O’Connell, as an orator, aimed at being what he was called for many years, “The Man of the People.”  In some of his earlier speeches there are marks of care and preparation, but during three-fourths of his career, his only preparation was to master his subject; words of the best and most effective kind never failed him.  There is little doubt, that elaborate preparation would have marred the effect of O’Connell’s oratory.  He, like all great men, had a quick, intuitive mind—­one, in fact, that could scarcely bear the tedium of careful preparation, and the true character of which came out in cross-examining and in reply; for although great and lucid in statement, he was still more powerful in reply.  Woe to the man who provoked the lion to anger,—­he pawed him to death.  His gesture was not very demonstrative, but it was sometimes very energetic, and when he wanted a cheer for a man or a principle, he called for it, by a bold flourish of his hand above his head.  But O’Connell stood in little need of the aids which gesture commonly gives the public speaker; his fine presence and unrivalled voice did everything for him.  It is said he had no ear for music, but his voice when speaking in public, was the most musical that could be heard:  great in power and compass, rich in tone, ever fresh in the variety of its cadences, it was as unique and striking as the great man to whom it belonged; nor was the charming brogue which accompanied it, the least of its attractions.  Another advantage possessed by him has not been so much remarked upon—­the rapid, changeful expression of his features.  By observing O’Connell’s face, as he spoke, one could be sure of the tone and temper of what was coming.  Was he about to make an adversary ridiculous by an anecdote or a witticism?  His eyes, his lips, his whole face suddenly became expressive of humour.  Did he intend to turn from pleasantries to solemn warning, or fierce denunciation? (a usual habit of his); the dark cloud was sure to cast its shadow across his manly features, before the thunder came forth.

His style was simple and forcible.  He very seldom quoted the classics, although he was fond of giving passages from the English poets, more especially from Moore; but the lines which expressed the guiding principle of his life were taken from Byron: 

    “Hereditary bondsmen, know ye not
      Who would be free themselves must strike the blow.”

The moment I read that passage, he once said, I saw it was the motto for Ireland; and up to 1829, the year of Emancipation, he seldom spoke without quoting it.  He avoided figurative language.  He amused his audience with stories and old sayings which they understood and appreciated.  He brought the shrewd apothegms, familiar at their own firesides, to bear upon the principles he was inculcating, but flowers of rhetoric he knew would be feeble weapons for the warfare in which he was engaged.  He once indeed complimented Sheil, by calling him “the brightest star that ever rose in the murky horizon of his afflicted country;” but that suited the man and the occasion.