Lord Lyndhurst was called to the bar of England in 1804.  It was before the splendid forensic successes of Erskine had been rewarded by a seat on the wool-sack, or Wellington had completed his brilliant and decisive campaign in India, or the military glory of Napoleon had culminated at Austerlitz, or Pitt, turning sadly from the map of Europe and saying, “Henceforth we may close that map for half a century,” had gone broken-hearted to an early grave, or Nelson had defeated the combined navies of France and Spain at Trafalgar.  Lord Byron had not yet entered Cambridge University, Sir Walter Scott had not published his first poem, and Canova was still in the height of his well-earned fame.  It was before the first steamboat of Robert Fulton had vexed the quiet waters of the Hudson, or Aaron Burr had failed in his attempted treason, or Daniel Welter had entered upon his professional career, or Thomas Jefferson had completed his first official term as President of the United States.

Lord Lyndhurst’s advancement to the highest honors of his profession and to a commanding place in the councils of his adopted country was rapid almost beyond precedent.  He was appointed Solicitor-General in 1819, Attorney-General in 1823, Master of the Rolls in 1826, and Lord-Chancellor in 1827.  He remained in this office until 1830, and retired only to be created Lord-Chief-Baron of the Exchequer.  In 1835 he was again appointed Lord-Chancellor, and once more, for the third time, in 1841.

The characteristic qualities of the oratory of Lord Lyndhurst, when in his prime, were perfect coolness and self-possession, a most pleasing and plausible manner, singular ingenuity in dealing with a difficult question or in weakening the effect of an argument really unanswerable, a clear and musical voice, great ease and felicity of expression, and a wonderful command, always discreetly used, of all the weapons of irony and invective.  He is, perhaps, the only nobleman in the House of Lords whom Lord Brougham has ever feared to encounter.  All these elements of successful oratory Lord Lyndhurst has retained to an extraordinary degree until within a year or two.

I chanced to hear this remarkable man during an evening in the month of July, 1859.  The House of Lords was thinly attended.  There had been a short and uninteresting debate on “The Atlantic-Telegraph Bill,” and an early adjournment seemed certain.  But at this juncture Lord Lyndhurst rose, and, after adverting to the fact that he had previously given notice of his design to draw their lordships’ attention to the military and naval defences of the country, proceeded to address the House upon this question.  It should be borne in mind that this was a period of great and engrossing excitement in England, created by the supposed danger of invasion by France.  Volunteer rifle-companies were springing up all over the kingdom, newspapers were filled with discussions concerning the sufficiency of the national