There is nothing pusillanimous about the Irishman, except when in cold blood he was expected to attack an agent, or landlord, or policeman, armed to the teeth.  In such cases, he remembered that his parents, by the blessing of the Holy Virgin, had endowed him with two legs, and only one skin, which latter must therefore be saved by the discretionary employment of the former.

In other cases he is very brave, especially in verbal encounters.  Fighting is in his blood.  That is what makes the Irish soldier the best in the world, and that was why he used to revel in the faction fights.  As a paternal Government now prevents the breaking of heads, at all events on a wholesale scale, the pugnacious instincts of the nation have to be gratified by litigation, and certainly there never was such a litigious race in history as the contemporary Ireland.

I know of a case on the Callinafercy estate, where a widow spent fifty pounds ‘in getting the law of’ a neighbour whose donkey had browsed on her side of a hedge.  She took the case to the assizes, and when the judge heard Mr. Leeson Marshall was her landlord, he said:—­

’Let him decide it.  He’s a barrister himself, and can judge far better than I could on such a subject.’

To this there are literally hundreds of parallels every year.  Readers of La Terre will remember how much of the funds went into the hands of the lawyer who thrived on the animosities of the family, and that sort of thing is constantly reduplicated in Kerry.

‘I’d sell my last cow to appeal on a point of law,’ I once heard a Killorgin farmer say; and that is typical of all the lower classes in the South and West.

As for the solicitors, I am not going to say a word about them, good or bad:  there are men no doubt worthy of either epithet in a profession that preys on the troubles of other folk.  But I will tell one very brief story on the topic.

Outside the Four Courts, a poor woman stopped Daniel O’Connell, saying:—­

‘If you please, your honour, will you direct me to an honest attorney?’

The Liberator pushed back his wig and scratched his head.

‘Well now, you beat me entirely, ma’am,’ was his answer.

He had more experience than me, being one.

Talking of the Four Courts reminds me of Chief Baron Guillamore, who had as much wit as will provoke ‘laughter in court,’ and a trifle over that infinitesimal quantity as well.

A new Act of Parliament had been passed to prevent people from stealing timber.  A stupid juryman asked if he could prosecute a man under that act for stealing turnips.

‘Certainly not, unless they are very sticky,’ retorted the judge.

His brother was a magistrate, and committed a barrister in petty sessions for contempt of court.  An action was brought against him, but the Chief Baron raised so many legal exceptions, that it had finally to be abandoned through the fraternal law-moulding.  This action was pending in the civil court, when a lawyer was very impertinent to the Chief Baron in the criminal.  Instead of committing him, the Chief Baron said very quietly:—­