e
disposed to go on with the impeachment. They began by maintaining that
the whole proceeding was terminated by the dissolution. Defeated on this
point, they made a direct motion that the impeachment should be dropped;
but they were defeated by the combined forces of the Government and the
Opposition. It was, however, resolved that, for the sake of expedition,
many of the articles should be withdrawn. In truth, had not some such
measure been adopted, the trial would have lasted till the defendant was
in his grave.

At length, in the spring of 1795, the decision was pronounced, near
eight years after Hastings had been brought by the Sergeant-at-arms of
the Commons to the bar of the Lords. On the last day of this great
procedure the public curiosity, long suspended, seemed to be revived.
Anxiety about the judgment there could be none; for it had been fully
ascertained that there was a great majority for the defendant.
Nevertheless, many wished to see the pageant, and the hall was as much
crowded as on the first day. But those who, having been present on the
first day, now bore a part in the proceedings of the last, were few; and
most of those few were altered men.

As Hastings himself said, the arraignment had taken place before one
generation, and the judgment was pronounced by another. The spectator
could not look at the woolsack, or at the red benches of the Peers, or
at the green benches of the Commons, without seeing something that
reminded him of the instability of all human things, of the instability
of power and fame and life, of the more lamentable instability of
friendship. The Great Seal was borne before Lord Loughborough who, when
the trial commenced, was a fierce opponent of Mr. Pitt's government, and
who was now a member of that government, while Thurlow, who presided in
the Court when it first sat, estranged from all his old allies, sat
scowling among the junior barons. Of about a hundred and sixty nobles
who walked in the procession on the first day, sixty had been laid in
their family vaults. Still more affecting must have been the sight of
the managers' box. What had become of that fair fellowship, so closely
bound together by public and private ties, so resplendent with every
talent and accomplishment? It had been scattered by calamities more
bitter than the bitterness of death. The great chiefs were still living,
and still in the full vigor of their genius. But their friendship was at
an end. It had