell you that the contest was unequal. The Atlantic Ocean beat Mrs. Partington. She was excellent at a slop, or a puddle, but she should not have meddled with a tempest. Gentlemen, be at your ease-be quiet and steady. You will beat Mrs. Partington.

LV.-PLEA OF SERGEANT BUZFUZ, IN "BARDELL vs.

PICKWICK."

CHARLES DICKENS.

THE plaintiff, gentlemen, the plaintiff is a widow; yes, gentlemen, a widow. The late Mr Bardell, after enjoying for many years, the esteem and confidence of his sovereign, as one of the guardians of his royal revenues, glided almost imperceptibly from the world, to seek elsewhere for that repose and peace which a custom-house can never afford. Sometime before his death he had stamped his likeness upon a little boy. With this little boy, the only pledge of her departed exciseman, Mrs. Bardell shrunk from the world, and

courted the retirement and tranquillity of Goswell-street; and here she placed in her front parlor window a written placard, bearing this inscription-" Apartments furnished for a single gentleman. Inquire within.' I entreat the attention of the jury to the wording of this document-" Apartments furnished for a single gentleman!" Mrs. Bardell's opinions of the opposite sex, gentlemen, were derived from a long contemplation of the inestimable qualities of her lost husband. She had no fear-she had no distrust-she had no suspicion -all was confidence and reliance. "Mr. Bardell," said the widow; "Mr. Bardell was a man of honor-Mr. Bardell was a man of his word-Mr. Bardell was no deceiver-Mr.

Bardell was once a single gentleman himself; to single gentlemen I look for protection, for assistance, for comfort, and for consolation-in single gentlemen I shall perpetually see something to remind me of what Mr. Bardell was, when he first won my young and untried affections; to a single gentleman, then, shall my lodgings be let." Actuated by this beautiful and touching impulse (among the best impulses of our imperfect nature, gentlemen), the lonely and desolate widow dried her tears, furnished her first floor, caught her innocent boy to her maternal bosom, and put the bill up in her parlor window. Did it remain there long? No. The serpent was on the watch, the train was laid, the mine was preparing, the sapper and miner was at work. Before the bill had been in the parlor window three days-three days, gentlemen—a being, erect upon two legs, and bearing all the outward semblance of a man, and not of a monster, knocked at the door of Mrs. Bardell's house. He inquired within; he took the lodgings; and on the very next day he entered into possession of them. This man was PickwickPickwick, the defendant.

Of this man Pickwick I will say little; the subject presents but few attractions; and I, gentlemen, am not the man, nor are you, gentlemen, the men to delight in the contemplation of revolting heartlessness and systematic villany. I say systematic villany, gentlemen, and when I say systematic villany, let me tell the defendant, Pickwick, if he be in court as I am informed he is, that it would have been more decent in him, more becoming, in better judgment, and in better taste, if he had stopped away. Let me tell him, gentlemen, that any gestures of dissent or disapprobation in which he may indulge in this court will not go down with you; that

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you will know how to value and how to appreciate them; and let me tell him further, as my lord will tell you, gentlemen, that a counsel, in his discharge of his duty to his client, is neither to be intimidated, nor bullied, nor put down; and that any attempt to do either the one or the other, or the first or the last, will recoil on the head of the attempter, be he plaintiff, or be he defendant, be his name Pickwick, or Noakes, or Stoakes, or Stiles, or Brown, or Thompson.

I shall show you, gentlemen, that for two years Pickwick continued to reside constantly, and without interruption or intermission, at Mrs. Bardell's house. I shall show you that Mrs. Bardell, during the whole of that time, waited on him, attended to his comforts, cooked his meals, looked out his linen for the washerwoman when it went abroad, darned, aired, and prepared it for wear when it came home, and, in short, enjoyed his fullest trust and confidence. I shall show you that, on many occasions, he gave half-pence, and on some occasions even sixpences, to her little boy; and I shall prove to you, by a witness whose testimony it will be impossible for my learned friend to weaken or controvert, that on one occasion he patted the boy on the head, and after inquiring whether he had won any alley tors or commoneys lately (both of which I understand to be species of marbles much prized by the youth of this town), made use of this remarkable expression "How would you like to have another father?"

LVI-THE SAME-CONTINUED.

CHARLES DICKENS.

Two letters have passed between these parties, letters which are admitted to be in the handwriting of the defendant, and which speak volumes indeed. These letters, too, bespeak the character of the man. They are not open, fervid, eloquent epistles, breathing nothing but the language of affectionate attachment. They are covert, sly, underhanded communications, but, fortunately, far more conclusive than if couched in the most glowing language and the most poetic imagery-letters that must be viewed with a cautious and suspicious eye-letters that were evidently intended at the time, by Pickwick, to mislead and delude any third parties

into whose hands they might fall. Let me read the first :Garraway's, twelve o'clock.-Dear Mrs. B.-Chops and Tomato sauce. Yours, Pickwick." Gentlemen, what does this mean? Chops and Tomato sauce. Yours, Pickwick ! Chops! Gracious heavens! and Tomato sauce! Gentlemen, is the happiness of a sensitive and confiding female to be trifled away, by such shallow artifices as these? The next has no date whatever, which is in itself suspicious—“ Dear Mrs. B.-I shall not be at home to-morrow. Slow coach." And then follows this very remarkable expression —“ Don't trouble yourself about the warming-pan!" The warmingpan! Why, gentlemen, who does trouble himself about a warming-pan? When was the peace of mind of man or woman broken or disturbed about a warming-pan, which is in itself a harmless, a useful, and I will add, gentlemen, a comforting article of domestic furniture? Why is Mrs. Bardell so earnestly entreated not to agitate herself about this warming-pan, unless (as is no doubt the case) it is a mere cover for hidden fire-a mere substitute for some endearing word or promise, agreeable to some preconcerted system of correspondence, artfully contrived by Pickwick with a view to his contemplated desertion, and which I am not in a condition to explain? And what does this allusion to the slow coach mean? For aught I know, it may be a reference to Pickwick himself, who has most unquestionably been a criminally slow coach during the whole of this transaction, but whose speed will now be very unexpectedly accelerated, and whose wheels, gentlemen, as he will find to his cost, will very soon be greased by you!

But enough of this, gentlemen, it is difficult to smile with an aching heart; it is ill jesting when our deepest sympathies are awakened. My client's hopes and prospects are ruined, and it is no figure of speech to say that her occupation is goue indeed. The bill is down-but there is no tenant. Eligible single gentlemen pass and repass-but there is no invitation for them to inquire within, or without. All is gloom and silence in the house; even the voice of the child is hushed; his infant sports are disregarded when his mother weeps; his "alley tors" and his "commoneys" are alike neglected; he forgets the long familiar cry of "knuckle down," and at tipchesse, or odd and even, his hand is out. But Pickwick, gentlemen, Pickwick, the ruthless destroyer of this domestic oasis in Goswell-street-Pickwick, who has choked up the

well, and thrown ashes on the sward-Pickwick, who comes before you to-day with his heartless tomato sauce and warming-pans-Pickwick still rears his head with unblushing ef frontery, and gazes without a sigh on the ruin he has made. Damages, gentlemen-heavy damages, is the only punishment with which you can visit him; the only recompense you can award to my client. And for those damages she now appeals to an enlightened, a high-minded, a right-feeiing, a conscientious, a dispassionate, a sympathizing, a contemplative jury of her civilized countrymen.

LVII.-DEATH OF FOX.

SHERIDAN.

UPON that subject which must fill all your minds-upon the merits of that illustrious man, I shall, I can say but little There must be some interval between the heavy blow that has been struck, and the considerations of its effect, before any one, and how many are there of those who have revered and loved Mr. Fox as I have done, can speak of his death with the feeling, but manly composure which becomes the dignified regret it ought to inspire. To you, however, gentlemen, it cannot be necessary to describe him—for you must have known him well. To say anything to you at this moment, in the first hours of your unburdened sorrows, must be unnecessary, and almost insulting. His image is still present before you-his virtue is in your hearts-his loss is your despair!

I have seen in one of the morning papers what are stated to have been the last words of this great man," I die happy;" then, turning to the dearest object of his affection, "I pity you!" But had another moment been allowed him, and had the modesty of his great mind permitted it, well might he have expressed his compassion, not for his private friends only, but for the world-well might he have said, "I pity you! I pity England! I pity Europe! I pity the human race!" For to mankind at large his death must be a source of regret, whose life was employed to promote their benefits. He died in the spirit of peace, struggling to extend it to the world. Tranquil in his own mind, he cherished to the