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Does the honorable gentleman rely on the report of the House of Lords for the foundation of his assertion? If he does, I can prove to the committee there was a physical impossibility of that report being true. But I scorn to answer any man for my conduct, whether he be a pohtical coxcomb, or whether he brought himself into power by a false glare of courage or not.

I have returned,-not as the right honorable member has said, to raise another storm,—I have returned to discharge an honorable debt of gratitude to my country, that conferred a great reward for past services, which, I am proud to say, was not greater than my desert. I have returned to protect that Constitution of which I was the parent and founder, from the assassination of such men as the right honorable gentleman and his unworthy associates. They are corrupt, they are seditious, and they, at this very moment, are in a conspiracy against their country. I have returned to refute a libel, as false as it is malicious, given to the public under the appellation of a report of the committee of the Lords. Here I stand, ready for impeachment or trial. I dare accusation. I defy the honorable gentleman; I defy the government; I defy their whole phalanx; let them come forth. I tell the ministers, I will neither give quarter nor take it. I am here to lay the shattered remains of my constitution on the floor of this House, in defence of the liberties of my country. H. Grattan.

THE COLLEGIAN AND THE PORTER.

At Trin. Col. Cam.-which means, in proper spelling,
Trinity College, Cambridge,there resided
One Harry Dashington,―a youth excelling
In all the learning commonly provided
For those who choose that classic station
For finishing their education.

That is, he understood computing
The odds at any race or match;
Was a dead hand at pigeon-shooting;

Could kick up rows, knock down the watch,
Play truant and the rake at random,
Drink, tie cravats, and drive a tandem.

Remonstrance, fine, and rustication,
So far from working reformation,
Seemed but to make his lapses greater;
Till he was warned that next offence
Would have this certain consequence-
Expulsion from his Alma Mater.

One need not be a necromancer
To guess, that, with so wild a wight,
The next offence occurred next night;
When our incurable came rolling

Home, as the midnight chimes were tolling,
And rang the college bell :-no answer.

The second peal was vain; the third
Made the street echo its alarum;
When, to his great delight, he heard
The sordid janitor, old Ben,

Rousing and growling in his den:

"Who's there?-I s'pose young Harum-scarum. "Tis I, my worthy Ben,-'tis Harry."

"Ay, so I thought,—and there you'll tarry;

'Tis past the hour,-the gates are closed,-
You know my orders,-I shall lose
My place, if I undo the door."
“And I,” young Hopeful interposed,
"Shall be expelled, if you refuse,

So prythee"-Ben began to snore.

"I'm wet," cried Harry, "to the skin;
Hip! hallo! Ben, don't be a ninny;
Beneath the gate I've thrust a guinea,
So tumble out and let me in."

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Humph!" growled the greedy old curmudgeon,
Half overjoyed and half in dudgeon,

"Now you may pass, but make no fuss,
On tiptoe walk, and hold your prate."
"Look on the stones, old Cerberus,"
Cried Harry, as he passed the gate,
"I've dropped a shilling,-take the light,
You'll find it just outside,-good-night.”

Behold the porter in his shirt,

Dripping with rain that never stopped,

Groping and raking in the dirt,

And all without success; but that
Is hardly to be wondered at,

Because no shilling had been dropped;
So he gave o'er the search at last,
Regained the door, and found it fast.

With sundry oaths, and growls, and groans,
He rang once,-twice, and thrice; and then,
Mingled with giggling, heard the tones
Of Harry, mimicking old Ben :-
"Who's there? 'Tis really a disgrace
To ring so loud,-I've locked the gate,
I know my duty; 'tis too late,—
You wouldn't have me lose my place?"

"Psha! Mr. Dashington; remember This is the middle of November;

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I'm stripped; 'tis raining cats and dogs "Hush, hush!" quoth Hal, "I'm fast asleep;" And then he snored as loud and deep

As a whole company of hogs.

"But, hark ye, Ben, I'll grant admittance At the same rate I paid myself."

"Nay, master, leave me half the pittance," Replied the avaricious elf.

"No,-all or none,-a full acquittance;
The terms, I know, are somewhat high;
But you have fixed the price, not I;

I won't take less; I can't afford it."
So, finding all his haggling vain,
Ben, with an oath and groan of pain,

Drew out the guinea, and restored it.

"Surely you'll give me," growled the outwitted
Porter, when again admitted,

"Something, now you've done your joking,
For all this trouble, time, and soaking.'
"Oh, surely, surely," Harry said;
"Since, as you urge, I broke your rest,
And you're half drowned, and quite undressed,
I'll give you," said the generous fellow,-
Free, as most people are when mellow,-
"I'll give you-leave to go to bed."

J. R. Planche.

THE CHANGED CROSS.

It was a time of sadness, and my heart,
Although it knew and loved the better part,
Felt wearied with the conflict and the strife,
And all the needful discipline of life.

And while I thought on these as given to me,
My trial tests of faith and love to be,

It seemed as if I never could be sure
That faithful to the end I should endure.

And thus, no longer trusting to his might
Who says, "We walk by faith and not by sight,"
Doubting, and almost yielding to despair,
The thought arose, My cross I cannot bear."

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Far heavier its weight must surely be,
Than those of others which I daily see;
Oh! if I might another burden choose,
Methinks I should not fear my crown to lose.

A solemn silence reigned on all around,
E'en Nature's voices uttered not a sound;
The evening shadows seemed of peace to tell,
And sleep upon my weary spirit fell.

A moment's pause,-and then a heavenly light
Beamed full upon my wondering, raptured sight,
Angels on silvery wings seemed everywhere,
And angels' music filled the balmy air.

Then One, more fair than all the rest to see,
One, to whom all the others bowed the knee,
Came gently to me, as I trembling lay,

And, "Follow me," he said, "I am the Way."

Then, speaking thus, he led me far above,
And there, beneath a canopy of love,
Crosses of divers shape and size were seen,
Larger and smaller than my own had been.

And one there was most beauteous to behold,—,
A little one, with jewels set in gold;

Ah! this, methought, I can with comfort wear,
For it will be an easy one to bear.

And so the little cross I quickly took,
But all at once my frame beneath it shook;
The sparkling jewels, fair were they to see,
But far too heavy was their weight for me.

"This may not be," I cried, and looked again,
To see if any there could ease my pain;
But, one by one I passed them slowly by,
Till on a lovely one I cast my eyet

Fair flowers around its sculptured form entwined,
And grace and beauty seemed in it combined,
Wondering I gazed, and still I wondered more,
To think so many should have passed it o'er.

t oh, that form so beautiful to see,

Soon made its hidden sorrows known to me:
Thorns lay beneath those flowers and colors fair;
Sorrowing I said, "This cross I may not bear."

And so it was with each and all around,
Not one to suit my need could there be found;
Weeping I laid each heavy burden down,
As my guide gently said, "No cross,-no crown."
At length to him I raised my saddened heart;
He knew its sorrows, bade its doubts depart;
"Be not afraid," he said, "but trust in me;
My perfect love shall now be shown to thee."

And then, with lightened eyes and willing feet,
Again I turned, my earthly cross to meet;
With forward footsteps, turning not aside,
For fear some hidden evil might betide;
And there,-in the prepared, appointed way,
Listening to hear, and ready to obey,—
A cross I quickly found, of plainest form,
With only words of love inscribed thereon.

With thankfulness I raised it from the rest,
And joyfully acknowledged it the best,—
The only one, of all the many there,
That I could feel was good for me to bear.

And while I thus my chosen one confessed,
I saw a heavenly brightness on it rest;
And as I bent, my burden to sustain,
I recognized my own old cross again.

But, oh! how different did it seem to be,
Now I had learned its preciousness to see!
No longer could I unbelieving say,
"Perhaps another is a better way."

Ah, no! henceforth my one desire shall be,
That he, who knows me best, should choose for me;
And so, whate'er his love sees good to send,
I'll trust it's best,-because he knows the end.

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