heavily upon an individual of previously unblemished reputation, he is not on that account to take it for granted that they are calumnious. It is a matter of daily experience, that litigation makes strange discoveries in the characters of men. Persons of unsuspected integrity no sooner become plaintiffs or defendants in a cause, than, blinded by self-interest, or inflamed with the silly desire of obtaining a victory, they are found · resorting to every knavish artifice to establish an unjust, or resist an equitable demand. How, then, in any given case, alleged to be of this description, can the counsel assure himself beforehand that the result will falsify his instructions? Is he in defiance of them to be incredulous and forbearing; and from his conjectural doubts and misgivings, to put forward a statement so tame and wary as to deprive his client of the benefit of that honest indignation in the court or jury which the real facts of the case might justify? The present Chief-justice Best once said, in conversation, of a barrister," That man is unfit to conduct a case at the Quarter Sessions: he believes what his client tells him." There is equal truth in the converse of the proposition-a barrister, who should make it a rule to act upon the disbelief of what his client tells him, would prove equally incompetent. But still, it is constantly urged, the privilege thus contended for produces much unwarrantable vituperation. To this it may be replied, that custom has given to language a peculiar qualified forensic sense, just as it has a Parliamentary one; and that, thus understood, the invectives of counsel are purely hypothetical, and go for nothing unless corroborated in proof, and sanctioned by a verdict. If cleverly thrown off, they may for the moment gratify the bystanders or ruffle the temper of the party against whom they are directed-but they leave no stain upon his reputation, if twelve men upon their oaths pronounce him to be an honest man. The "daggers" that a counsel "talks," are merely weapons handed up to the jury-box: if any of them draw blood, the jury must strike the blow. And it may be further observed, that this latitude of speech is indirectly of no small service to the ends of justice, by the terrors it holds out to persons who would have no compunction in speculating upon the chances of fraudulent litigation, but are sufficiently worldly and sensitive to shrink from a public and unrestrained exposure of their iniquity.

In judging of an Irish barrister's capacity for the higher orders of forensic eloquence, it is but just to remember, that in that country great occasions are extremely rare-and hence no doubt a habit that prevails there of speculating upon the effects that particular individuals would produce, were they only supplied with opportunities commensurate with their powers. It was thus when the Queen's case was raging, that the national pride of the Irish Bar broke out in vain regrets that one of their crown officers, a man of surpassing qualifications for the conduct of such a cause, should not have been afforded such an opportunity of rising to the highest summit of what I may call the conjectural fame that he enjoyed in his profession. They pictured to themselves Charles Kendal Bushe, appearing at the Bar of the House of Peers, as the presiding counsel for the Crown, upon the trial of that imperial issue, and uniting to every solid requisite for the discharge of such a duty, a collection of peculiar attributes, that seemed as if expressly designed for swaying the decision of such a tribunal on

such an occasion. They saw him there with his matured professional skill and chastened eloquence-his fine imposing presence--his rich sonorous voice-his masterly powers of countenance, whether he spoke or listened--his profound unremitting bye-play, now refuting by an indignant start, now enforcing by a moral shudder-his elevated courage and natural grace of gesture, tone, sentiment and diction, in not one of which the most finished courtier of them all could have detected a provincialism. Considering all these, and the subject and the auditory, the admirers of this eminent and accomplished person completed (and perhaps not unjustifiably) the ideal picture, by representing to themselves as the final issue the torrent of popular indignation successfully stemmed, and the imperial diadem wrested from the brow of the royal defendant. A similar feeling prevailed among many with respect to Mr. Wallace, upon the occasion of the only political case of any moment that has in latter years occurred in Ireland--the trial of the rioters at the Dublin theatre. It was one of the singularities of that case, that the popular feeling was all on the side of the prosecution, and that, with the exception of the Attorney-general, none of the counsel for the Crown were animated by a warmer sentiment, than a determination to perform an unwelcome duty. That duty, the Solicitorgeneral, who spoke to the evidence, performed with legal ability, and unquestioned integrity. No one could accuse him of the insidious suppression of any doctrine or argument that bore upon the case; but it was impossible for him to be eloquent. All his passions and prejudices were against his cause, and he had not the flexibility of temper to assume a tone of indignant energy, of which he was unconcious. It is, therefore, easy to account for the general wish, that such a man as Mr. Wallace had supplied his place. He would not have allowed himself to have been entramelled by any personal or official restraints, but giving the fullest scope to all his powers, and superadding his authoritative denunciations as an individual to his invectives as an advocate, would have the jury feel (and this was what was wanted) that they were themselves upon their trial, and must be held by the public to be accomplices in the factious proceeding against which they should hesitate to pronounce a verdict of conviction.

The personal determination of character and practical efficiency of talent for which Mr. Wallace is so distinguished, have been confined almost exclusively to his professional exertions; but the mention of those qualities brings to my recollection one rather memorable occasion upon which they were called into action, and with a suddenness of result that cannot be duly appreciated by any who were not actual witnesses of the scene. In the beginning of the year 1819, the friends of the Catholic cause, considering that the time had arrived when the sense of the Protestant inhabitants of the Irish metropolis might be safely taken upon their question, determined, after much anxious deliberation, that a public meeting of that portion of the community should be convened for the purpose of recording their sentiments in the form of a petition to Parliament for Emancipation. Though pretty confident of success, they foresaw that the Orange faction would rise, en masse, to interpose every kind of obstruction to so new and obnoxious an experiment. To prevent this, or at the worst, to be prepared for it, preliminary measures were taken for giving the proposed assemblage

every possible degree of popular and even of aristocratic eclat. The attendance of the Duke of Leinster and several other peers was secured. The name of Grattan stood at the head of a list of patriotic commoners. To these were added some leading men from the Bar, and many persons of opulence and weight from the commercial classes. Such a mass of respectability, it was hoped, would protect the meeting from any factious obstruction; but among the precautionary arrangements, there was one conspicuous novelty that inevitably provoked it. The Lord Mayor of Dublin, (Alderman M'Kenny) with a courage that did him infinite honour, consented to call the meeting, and take the chair. The Rotunda was fixed upon as the most convenient place for assembling-and it had the farther attraction of being, from its associations with the memory of the old volunteers of Ireland, a kind of consecrated ground for civil purposes. But the offence was commensurate. That a chief magistrate of the city of Dublin, the corporation's "own anointed," should be so lost to all sense of monopoly and intolerance as to give the sanction of his presence at such a place, on such an occasion, was an innovation of too perilous example to pass unpunished. The aldermanic body quivered with indignation; the common council foamed with no common rage; the corporate sensibilities of the minor guilds burst forth in vows and projects of active vengeance. Before the appointed day arrived, it was matter of notoriety in Dublin, that a formidable plan of counteraction had been matured, and was to be put into execution. On the morning of the meeting, some of the principal requisitionists assembled at Charlemonthouse to make the necessary arrangements for the business of the day. They continued there until it was announced that the Lord Mayor had arrived, and was ready to take the chair, when they proceeded through the adjoining gardens of Rutland-square towards one of the backentrances of the Rotunda. There was something peculiarly dispiriting in their appearance, as they slowly and silently wound along the narrow walks, more like a funeral procession, than a body of men proceeding to bear a part in a patriotic ceremony; but every sentiment of popular ardour was chilled by the apprehension that an effort, from which the most beneficial results had been anticipated, might terminate in a scene of disgraceful tumult. Even the presence of Grattan, who was in the midst of them, had lost its old inspiring influence. His name, his figure, his venerable historic features, his very dress-a threadbare blue surtout, of the old Whig-club uniform, buttoned closely up to the chin, and giving him something of the air of a veteran warrior all these recalled the great national scenes with which his genius and fame were identified. But the more vivid the recollection, the more powerful the present contrast. The despondency of age and of declining health had rested upon his countenance. Instead of the rapid and impatient movements, with which in the days of his pride and strength he had been wont to advance to the contest, launching defiance from his eye, and unconsciously muttering to himself, as he paced along, some fragments of his impending harangue, all was now tardiness and silence, and quietude even to collapse. As they approached the building, the cheerings of the multitude within burst forth through the open windows. The well-known sound, for a moment, roused the veteran orator; but the impression was evanescent. There was no want

of excitement in the spectacle within. Upon entering the grand room of the Rotunda, they found about four thousand persons, the majority of them red-hot Irish politicians, congregated within its walls. The group I have described made their way to the raised platform, upon which the Lord Mayor had just taken the chair, and where a vacant space upon his right had been reserved for them. The left was occupied by a detachment from the Corporation, headed by a formidable alderman. The Lord Mayor opened the business of the day by reading the requisition, and explaining his reasons for having called the meeting. "Murmurs on the left," in the midst of which up rose the leader of the civic host to commence the preconcerted plan of operations. Without preface or apology, he called upon the chairman to dissolve the meeting. He cautioned him, as the preserver of the public peace, not to persevere in a proceeding so pregnant with dangers to the tranquillity of the city. Let him only look at the assemblage before him, which had been most unadvisedly brought together under the sanction of his name, and reflect, before it was too late, upon the frightful consequences that must ensue, when their passions should come to be heated by the discussions of topics of the most irritating nature. Was it for this that the loyal citizens of Dublin had raised him to his present high trust? Was it to preside over scenes of riot, perhaps of -." Here the worthy alderman was interrupted, according to his expectations, by tumultuous cries "to order." A friend from the left rushed forward to sustain him; a member of the opposite party jumped upon the platform to call him to order, and was in his turn called to order by a corporator. Thus it continued until half a dozen questions of order were at once before the chair, and as many persons simultaneously bellowing forth their respective rights to an exclusive hearing. To put an end to the confusion, the chairman consented to take the sense of the meeting on the motion for an adjournment, and having put the question, declared (as was the fact) that an immense majority of voices was against it. This was denied by the left side, who insisted that regular tellers should be appointed. A proposition, at once so unnecessary and impracticable, revealed their real object, and was received with bursts of indignation; but they persevered, and a scene of terrific uproar ensued. It continued so loud and long, that those who surrounded the chair became seriously alarmed for the result. They saw before them four thousand persons, inflamed by passion, and immured within a space from which a speedy exit was impossible. In addition to the general excitation, violent altercations between individuals were already commencing in the remoter quarters of the meeting, and if a single blow should be struck, the day must inevitably terminate in bloodshed. At this moment, when the tumult was at its height, two figures particularly attracted attention;-the first from its intrinsic singularity-it was that of a noted city brawler (his name I now forget) who had contrived to perch himself aloft upon a kind of elevated scaffolding that projected from the loyal corner of the platform. He was a short, sturdy, half-dwarfish, ominous-looking caitiff, with those peculiar proportions, both as to person and features, which, without being actually deformed, seem barely to have escaped deformity. There was a certain extra-natural lumpish conformation about his neck and shoulders, which gave the idea that

the materials composing them must have been originally intended for a hump; while his face was of that specific, yet non-descript kind, which is vulgarly called a phiz,-broad, flat, and sallow, with glaring eyes, pug nose, thickish lips, and around them a circle of jet-black (marking the region of the beard) which neither razor nor soap could efface. The demeanour of this phenomenon, who brandished a crabstick as notorious in Dublin as himself, and wore his hat with its narrow upturned brim inclined to one side (the Irish symbol of being ready for a row) was so impudent and grotesque as to procure for him at intervals the undivided notice of the assembly. His corporation friends let fly a jest at him, and were answered by a grin from ear to ear. This was sure to be followed by a compact full-bodied hiss from another quarter of the meeting, and instantaneous was the transition in his countenance, from an expression of buffoonish archness to one of almost maniacal ferocity. This "comical miscreant," contemptible as he would have been for any other purpose, proved a most effective contributor to the scene of general disturbance. Apart, at the opposite extremity of the platform, in view of this portent, and exposed to his grimaces and ribald vociferations, sat Henry Grattan, a silent and dejected spectator of the turmoil that raged around him. The contrast was at once striking and afflicting, presenting, as it were, a visible type of the condition of his country, in the triumph of vulgar and fanatical clamour over all the efforts of a long life, exclusively devoted to her redemption. But to resume:-The confusion continued, and the symptoms of impending riot were becoming momentarily more alarming, when Mr. Wallace (to whom it is full time to return) had the merit of averting such a crisis. In a short interval of diminished uproar, one of the most prominent of the disturbers was again on his legs, and recommencing, for the tenth or twentieth time, a disorderly address to the chair, when Mr. Wallace, who had not previously interfered, started up from his seat beside the chairman, advanced towards the speaker, and called him to order. The act itself was nothing-the tone and manner every thing. There was in the latter a stern, determined, almost terrific energy, which commanded immediate and universal silence. In a few brief sentences, he denounced the palpable design that had been formed to obstruct the proceedings, exposed the illegal and indecent artifices that had been resorted to, and insisted that the parties who were dissatisfied with the decision of the chair on the question of adjournment, should forthwith conform to the established usage in such cases, and leave the room. The voice of authority, and of something more, in which this was said, produced the desired effect. The multitude shouted forth their approbation. The civic chieftain, after performing astonishing feats of aldermanship, judged it prudent to retire without a farther struggle. He was followed by his corps of discontents, about fifty in number, and the business of the day, after a suspension of two hours, proceeded without interruption. Mr. Wallace is one among the few of the present leading men at the Irish Bar, who have dedicated much time to literary pursuits. His general reading is understood to be various and extensive. In the year 1796, two years before he was called to the Bar, he composed an Essay on the variations, in the prose style of the English language, from the period of the Revolution, which obtained the gold medal prize of the