In truth, it is impossible to deny that impeachment, though it is a fine ceremony, and though it may have been useful in the seventeenth century, is not a proceeding from which much good can now be expected.  Whatever confidence may be placed in the decision of the Peers on an appeal arising out of ordinary litigation, it is certain that no man has the least confidence in their impartiality, when a great public functionary, charged with a great state crime, is brought to their bar.  They are all politicians.  There is hardly one among them whose vote on an impeachment may not be confidently predicted before a witness has been examined; and, even if it were possible to rely on their justice, they would still be quite unfit to try such a cause as that of Hastings.  They sit only during half the year.  They have to transact much legislative and much judicial business.  The law-lords, whose advice is required to guide the unlearned majority, are employed daily in administering justice elsewhere.  It is impossible, therefore, that during a busy session, the Upper House should give more than a few days to an impeachment.  To expect that their Lordships would give up partridge-shooting, in order to bring the greatest delinquent to speedy justice, or to relieve accused innocence by speedy acquittal, would be unreasonable indeed.  A well-constituted tribunal, sitting regularly six days in the week, and nine hours in the day, would have brought the trial of Hastings to a close in less than three months.  The Lords had not finished their work in seven years.

The result ceased to be matter of doubt, from the time when the Lords resolved that they would be guided by the rules of evidence which are received in the inferior courts of the realm.  Those rules, it is well known, exclude much information which would be quite sufficient to determine the conduct of any reasonable man, in the most important transactions of private life.  These rules, at every assizes, save scores of culprits whom judges, jury, and spectators, firmly believe to be guilty.  But when those rules were rigidly applied to offences committed many years before, at the distance of many thousands of miles, conviction was, of course, out of the question.  We do not blame the accused and his counsel for availing themselves of every legal advantage in order to obtain an acquittal.  But it is clear that an acquittal so obtained cannot be pleaded in bar of the judgment of history.

Several attempts were made by the friends of Hastings to put a stop to the trial.  In 1789 they proposed a vote of censure upon Burke, for some violent language which he had used respecting the death of Nuncomar and the connection between Hastings and Impey.  Burke was then unpopular in the last degree both with the House and with the country.  The asperity and indecency of some expressions which he had used during the debates on the Regency had annoyed even his warmest friends.  The vote of censure was