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 warming-pan! Why, Gentlemen, who does trouble himself about a warming-pan? 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, agreeably to a preconcerted system of correspondence, artfully contrived by Pickwick with a view to his contemplated desertion? 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. My client's hopes and prospects are ruined, and it is no figure of speech to say that her occupation is gone 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. But Pickwick, Gentlemen, the ruthless destroyer of this domestic oasis in the desert of Goswell Street, Pickwick, who comes before you to-day with his heartless tomato-sauce and warming-pans,-Pickwick still rears his head with unblushing effrontery, 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-feeling, a conscientious, a dispassionate, a sympathizing, a contemplative Jury of her civilized countrymen!

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CATILINE'S DEFIANCE

BY REV. GEORGE CROLY

CONSCRIPT FATHERS!

I do not rise to waste the night in words;
Let that Plebeian talk; 't is not my trade;
But here I stand for right,-let him show proofs,-
For Roman right; tho none, it seems, dare stand
To take their share with me. Ay, cluster there!
Cling to your master, judges, Romans, slaves!
His charge is false;-I dare him to his proofs.
You have my answer. Let my actions speak!

But this I will avow, that I have scorned, And still do scorn, to hide my sense of wrong!

Who brands me on the forehead, breaks my sword,
Or lays the bloody scourge upon my back,
Wrongs me not half so much as he who shuts
The gates of honor on me,-turning out

The Roman from his birthright; and, for what?

To fling your offices to every slave!

[Looking round him.

Vipers, that creep where man disdains to climb,

And, having wound their loathsome track to the top,
Of this huge, moldering monument of Rome,
Hang hissing at the nobler man below!

Come, consecrated Lictors, from your thrones;

[To the Senate.

Fling down your scepters; take the rod and ax,
And make the murder as you make the law!

Banished from Rome! What's banished, but set free From daily contact of the things I loathe? "Tried and convicted traitor!" Who says this? Who'll prove it, at his peril, on my head? Banished! I thank you for 't. It breaks my chain! I held some slack allegiance till this hour; But now my sword's my own. Smile on, my lords! I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes, Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs, I have within my heart's hot cells shut up,

To leave you in your lazy dignities.

But here I stand and scoff you! here, I fling
Hatred and full defiance in your face!
Your Consul's merciful.-For this, all thanks.
He dares not touch a hair of Catiline!

"Traitor!" I go; but, I return. This trial! Here I devote your Senate! I've had wrongs To stir a fever in the blood of age,

Or make the infant's sinews strong as steel.

This day's the birth of sorrow! This hour's work

Will breed proscriptions! Look to your hearths, my lords!
For there, henceforth, shall sit, for household gods,
Shapes hot from Tartarus!-all shames and crimes
Wan Treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn;
Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup;
Naked Rebellion, with the torch and axe,
Making his wild sport of your blazing Thrones;
Till Anarchy comes down on you like the Night,
And Massacre seals Rome's eternal grave.

I go; but not to leap the gulf alone.
I go; but, when I come, 't will be the burst

Of ocean in the earthquake,-rolling back

In swift and mountainous ruin. Fare you well:

You build my funeral-pile; but your best blood

Shall quench its flame! Back, slaves! [To the Lictors.] I will return.

CATILINE DENOUNCED

BY CICERO

How far, O Catiline, wilt thou abuse our patience? How long shalt thou baffle justice in thy mad career? To what extreme wilt thou carry thy audacity? Art thou nothing daunted by the nightly watch, posted to secure the Palatium? Nothing, by the city guards? Nothing, by the rally of all good citizens? Nothing, by the assembling of the Senate in this fortified place? Nothing, by the averted

looks of all here present? Seest thou not that all thy plots are exposed?-that thy wretched conspiracy is laid bare to every man's knowledge, here in the Senate ?-that we are well aware of thy proceedings of last night; of the night before;—the place of meeting, the company convoked, the measures concerted? Alas, the times! Alas, the public morals! The Senate understands all this. The Consul sees it. Yet the traitor lives! Lives? Ay, truly, and confronts us here in council,-takes part in our deliberations,and, with his measuring eye, marks out each man of us for slaughter! And we, all this while, strenuous that we are, think we have amply discharged our duty to the State, if we but shun this madman's sword and fury!

Long since, O Catiline, ought the Consul to have ordered thee to execution, and brought upon thy own head the ruin thou hast been meditating against others! There was that virtue once in Rome, that a wicked citizen was held more execrable than the deadliest foe. We have a law still, Catiline, for thee. Think not that we are powerless, because forbearing. We have a decree, tho it rests among our archives like a sword in its scabbard,-a decree, by which thy life would be made to pay the forfeit of thy crimes. And, should I order thee to be instantly seized and put to death, I make just doubt whether all good men would not think it done rather too late than any man too cruelly. But for good reasons, I will defer the blow long since deserved. Then will I doom thee, when no man is found, so lost, so wicked, nay, so like thyself, but shall confess that it was justly dealt. While there is one man that dares defend thee, live! But thou shalt live so beset, so surrounded, so scrutinized, by the vigilant guards that I have placed around thee, that thou shalt not stir a foot against the Re