Canning, the hero of the day, now rose.--If his predecessor might be compared to a dexterous and elegant boxer, Canning presented the image of a finished antique gladiator. All was noble, refined, simple;--then suddenly, at one splendid point, his eloquence burst forth like lightning--grand and all-subduing. A kind of languor and weakness, apparently the consequence of his late illness and of the load of business laid upon him, seemed somewhat to diminish his energy, but perhaps increased his influence over the feelings. His speech was, in every point of view, the most complete, as well as the most irresistably persuasive;--the crown and glory of the debate. Never shall I lose the impression which this, and that other celebrated speech of his on the affairs of Portugal, made upon me. Deeply did I feel on each of these occasions, that the highest power man can exercise over his brother man,--the most dazzling splendour with which he can surround himself, before which that of the most successful warrior pales like the light of phosphorus in the sun,--lies in the divine gift of eloquence. Only to the great master in this godlike art is it given to affect the heart and mind of a whole nation with that sort of magnetic somnambulism, in which nothing is possible to it but blind and absolute surrender and following; while the magic rod of the magnetiser is equally absolute over rage and gentleness, over war and peace, over tears and smiles. On the following day the House of Lords was opened under the same remarkable circumstances as the House of Commons had been, though there are no men of talents equal to Brougham, nor, above all, to Canning. Lord Ellenborough rose first, and said that the late Ministers were accused of having resigned in consequence of a combination, and of having thus been guilty of the great offence of endeavouring to abridge the constitutional prerogative of the King to change his ministers entirely at his own free will. For the preservation of their honour he must therefore claim for them to be heard fully in their own justification.--Here I saw the great Wellington in a terrible strait. He is no orator, and was compelled, 'bongré, malgré,' to enter upon his defence, like an accused person. He was considerably agitated; and this senate of his country, though composed of men whom individually, perhaps, he did not care for, appeared more imposing to him 'en masse' than Napoleon and his hundred thousands. There was, however, something touching to me in seeing the hero of this century in so subdued a situation. He stammered much, interrupted and involved himself; but at length, with the help of his party, who at every stumbling-block gave him time to collect himself by means of noise and cheers (exactly as it was with the Ambassador's speech at the Lord Mayor's feast,) he brought the matter tolerably to this conclusion,--that there was no 'conspiracy.' He occasionally said strong things,--probably stronger