“What do you think, sir, they have had the hardihood to say in the House of Commons?” cried the Chief, while his cheek grew crimson and his eye flashed fire. “They say that, looking to the perilous condition of Ireland, with a widespread conspiracy through the land, and rebellion in most daring form bearding the authorities of the Crown, it is no time to see one of the chief seats of justice occupied by one whose achievements in Crown prosecutions date from the state trials of '98! In which capacity, sir, am I assailed? Is it as Patriarch or Patriot? Am I held up to obloquy because I came into the world at a certain year, or because I was one of the counsel for Wolfe Tone? From whom, too, come these slanderous assaults? Do these puny slanderers not yet know that it is with men as with plants, and that though the dockweed is rotten within a few weeks, the oak takes centuries to reach maturity? “There were men in the Administration once, sir, in whom I had that confidence I could have placed my office in their hands with the full conviction it would have been worthily conferred,--men above the passions of party, and who saw in public life other ambitions than the struggles for place. I see these men no longer. They who now compose the Cabinet inspire no trust; with them I will not treat.” Exhausted by this outburst of passion, he lay back in his chair, breathing heavily, and to all seeming overcome. “Shall I get you anything, my Lord?” whispered Sewell. The old man smiled faintly, and whispered, “Nothing.” “I wish, my Lord,” said Sewell, as he bent over his chair,--“I wish I could dare to speak what is passing in my mind; and that I had that place in your Lordship's esteem which might give my words any weight.” “Speak--say on,” said he, faintly. “What I would say is this, my Lord,” said Sewell, with increased force, “that these attacks on your Lordship are in a great measure provoked by yourself.” “Provoked by me! and how, sir?” cried the Chief, angrily.