Warren Hastings, originally sent out to India as a poor orphan, whom his guardian was glad to be rid of, landed in 1785 on the free soil of Britain, after having maintained and extended the English empire in the East, administered its affairs with singular capacity, and gathered a large fortune for himself. Burke believed him to be sullied with various crimes, and within a week of his triumphant arrival gave notice of a motion seriously affecting his character as a ruler. With fiery zeal, relentless animosity, and unflagging industry, he commenced and carried on the assault, till, in February 1788, the memorable trial began in Westminster Hall, which was gorgeously fitted up for the occasion. On the third day Burke addressed the court, and his opening speech occupied four sittings. The passion and energy of the orator were worked up to a pitch which overbore, for a time, the conviction of those who entertained friendly feelings for the accused. With all the ardor of his great soul, with all the powers of his splendid imagination, and with all the might of his marvelous intellect, he denounced in the loftiest language the misconduct with which Hastings stood charged. Ladies shrieked and fainted; men muttered and execrated the dark deeds his rich mind and brilliant fancy portrayed with all the eloquence of the highest genius; and even the feelings of the criminal were so carried away by the resistless flood, that he almost believed himself guilty. The effect, however, was evanescent; the ceremony proceeded languidly; and years after it was brought to a termination by the acquittal of the Governor-general. Meantime, on the breaking out of the French Revolution, Burke, indignant at the removal of ancient landmarks, took a most gloomy view of its tendency, and was thus separated in opinion from his former associates, who did not hesitate to express their satisfaction at the event, and their admiration of the principles that had produced it. A party rupture was the consequence; and in 1791, during a Canadian debate, Burke, who had previously declared that he and Sheridan had parted forever, solemnly renounced all political and private friendship with Fox. “My separation,” he stated, “is a principle, and not a passion. I hold it my sacred duty to confirm what I have said and written by this sacrifice. And to what purpose would be the reunion of a moment? Henceforth I can have no delight with him, nor he with me.” Even when on his death-bed, he adhered sternly and steadfastly to this resolution, and declined an interview with his old friend and pupil. He had already published his “Reflections on the French Revolution,” which soon overshadowed and agitated Europe. Dublin University conferred on him the degree of LL.D. for the wondrous power with which he had pleaded for established governments; and Oxford communicated to him an address of thanks. Though long exposed to multitudinous annoyances, and irritated by