The argument of Sir Richard Bethell abundantly demonstrated his capacity to satisfy the demands of the occasion, and displayed most triumphantly his perfect mastery of the whole subject.  As the time drew near when he was expected to close for the defence, barristers and students-at-law began to flock into the small and inconveniently arranged courtroom.  A stranger and a foreigner could not but see at once that the Attorney-General was the cynosure of all eyes.  And, indeed, no one in the room more thoroughly appreciated the fact that he was the central and controlling attraction than Sir Richard himself.  I must be pardoned for using an English slang-phrase, but I can convey the impression which he inevitably makes upon a spectator in no other way than by saying that he is “a most magnificent swell.”  And I do this with the more confidence as I have heard him characterized in precisely these words by members of the English bar.  Every motion, every attitude, indicates an intense self-consciousness.  The Earl of Chatham had not a greater passion for theatrical effect, nor has a more consummate and finished actor ever graced the stage.  If the performance had been less perfect, it would have been ludicrous in the extreme; for it did not overlook the minutest details.  He could not examine his brief, or make a suggestion to one of his associates, or note an important point in the argument of opposing counsel, or listen to an intimation of opinion from the Bench, without an obvious eye to dramatic propriety.  During the trial, an attorney’s clerk handed him a letter, and the air with which it was opened, read, and answered was of itself a study.  Yet it was all in the highest style of the art.  No possible fault could be found with the execution.  Not a single spectator ventured to smile.  The supremacy of undoubted genius was never more apparent, and never exacted nor received more willing worship.  Through the kindness of a friendly barrister I was introduced to one of the juniors of the Attorney-General,—­a stripling of about fifty years of age.  While we were conversing about the case, Sir Richard turned and made some comment upon the conduct of the trial; but my friend would no more have thought of introducing me to the leader of the bar than he would have ventured to stop the carriage of the Queen in Hyde Park and present me then and there to Her Majesty.

I remember as well as if it were but yesterday how attorneys and junior counsel listened with the utmost deference to every suggestion which he condescended to address to them, how narrowly the law-students watched him, as if some legal principle were to be read in his cold, hard countenance, and, as he at last rose slowly and solemnly to make his long-expected argument, how court, bar, and by-standers composed themselves to hear.  He spoke with great deliberation and distinctness, with singular precision and propriety of language, without any parade of rhetoric or attempt at eloquence.  After a very short and appropriate exordium, he proceeded directly to the merits of the case.  His words were well-weighed, and his manner was earnest and impressive.  It was, in short, the perfection of reason confidently addressed to a competent tribunal.