with facility and good humour. Of all qualities promptitude is the most useful to a nisi prius judge. He must, to use the common phrase, have his wits all about him, for there will be a constant draw on his discernment and despatch. He cannot fall back on the strong prop of the "curia advis vult," but must decide without delay and without doubt. In nisi prius matters, the understanding and knowledge are put to a sharp test. Some judges will get off on the light wings of humbug-they will propound a few legal truisms, to meet not controvert an argument, and address juries with solemn and sonorous gravity on questions of fact, leaving the lamp of the law under a bushel. But something more is necessary. There is a constant demand, where the business is well done, for the most vigorous reasoning and comprehensive learning. Heated controversies, too, overflowing with that conventional hostility which, like a certain insect, dies almost with its birth, are continually springing up; and to bring these to a prompt and decided close is another department of active judicial duty, which the Chief, inter alia, well understands. He allays the fermentation without impairing the consequence of the combatants, and chastens them into good humour with themselves and the whole world, if the world feel any interest in the matter.

In the first pages of this paper we touched on the general attainments of the Chief Baron, which are exceedingly rare in the profession. Young men are, now-a-days, so deeply engrossed with the one allabsorbing idea of getting on, that they have not a moment to spare for any of those elegant pursuits which elevate and refine the understanding, without interfering with the more severe studies of the profession. Swift's sarcasm, that a learned practitioner of his day was "a gentleman though a lawyer," is not inapplicable to our times. We are far from disputing that lawyers are not gentlemen in the ordinary sense of the phrase. There is in truth a vast multitude of them, but Swift's gentleman-lawyer was of a different order. He did not mean every person entitled to a coat-of-arms and "to set Esquire after his name,' for they were proportionally as numerous then as now at the bar; but his "gentleman" was a man of cultivated intellect, who was sensible of other enjoyments besides year-books and black letter. In this enlarged sense, we have many lawyers and few gentlemen. They think their brains are framed for nothing else than absorption of lawlike a certain description of fowls, they swallow all sorts of unassimilating substances-pebbles and bits of gnarled roots are their daily nutriment, and with such materials it is not surprising their stomachs should grow hard and their understandings sickly. Any other course of regimen is proscribed, and the consequence is an injurious dislike to anything of a generally improving character. In the old timesaye, and in times not far removed from our own-men were not the less able lawyers and accomplished advocates for cultivating some extra erudition. They did not leave behind them a less memorable reputation because they stole away a few hours, which might well be spared from their graver occupations, and devoted them to the study of science and literature. The sacred Moralist wisely thought there was a time for all things, but the truth of the maxim is reversed, and we find time for nothing except the deep engrossing law.

This

is rather a long prelection-how does it apply? Very closely. The Chief Baron is one of the Dean's "gentlemen," albeit a lawyer, and a sound one. The diversity of his talents will to many appear scarcely credible, but they who enjoy his acquaintance, assert that the Irish bar does not boast a more cultivated mind. His knowledge of botany approaches the skill of a professional inspector of

"Varied plants, green-coronetted trees,

Round milky buds, frail blossoms, curious flowers,
Tropic or temperate.”

But Linnæus does not alone claim him-his scientific taste has also wandered in the direction of mineralogy. This was always among his favourite studies, of which a late learned predecessor of his, Chief Baron Joy, was also intensely enamoured. Several years ago, when Chief Baron Brady's means were more limited than at present, and he could ill afford to speculate, he embarked all his available capital in working some of the Irish mines. At first they were not productivethe shares rapidly depreciated-instalment after instalment was demanded-the original subscribers dropped away, but the Chief held firm-fortune began to turn-the shares rose with as much rapidity as they had fallen before, and the Chief now enjoys a fine income from his successful speculation. The fine arts have also found in him an intelligent admirer. We have heard one of our most distinguished painters say, that a more correct taste than the Chief Baron's he had never known. As an illustration of this, he informed us that he accompanied him once to an exhibition of the old masters in Dublin, which contained a chef d'œuvre of the Flemish school. The name of the painter was in the catalogue. The Chief at once denied its originality. The exhibitor was positive, and smiled at the connoisseur. The Chief then named the real artist, in his opinion, and some time after, when the picture was put up to auction in London, a competent judge declared it to be a clever copy, and by the same painter! We are almost afraid to venture farther, lest we may be charged with transcending even the panegyrical; but we have stated only simple facts, the truth of which moderate inquiry can ascertain. With this guard against incredulity, we give another effect of his cultivation. The fine arts, like Canova's Graces, are linked in harmonious union. Music is the third sister, and with her he has formed an intimate acquaintance. He essayed the catgut not with the flexible precision of a Paganini or Ole Bull, but quite enough to amuse himself. Such a circle of knowledge and taste is vouchsafed to few lawyers, and many will disbelieve its existence, but it is not the less true. We erred not in classifying the Chief among the Dean's gentlemen.

There are times when all men whose opinions are of any value must attach themselves to a party, or expect the fate of the flying-fishto be pursued by the albatross when out of the water, or by the dolphin when it falls in. Such times in Ireland were the years which preceded Catholic Emancipation and Reform. The Chief Baron did not hesitate in his course. He adopted liberal principles when they were not in much fashion, and worked them out openly and firmly. He stood apart from the rest of his family and friends, who embraced

the opposite cause, and laboured on to the end without change or suspicion. If there be merit in an independent course of conduct, that merit is greatly enhanced when sacrifices are made to sustain it— when the prejudices of birth and education are cast aside, and the closest ties are severed or relaxed. This was his fate or fortune. He entered public life as a reformer, and as he commenced so will he end. We do not like to meddle with the political opinions of judges. The law charitably presumes they have none, and public justice requires the sacrifice. It is a wise and good principle-we shall not disturb it.

LINES WRITTEN UPON A PICTURE.

Scene:-Rome and the Capitol in ruins-Brennus the Gaul surprised by the appearance of the dictator Camillus.

ONE scene of desolation reigns around!
The marble palace and the gem-decked throne,
Street, temple, statue, tower, and capitol

Mingled in shapeless ruin !-o'er th' imperial wreck
Gaunt havoc stalks, begrimmed with dust and blood.
And lo! beside a ruined arch which once

Hailed the proud warriors of all-conquering Rome,
Returning from the triumph of a world,

Stands the huge Brennus with his ruffian band.
"More gold!" he cries-again the scales are poised,
And the grim savage of the North has flung
His sword into the scale-" more gold!" he shouts-
"Ye Roman slaves, bring more-you scale is light.
Here, on the ruin of what once was Rome,
Weak, wounded, gasping, prostrate at my feet,
With chains of gold I'll bind thine eagle now.'
He smiles, he grasps the gold, but hark! a shout
Of joy and welcome rings upon his brain-

A trumpet's blast, the clash of arms, a soldier's cheer-
Camillus stands before the painted Gaul—

He looks the genius of revenge, just sprung

By magic from the ruined Capitol.

"Dost want our gold?-'tis iron we Romans give
To those who ask us for our freedom's price-
Rome has no other metal to redeem

The priceless jewel of her liberty.

Fool! didst thou think, because his pinion flagged,
The Roman eagle was destroyed? He lives,
And he shall soar again with prouder wing,
Safe from thy chains, beyond thy pigmy shafts.
Back to thy deserts, Gaul-dost ask for gold?
This is my answer-'tis the falchion's edge."

CIVIS

TALES OF THE PUMP-ROOM.

No. VII. THE WALTZ.

"Voulez vous danser, mademoiselle?"

ANON.

I HAVE little claim, I fear, to the title of a philosopher, unless it be philosophy to have learned, from long sojourn in this our "workingday world," great distrust of myself, and daily increasing toleration for others. "I have been young, and am now old," and the only practical fruit which, as an idle lounger, I dare perhaps flatter myself with having reaped from the pilgrimage-is a greatly enhanced sympathy with, and power of entering into the feelings, and sharing the joys and sorrows of, those who are still (as I once was) the sport of impulse, and the dupes of appearance.

This sort of disposition, rare, I have been led to think, in a solitary old bachelor, has often carried me, in all climates, to that epitome of youthful hopes and fears, the ball-room. And as the melancholy Jaques sought and found "sermons in stones, and good in every thing," I have not only reaped, amid the glare and glitter of the festive scene, lessons of deep insight into the arcana of our wayward and wondrous nature-but owned, like him, that all things, even a waltz, (about the most useless, and some would say, pernicious of them all,) could be converted into a source of moral discipline first, and subsequent dearly-earned happiness, to a pair of very interesting young creatures; who, if waltzing had not been invented, might never have known or suspected, the one the strength, or the other the weakness, of the dissimilar yet amiable points of their not less admirably suited characters.

Dancing, it may be supposed, has, like everything else dispassionately considered, its good and bad side; and what seems at a distance, and under another aspect, the veriest old woman's prejudice, may, after all, have a solid and rational foundation. The question of waltzing especially, I conclude, must always remain one of latitude and longitude; and till the latter is discovered, we may abstain from wondering why that which is natural and harmless on the banks of the Rhine or Elbe, should be unnatural and demoralizing on those of the Thames. That it is so, is a point now practically denied by many: but that it Iwas thought so by an English parent, whose like we shall not scon ook upon again, gave rise to the incidents of my simple old man's history.

Indifferent health-that degree of indisposition which so often lends motive to idleness, and colour to love of change-carried me some fifteen years ago to the German baths of -, whither at that time, so shortly after the re-establishment of communication with the Continent, but few of our migrating countrymen had yet found their way. A beautiful young Englishwoman-an heiress into the bargain-was consequently not only, as is still the case, an object of respectful

admiration to the motley group of men of all nations by whom such resorts of idleness and profligacy never fail to be thronged-or of advantageous contrast with the rouged and bronzed female votaries of dissipation or play, by whose presence the healing waters are too often polluted-but absolutely, to many of both sexes, a novel and nearly unknown subject of curiosity and speculation.

Jane Dudley (whom I am forgetting that no one knows but myself) was, when she arrived at S, the very beau ideal of an untravelled young Englishwoman, whose delicacy of mind, features, and disposition, like the virgin snow of some Alpine cleft, respected alike by storms and suns,-no contact with vulgar rudeness on the one hand, or fashionable levity on the other, had ever for a moment been suffered to sully. Brought up by the most careful and judicious of mothers till the critical age of eighteen, she had passed directly from that long-mourned parent's cold and stiffening embrace, into the almost maternal guardianship of a gray-haired soldier-uncle; one of those veterans of the old school, whose own firmly-tempered sensibilities, and innate polish of mind, a long course of service had been insufficient to blunt or impair; and who watched over the tender flower committed to his care with as undeviating attention to the tenor of his poor sister's instructions and wishes, as ever in the days of youthful subordination, he had testified to the glance of his superior officer on a day of battle. Jane must not do this-Jane must not go there-my sister would not have allowed it ;-were words even oftener in his heart than on his lips; though their frequent audible utterance certainly contributed to confirm, in a daughter of the gentlest though firmest character, those sentiments of deference to her mother's opinions and memory which she was before sufficiently inclined to cherish.

These opinions, as might have been concluded of a member of one of those old noble families of our own country, which, shaken to their very centre by the disorganization of the French revolution-associated with foreign manners perhaps more than their legitimate share of odium-were thoroughly, essentially English; and well-informed, candid, and liberal (in the old sense of the word) as Lady Anne Dudley certainly was, the possibility of her daughter's marrying a foreigner, nay, even of her visiting the Continent, would have been viewed by her as a serious misfortune.

The specimen which, on the arrival of the allied sovereigns in this country, her own "dutiful attendance" (for such she thought and styled it) at court had afforded her of the highest class of continental visitors, had failed to dispel the prejudice. The then novel moustache, which she stigmatized as savage, always appeared to her to veil either ferocity or profligacy under its unseemly shade; and truly but too many of the whiskered physiognomies of that day were associated, in records too well known to be questioned, with public and private vices amply justifying the good lady's prognostics.

But it was the basilisk fascinations of the gaming table, as enhanced by the grace and abandon of its fairer votaries, which made her, for the first time in her life, thankful that she had no son to be seduced or entrapped; and while shuddering in pious horror, at the hitherto unseen realities of the waltz, she rejoiced, in right honest English