Of late years, the most unwarrantable parliamentary language has been apologized for, on the plea of its not having been allusive to private character, so that a legislator, or a minister, may be considered a political scoundrel, but a worthy individual member of society; guilty of a falsehood in the house, but devoted to the cause of truth beyond the purlieus of St. Stephen; faithful to all his engagements with the world, but a traitor to his country; for, after all, what is the language of opposition, but a strenuous endeavour to impugn an adversary’s veracity, to show, that for mere lucre or the vanity of possessing power and patronage, he betrays the most sacred trust reposed in him by his sovereign; that he hurries his country to perdition for the selfish motive of personal aggrandisement, and sacrifices the national weal for his own benefit and that of his family and dependants? can there be any insult offered to a man more pungent, more degrading? The lie, the blow, given in a moment of passionate ebullition, are trifling offences, when compared to such serious charges, which, if substantiated, should not only expose a man to universal contempt and detestation, but to the most ignoble death. When such impeachments are hourly, daily made, can we expect much sensitiveness when reciprocal abuse is bandied at the bar of the House, as well as at the bar of courts of justice? Pleaders consider themselves justifiable in using the bitterest, the most unwarrantable language. They dress for the character they perform in wig and gown; and fancy that when they have doffed their attributes, they withdraw from the stage, and have merely performed their part in the great drama of life. Then again, in the intemperate language of opposition, how often does galling necessity, and bitter disappointment in not obtaining office (when its emoluments are required, to keep the wolf from the postulant’s door), prompt the orator? and many a time perhaps an eloquent senator has drawn out the headings of his speech, on the back of an attorney’s threatening letter, and the evil day is ever put off with the usual promise of speedy liquidation “_when the present people go out_.” Men, in a public sphere of life, are, to a certain extent, public property. Their actions are exposed to the scrutiny of the community at large. A writer, however galled his acute vanity may be, cannot consider the abuse lavished on his productions as a personal insult; and it is the same with the politician,—the invectives poured upon his public conduct are not esteemed as aspersions on his private character. A falsehood is considered an expedient evasion, an error; and a personal invective, a mere ebullition of eloquence, a bubbling over of the diplomatic cabinet, an opposition caldron, as heterogeneous and monstrous in its contents as that of the weird sisters.