tioned speakers together, there are traits of difference in their characters and genius, which produce real contrasts between them. Burke, in whom eloquence seemed to be a habit rather than an effort the natural language of an elevated mind, rather than a talent acquired by cultivation,— Burke, whose rich imagination descended to the most ordinary details of life, rarely overstepped the limits of good taste. His style is unequal, but for the most part sublime, and he is by turns profound, impassioned, and various, without ever deviating from strict purity of style. Grattan, who was an excellent man, and a powerful defender of his unfortunate country, was more diffuse and less philosophic; but his fine speeches are frequently disfigured by mannered affectation, an abuse of antithesis, and continual epigrams, to which the genius of Burke very rarely stooped. Curran, to whom I here intend more particularly to allude, because he owed half his celebrity to the bar, which Grattan soon deserted for politics, -Curran, I repeat, was a brilliant orator, full of fancy and originality, but he was too fond of effect, and was frequently ridiculous by the whimsical flights of his bold imagination. Phillips, who has all the faults of his predecessors in an encreased degree, is merely witty when he attempts to be ingenious, and is extravagant or unintelligible, when he aims at the sublime.

Sheridan was not exempt from the defects of Irish speakers. I shall have occasion to mention him when I allude to English parliamentary elo

quence.

At present I wish to direct your attention exclusively to the bar.

Curran was born at Newmarket, a little town in the county of Cork, where his father had a trifling situation. For his mother, who was a woman of intelligent mind, he cherished the fondest filial affection, and to her early lessons he attributed all the talent he evinced in mature life. "My father," he used to say, "bequeathed to me only his illfavoured person; but, fortunately, my mother transmitted to me the treasures of her mind." He was fond of repeating her stories and clever sayings, and seemed to be exceedingly ambitious to resemble her. The following anecdote shews the taste for satirical humour, which he evinced even in his boyish years.

While Curran was very young, a puppet theatre was brought to Newmarket, and Punch soon caused the inhabitants to forget every other amusement of the town. Unfortunately, the manager of the show fell ill, and a bill was about to be posted up, aunouncing the suspension of the performances: but, at this critical juncture, Curran secretly presented himself to the master of the show, and offered to become the invisible organ of the drolleries of Punch. For several days, his performance was loudly applauded, and, encouraged by his success, he did not content himself with retailing common-place jokes. He made some allusions to political affairs, drew portraits of the principal beauties of the town, betrayed their love secrets, and satirized all his

auditors one after the other. But his indiscretion did not stop here. The grave curate of the parish became, in his turn, an object of ridicule. This was a signal for general disapprobation, and, with the almost unanimous voice of his auditors, Punch was driven from Newmarket. The modest author of all this scandal prudently preserved his incognito. Curran frequently related this anecdote of his boyish years as a proof of his precocious talent for extempore speaking. He used to say that he never afterwards produced so powerful an effect on any audience.

Mr. Boyce, the rector of a neighbouring parish, conceived a great liking for young Curran. After giving him the first elements of classical education, he sent him to Middleton college, and afterwards to the university of Dublin. Twenty-five years after, when Curran had risen to eminence at the bar, and was the occupant of an elegant mansion, he returned home one day in company with some friends, and found an old man seated comfortably in an arm chair by the drawing room fire. The stranger turned round, and Curran recognizing him flew and embraced him. This was no other than his kind benefactor. "You are right," said he, "to make this house your own. Little John has not forgotten your goodness. But for you I should never have been saluted by the title of honourable member in the senate."

Curran was induced to devote himself to the legal profession in consequence of a misunderstanding, in which he became involved with his

masters at the university; for, by the advice of his mother, he at first intended to prepare himself for the church. A severe, though perhaps a merited punishment, to which he was subjected at college, taught him to feel the value of an independent profession, and he accordingly entered himself a student of the Middle Temple.

He was called to the bar in 1775, in his twentyfifth year; and he began to practice in Dublin. He was not much noticed at the commencement of his career: and he did not begin to acquire his high reputation until after some years of perseverance and exertion. Unfortunately, his temper, which was naturally irascible, drew him into many dangerous misunderstandings with the objects of his personalities. He became involved in continual contests with the judges, and it is but fair to confess, that he was not in every instance in the wrong; for Ireland was then treated like a conquered country by the agents of power; and the acts of oppression which were daily committed, could not fail to rouse the indignation of a generous mind. Some of Curran's replies, however, seem very extraordinary, in spite of the provocation by which they were excited. On one occasion, when he

had become somewhat too warm in the defence of his client, the judge directed one of the sheriffs to be in readiness to take any one into custody who should disturb the order of the court. Curran taking this as an indirect threat to himself, immediately turned to the sheriff, and told him that he might, if he pleased, go and prepare for him a

dungeon and a bed of straw, for that he should rest there more tranquilly than if he were seated on the judge's bench with an ill conscience. Curran's petulance led him to attack even those who were most inclined to be friendly with him. Lord Avonmore, who evinced a high regard for him, was in the habit of interrupting him in his digressions, and anticipating his conclusions; and Curran, in one of his most serious speeches, thought proper to jest at his lordship's expence, in a manner which did not reflect much credit on his taste. 'My lord," said he, "if I evince any undue degree of warmth, it must be attributed to the powerful emotion which now agitates my mind. I have just witnessed a most horrible spectacle, and my feelings have not yet recovered from the shock. As I was just now passing through the market-place, I saw a butcher on the point of slaughtering a calf. He had raised his arm to strike the blow, when a child approached him unperceived, and, horrible to relate, the butcher plunged his knife ""Into the bosom of the child!" exclaimed the judge, with emotion. "No, my lord, into the heart of the calf; but your lordship is fond of anticipating."

The origin of his duel with Mr. St. Ledger is more honourable to him.

He had drawn a very unfavourable character of that individual, when pleading against his relation, Lord Doneraile. That nobleman, like all persons possessed of power in Ireland, looked upon the Irish catholics as slaves subject to their will