In his native wilds Mr. O'Boyneville might have twirled his shillalah and screamed horoo! so light were his spirits as he set forth to call on the lady of his love. In civilised and crowded London he could only swing his stick loosely in his hand as he strode triumphantly from the hall of the wasted footsteps; whereby he drew down upon himself the maledictions of an elderly gentleman whose shins the weapon had smitten in descending. That the pavements of the metropolis had _not_ been laid down for his sole accommodation was a side of the question which Mr. O'Boyneville had never taken the trouble to contemplate. He had been to Westminster, had heard the opening of a case in which he was concerned, and had given his brief and whispered his instructions to Hodger, a painstaking junior, who was very glad to do suit and service to the great O'Boyneville. The great O'Boyneville's client--a soap-boiler in Lambeth, who was at war with his parish upon the question of whether he did or did not consume his own smoke--was by no means gratified by the substitution, and looked as black as if he had indeed, in his own proper person, consumed all the smoke of his furnaces. But the distinguished Irishman strode away from Westminster heedless of his client's rage. It was very rarely that Laurence O'Boyneville gave his work to another man. The solicitors who swore by him told their clients that if O'Boyneville undertook a case, he would see it through to the very end. "There never was such a resolute beggar," said a fast young attorney, who had witnessed one of the Q.C.'s triumphs; "the more desperate a case is, the sweeter O'Boyneville is upon it. He has all the Hibernian love of fighting; and if any body says 'Pease,' he's ready to spill his blood in the cause of 'Beans.' Egad! if there were a Victoria Cross for desperate valour exhibited in the law courts, Larry O'Boyneville's silk gown ought to be decorated with it."