Curran's versatile and ready wit has long been proverbial; like Lord Norbury, his name has been classed among those of Voltaire, Swift, and the humorists of their day down to our own. One or two will suffice: Mr. Curran was engaged in a legal argument; behind him stood his colleague, a gentleman whose person was remarkably tall and slender, and who had originally intended to take orders. The judge observing that the case under discussion involved a question of ecclesiastical law- Then,' said Curran, 'I can refer your lordship to a high authority behind me, who was once intended for the church, though in my opinion he was fitter for the steeple.' 'No man,' said a wealthy but weak-headed barrister, should be admitted to the bar, who has not an independent landed property.' 'May I ask, sir,' said Mr. Curran, how many acres make a wise-acre?' 'Could you not have known this boy to be my son, from his resemblance to me?' asked a gentleman. Mr. Curran answered, 'Yes, sir, the maker's name is stamped upon the blade.' Mr. Curran being asked, 'what an Irish gentleman, just arrived in England, could mean by perpetually putting out his tongue ?' answered, I suppose he's trying to catch the English accent.' At a public dinner, he was defending his countrymen against the imputation of being a naturally vicious race. Many of our faults, for instance, (said he) arise from our too free use of the circulating medium, (pointing to the wine,) but I never yet heard of an Irishman being born drunk.'

6

In Fagan's Life of O'Connell, we find several piquant and amusing anecdotes of that great representative of Repeal. We have heard him speak in the British House of Commons, and can readily imagine how much of the spirit of his humor is lost in its being retailed. He was once examining a witness, whose inebriety, at the time to which the evidence referred, it was essential to his client's case to prove. He quickly discovered the man's character. He was a fellow who may be described as half-foolish with roguery.' 'Well, Darby, you told the truth to this gentleman?' Yes, your honor, Counsellor O'Connell.' 'How do you know my name?' Ah! sure every one knows our own pathriot.' 'Well, you are a good-humored, honest fellow; now tell me, Darby, did you take a drop of anything that day? Why, your honor, I took my share of a pint of spirits. Your share of it; now, by virtue of your oath, was not your share of it all but the pewter?' 'Why, then, dear knows, that's true for you, sir.' The court was convulsed at both question and answer. It soon, step by step, came out that the man was drunk, and was not therefore a competent witness. Thus O'Connell won his case for his client.

Here is an instance of his ready-tact and infinite resource in the defence of his client. In a trial at Cork for murder, the principal witness swore strongly against the prisoner. He particularly swore that a hat, found near the place of the murder, belonged to the prisoner, whose name was James. 'By virtue of your oath, are you sure that this is the same hat?' 'Yes.' 'Did you examine it carefully before you swore in your information, that it was the prisoner's?' 'I did.' 'Now let me see,' said O'Connell, as he took up the hat and began to examine it carefully in the inside. He then spelled aloud the name of James slowly, thus, J-a-m-e-s. Now do you mean those words were in the hat when you found it!' I do.' 'Did you see them there?' 'I did.' 'And this is the same hat?' 'It is.'' Now, my lord,' said O'Connell, holding up the hat to the bench, 'there is an end of the case, there is no name whatever inscribed in the hat.' The result was an instant acquittal.

The following anecdote of two eminent pleaders, Pinckney and Emmet, we noticed in a late number of the Knickerbocker: it is an admirable rebuke upon those who suppose that irony, sarcasm and invective constitute the essentials of forensic eloquence.

"We do not know when we have encountered a more forcible exemplification of the truth, that a soft answer turneth away wrath,' than is afforded in the ensuing anecdote: On one occasion in the Supreme Court of the United States, the eloquent Irish exile, Mr. Emmet, and the distinguished orator, Mr. Pinckney, were on opposite sides in an important cause, and one which the latter had much at heart. In the course of the argument, he travelled out of the cause to make observations personal and extremely offensive, on Mr. Emmet, with a view probably of irritating him and weakening his reply. Mr. Emmet sat quiet and endured it all. It seemed to have sharpened his intellect, without having irritated his temper. When the argument was through, he said, Perhaps he ought to notice the remarks of the opposite counsel, but this was a species of warfare in which he had the good fortune to have little experience, and one in which he never dealt. He was willing that his learned opponent should have all the advantage he promised himself from the display of his talents in that way. When he came to this country he was a stranger, and was happy to say, that from the bar generally, and the court universally, he had experienced nothing but politeness, and even kindness. He believed the court would do him the justice to say, that he had said or done nothing in this cause to merit a different treatment. He had always been accustomed to admire and even reverence the learning and eloquence of Mr. Pinckney, and he was the last man from whom he should have expected personal observations of the sort the court had just witnessed. He had been in early life taught by the highest authority, not to return railing for railing. He would only say that he had been informed that the learned gentleman had filled the highest office his country could bestow at the Court of St. James. He was very sure that he had not learned his breeding in that school.'

The court and the bar were delighted; for Mr. Pinckney was apt to be occasionally a little too overbearing. When we take into consideration the merit of resistance against the natural impulse of a warm Irish temperament, we must admire still more the manner adopted by Mr. Emmet. Mr. Pinckney, as we gather from Wheaton's Life of that gentleman, afterwards tendered the most ample and generous apology. The manner,' said he, in which Mr. Emmet has replied, reproaches me by its forbearance and urbanity, and could not fail to hasten the repentance which reflection alone would have produced, and which I am glad to have so public an occasion of avowing. I offer him a gratuitous and cheerful atonement; cheerful, because it puts me to rights with myself, and because it is tendered not to ignorance and presumption, but to the highest worth, intellect and morals, enhanced by such eloquence as few may hope to equal; to an interesting stranger whom adversity has tried, and affliction struck severely to the heart; to an exile whom any country might be proud to receive, and every man of a generous temper would be ashamed to offend.'"

Lawyers occasionally know how to play the artful dodge,' as the following equivocating habit of one of the members of the English bar evinces: Serjeant Atcherly was noted for his manner of examining a witness, frequently endeavoring to conceal the importance of the fact which he wished to elicit, by previously putting some immaterial question, which he always prefaced thus: Now, sir, I am going to put a question to you, and I don't care which way you answer it.' This being frequently repeated in the course of the various causes in which he was engaged, did not fail to attract the notice of the bar. Lord Brougham (then Mr. Brougham,) meeting him one morning near the Temple, accosted him thus: Jones, I am going to put a question to you, and I don't care which way you answer it-How do you do?'

For the sake of variety, we now present genuine specimens of legal rhetoric in the far West: between the two extremes the judicious reader may be enabled to ascertain the golden mean.'

"Gentlemen of the Jury: Can you for an instant suppose that my client here, a man who allers sustained a high depredation in society, a man all on you suspect and esteem for his many good qualities; yes, gentlemen, a man what never drinks less than a quart of likker a day-can you, I say, for an instant, suppose that this

ere man would be guilty of hooking a box of percushum caps! Rattlesnakes and coon-skins forbid! Picter to yourselves, a feller fast asleep in his log cabin, with his innocent wife and orphan children by his side, all nature hushed in deep repose, and naught to be heard but the muttering of the silent thunder, and the hollering of bull frogs, then imagine to yourselves a feller sneaking up to the door like a despicable hyena, softly entering the dwelling of the peaceful and happy family, and in the most mendacious and dastardly manner, hooking a whole box of percushum caps! Gentlemen, I will not, I cannot dwell upon the monstrocity of such a scene! My feelings turn from such a picter of moral turpentine, like a big woodchuck would turn from my dog Rose! I cannot for an instant harbor the idea that any man in these diggins, much less this ere man, could be guilty of committing an act of such rantankerous and unexampled discretion.

"And now, gentlemen, after this 'ere brief view of the case, let me entreat you to make up your minds candidly and impartially, and give us such a verdict as we might reasonably suspect from such an enlightened and intolerable body of our fellow-citizens; remembering that, in the language of Nimrod, who fell in the battle of Bunker Hill, it is better that ten men escape, rather than one guilty one should suffer."

Now for a Backwoods Judge's charge, in which he very dexterously defines the crime of murder:

"Murder, gentlemen, is where a man is murderously killed. The killer in such a case, is a murderer. Murder by poison is as much murder as murder with a gun. It is the murdering which constitutes murder in the eye of the law. You will bear in mind that murder is one thing and manslaughter another; therefore, if it is not manslaughter it must be murder. Self-murder has nothing to do with this case. One man cannot commit felo de se on another; that is clearly my view. Gentlemen, I think you can have no difficulty. Murder, I say, is murder. The murder of a father is fratricide; but it is not fratricide if a man murders his mother. You know what murder is, and I need not tell you what it is not. I repeat, that murder is murder. You may retire upon it if you like."

When a Kentucky judge, some years since, was asked by an attorney, upon some strange ruling, "Is that law, your honor?" he replied-"If the court understand herself, and we think she do, it are!"

As no one denies that the bar has been ever distinguished for eloquence, it is not needful for us to cite a list of luminous names to prove the fact. Rather would we present the following curious case of an attorney, who was possessed of wonderful facility in "facing both ways:" A Scottish advocate, we have forgotten his name, who having on a certain occasion drank rather too freely, was called on unexpectedly to plead in a cause in which he had been retained. The lawyer mistook the party for whom he was engaged, and to the great amazement of the agent who had feed him, and to the absolute horror of the poor client, who was in court, he delivered a long and fervent speech directly opposite to the interests he had been called upon to defend. Such was his zeal, that no whispered remonstrance, no jostling of the elbow, could stop him, in medio gurgite dicendi. But just as he was about to sit down, the trembling solicitor, in a brief note, informed him that he had been pleading for the wrong party. This intimation, which would have disconcerted most men, had a very different effect on the advocate, who, with an air of infinite composure, resumed his oration. "Such, my lords," said he, "is the statement which you will probably hear from my learned brother on the opposite side in this cause. I shall now, therefore, beg leave, in a few words, to show your lordship how utterly untenable are the principles, and how distorted are the facts, upon which this very specious statement has proceeded." The learned gentleman then went over the whole ground, and did not take his seat until he had completely and energetically refuted the whole of his former pleading.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

DEATH OF THE MARSHAL CONCINI OF FRANCE.

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY 66 JUVENIS."

CONCINO CONCINI was a native of Italy, and the son of a little village notary. He married Leonora Galigai, a daughter of the nurse of the queen's mother, who had brought with her suite to the court of France several Italians, and among them Concini and his wife. For them she seemed to entertain the greatest affection, and on the death of her husband, when the parliament conferred on her the regency of the kingdom, she invested Concini with all her confidence, loading him with the most honorable distinctions, and entrusting to him the highest offices of the government. In short, the whole administration of that powerful state, which, by the ability and patient care of Henry the Fourth had been rescued from ruin, was thrown into the hands of this obscure favorite. These extraordinary and unjust proceedings did not pass unnoticed, for long and loudly had the principal lords of the kingdom-the ancient servants of the late king-protested against the ambition and avarice of the Marshal, though without effect.

It did not, however, escape the observation of the queen-mother and the Marshal's friends, that his political horizon was becoming more and more obscure. The jealousy shown by the old lords at the great authority possessed by this stranger, gave them cause to fear the existence of plots for his destruction; and though the character of the young king was mild and timid, yet they feared the blow would fall, and besought Concini to fly. But he, more confident in his success than ever, heeded not their advice, and in spite of the pressing solicitations of his wife and friends, obstinately persisted in remaining in France. This sealed his doom.

On Monday the 24th of April, the young king rose very early. Having announced the day before that on the morrow he would go to the chase, a carriage with six horses was in waiting to convey him to the grounds, and his gentlemen and body-guard were all ready to accompany him, impatiently waiting in the hall the signal of departure. Meanwhile young Louis was walking in great agitation in the grand gallery in company with M. De Vitry and D'Ornano.

"At least, M. De Vitry, I wish you to remove my mother where I shall not see her not that I fear her presence or speeches-but her grief-her tears!"

Yes, sire, it shall all be over in an hour." At this moment an esquire entered, and made a sign to M. De Vitry.

"Sire, the moment has arrived-I go to remove an obstacle from the route that would stop your progress."

"Go, M. De Vitry. You were always brave and faithful by the side of the late king, our father; you must be the same to the son. The service that you are about to render me is a greater one than I can ever be called upon for you, but you will not find me forgetful." Vitry started; the king seated himself in silence, and to hide his emotion, amused himself by scratching a piece of parchment with the blade of a dagger.

Luynes, another nobleman devoted to Louis, had concerted with De Vitry the evening previous, and the latter was to have charge of finishing the Italian in the morning. He had placed several persons on the watch who were to prevent the Marshal from reaching the Louvre; the lord of Hallier, his brother-in-law, he had stationed in a corner of the lower court with two or three armed men, and Persan in another place with an equal number of soldiers; Lachesnaye was to act as sentinel at the first door. Vitry himself, while waiting the signal, set down on a chest in the hall of the Swiss, and conversed with the guards on indifferent subjects.

At ten o'clock the Marshal left his hotel to go to the Louvre, accompanied by fifty or sixty personages as his suite. He was dressed in a doublet of fine cloth of gold, with a skirt and breeches of grey velvet. An elegant horseman, all his movements were full of ease and grace, so that in the middle of the splendid cortége which surrounded him, he looked more like one of the royal blood, than an officer or courtier about to pay his respects to his monarch. Vitry, warned of his approach, left the hall where he had been sitting, threw his mantle over his shoulders, and went directly to the gate of the Louvre. Du Hallier, Persan, and their men followed-in all, about fifteen-and surrounded Vitry in the passage between the lower court and the draw-bridge. Slowly they opened a way through the crowd that attended the Marshal; meeting, among them, Baron du Tour, Sardiny, Caisny, and others, several of whom stopped M. De Vitry to pay their compliments. Caisny took him by the arm, saying

"Well, captain, have you heard the news? The heretics have raised a revolt in the south. We hear the king goes to the chase this morning-how is his majesty's health?"

"Well!" briefly replied Vitry; and turning towards his interrogator did not perceive the Marshal, who just at that moment passed him.

"No, M. De Vitry, he is there just before you, reading a letter." At these words Persan and Sarroque quietly drew behind the Marshal, separating him from his suite. As soon as Vitry perceived him, he went boldly forward and seized him by the arm.

"The king has commanded me to arrest you!"

"Me!" exclaimed the Marshal, trembling with terror; "me!" and attempting to step back, he fell against the bridge.

"Yes, yes, you!" and pressing him still closer, Vitry cried out-" charge! comrades, charge!" In a moment Du Hallier, Morsains and Le Buisson threw themselves on the Marshal, each firing at the same time a pistol; two balls struck the bridge, the others pierced his head and throat, while Sarroque and Taraud thrust their swords through his hated body, laying him lifeless on the earth.

None of those who formed the cortége of the Marshal evinced the slightest disposition to defend him; on the contrary, all, with the exception of two pages, who amused themselves by shedding a few tears, rejoiced at the deed, throwing off their mantles and swinging their chapeaus in a frenzy of delight.

The news of the Marshal's death quickly spread through Paris, and all the city heard of it with joy. The nobles, the merchants, the peasants, the clowns, talked incessantly of the fall of the detestable Italian; for so odious had he rendered himself by his avarice, extortion, and pride, that he had raised up enemies among all classes, and his death was hailed as a happy But the popular vengeance was not yet satisfied; comparatively few persons had actually witnessed the destruction of the Marshal, and his body had been hastily removed from sight, so that they had not been able, as they

omen.