“He did both—­and if he was a little puzzled by the information, the only disgrace attaches to a government that send men to rule over us unacquainted with our habits of thinking, and utterly ignorant of the language—­ay, I repeat it—­but come, you shall judge for yourself; the story is a short one, and fortunately so, for I must hasten home to give timely notice of your coming to dine with me.  When the present Sir Robert Peel, then Mr. Peel, came over here, as secretary to Ireland, a very distinguished political leader of the day invited a party to meet him at dinner, consisting of men of different political leanings; among whom were, as may be supposed, many members of the Irish bar; the elder Daly was too remarkable a person to be omitted, but as the two brothers resided together, there was a difficulty about getting him—­however, he must be had, and the only alternative that presented itself was adopted —­both were invited.  When the party descended to the dining-room, by one of those unfortunate accidents, which as the proverb informs us occasionally take place in the best regulated establishments, the wrong Mr. Daly got placed beside Mr. Peel, which post of honor had been destined by the host for the more agreeable and talented brother.  There was now no help for it; and with a heart somewhat nervous for the consequences of the proximity, the worthy entertainer sat down to do the honors as best he might; he was consoled during dinner by observing that the devotion bestowed by honest Denis on the viands before him effectually absorbed his faculties, and thereby threw the entire of Mr. Peel’s conversation towards the gentleman on his other flank.  This happiness was like most others, destined to be a brief one.  As the dessert made its appearance, Mr. Peel began to listen with some attention to the conversation of the persons opposite; with one of whom he was struck most forcibly—­so happy a power of illustration, so vivid a fancy, such logical precision in argument as he evinced, perfectly charmed and surprised him.  Anxious to learn the name of so gifted an individual, he turned towards his hitherto silent neighbour and demanded who he was.

“‘Who is he, is it?’ said Denis, hesitatingly, as if he half doubted such extent of ignorance as not to know the person alluded to.

“Mr. Peel bowed in acquiescence.

“‘That’s Bushe!’ said Denis, giving at the same time the same sound to the vowel, u, as it obtains when occurring in the word ‘rush.’

“‘I beg pardon,’ said Mr. Peel, ‘I did not hear.’

“‘Bushe!’ replied Denis, with considerable energy of tone.

“‘Oh, yes!  I know,’ said the secretary, ’Mr. Bushe, a very distinguished member of your bar, I have heard.’

“‘Faith, you may say that!’ said Denis, tossing off his wine at what he esteemed a very trite observation.

“‘Pray,’ said Mr. Peel, again returning to the charge, though certainly feeling not a little surprised at the singular laconicism of his informant, no less than the mellifluous tones of an accent then perfectly new to him.  ’Pray, may I ask, what is the peculiar character of Mr. Bushe’s eloquence?  I mean of course, in his professional capacity.’