This lovely image of the Four Courts from ‘The Land We Live in: a Pictorial and Literary Sketch-Book of the British Empire’ (1847-51) was accompanied by a beautifully written homage to the unparalleled vibrancy of the Round Hall as it once was:

“Towards the other end of the quays, just above Richmond Bridge, is another of the buildings which add so much to the grandeur of the city – the Four Courts…. Commenced in 1786, from a design by Cooley, the architect of the Royal Exchange, but he dying while the works were in progress, the completion was entrusted to Gandon, who made some alterations in the design… The entire structure is very large – it having to afford accommodation for the courts of law, and offices connected to them… The central building, which contains the Four Courts of Chancery, Queen’s Bench, Common Pleas and Exchequer, has a very beautiful portico of six Corinthian columns, with statues of Moses on the apex, and Justice and Mercy on the extremities of the pediment, and above ascends the large and graceful done.

The interior of it must not be overlooked, if the stranger be so fortunate as to spend a morning in Dublin in term time.  As you enter the circular hall (a singularly beautiful one), instead of hearing the sort of quiet hum that greets you on entering Westminster or Guildhall, you are half stunned by a confusion of voices worthy of Babel and jostled to and fro in a crowd rivalling that of the Stock Exchange.  In the passages men and women and boys are hawking tapes, and knives, and all kinds of small wares that lawyers need; and cakes, and pies, and fruit, and almost every variety of refreshment that lawyers or suitors could manage to swallow amid such a tumult.  Within, there is a perfect army of barristers, whether briefless or briefed, all as merry as grigs, cracking jokes on the right and left, with learned brothers or unlearned clients, or assembled around some famous wag who is keeping them in a constant roar of laughter.  The attorneys, and witnesses, and lookers-on, all appear bent on mirth, and laugh and take with heart and voice heartily.  Gravity seems by common consent banished from the outer court of Themis. 

In the inner temple, and in the presence of ‘my lord’ there is of course something more of quiet and seriousness.  If ‘Counsellor Butt,’ or some other favourite is addressing the bench and jury, there is silence deep enough, but if an unlucky witness is ‘tabled,’ you are almost sure of some amusement.  An Irish barrister seems to adopt a much more ‘free and easy’ style in examining a witness than an English one, and poor Pat, falling into the same familiar vein, is certain to be led into some ludicrous mistake, or contradiction, or strange absurdity.  It is quite curious to observe the eagerness with which the auditors – and the courts appear to be a favourite lounging-place with idlers, of whom there are never wanting plenty in Dublin – watch the progress of the questioning, and the delight with which they catch at a blunder or a bit of humour; there is a roar on the instant…“