Much to admire in this polished profile of the advocacy skills of Lord Chief Justice of Ireland Charles Kendal Bushe, known in his time as ‘the silver-tongued,’ written by his colleague John Finlay when Bushe was Solicitor-General of Ireland and republished in Finlay’s Miscellanies (1835):

“Ireland has produced many eminent orators, scarcely any who has not been distinguished by some very striking personal disadvantage – an unhappy figure or a displeasing voice, a vulgar accent or an awkward delivery. This observation, though curious, is undeniable. It has its exceptions, and of these perhaps the most prominent is the Solicitor General Charles Kendal Bushe... He enjoys in no common degree the useful accent of a prepossessing exterior, a voice round, clear, varied and harmonious, its tones a combination of sweetness and strength, a fit vehicle for the purpose of argument or pathos [which] carries the suggestion of reason forcibly to the judgment and the emotion of passion directly to the heart…

For the advantages enumerated he is indebted to nature, for those which follow, the merit is his own. A gesture energetic, impressive and sincere, enunciation correct, flowing and distinct, a manner in public courteous yet dignified, in private, manly, polished and unrestrained. In him you find two qualities united which are generally considered incompatible, because they are seldom found co-existent – great genius, and unwearied industry; a genius, which without industry would give character to the intellect, and an industry, which without genius would give distinction to mediocrity.

Varied, extensive and tasteful in his acquirements, his education has suppled him with a stock of intellectual materials, which time has mellowed, and invention has increased, which he draws forth with ease, and applies with aptitude, equally successful to combine or separate his ideas; he alternately instructs you by the dictates of a solid judgment, or delights you by the sallies of a legitimate wit.

Perhaps the most valuable requisite for a mere lawyer, is a vigorous memory, and a ready recollection.  Bushe always appears intimately acquainted even with the minute facts of his client’s cause.  His memory, naturally strong, derives a new, though an artificial, strength from exercise, association, and a peculiar discipline in the disposal and classification of facts.

It is not in the turmoil of forensic distraction, that he struggles to collect the matter of his brief, by tossing over the sheets of his manuscript folio, by underlining a paragraph, or scribbling a remark, by snatching a point from a junior, or a fact from an agent.  No! Whether such conduct be the result of affectation or necessity, be it remembered for his honour, that he is above such art, and for the benefit of his client, that he stands independent of such aid.

He enters the hall in the fullness of preparation, the matter of his instructions written in his memory, and the merits of his cause noted in his mind.  In the court, ever serious, never contemplative, he gives utterance to that collection of legal knowledge, which he has previously investigated and arranged in his closet. He reads at home, he acts abroad; a student in his library; an advocate in the Court – he makes the one the scene of his contemplations, and the other the theatre of his exertion.

The persuasive powers of this accomplished advocate must appear even to the eye eminent and uncommon.  An observer, at first view, would be inclined to suppose that he had adopted that method which some recommend, of putting his strongest arguments first forward, but as the orator proceeds, the listener perceives that a stronger and a stronger still succeeds – each last argument more forcible than the former, until he is astonished at perceiving that the last is the strongest.  All this is art.

When he commences, the mind of the audience is exclusively engaged by admiration of the orator.  But as he advances, he imperceptibly withdraws you from the observation of himself to the contemplation of his cause.  The client’s hardship gradually swells as he rolls it along the range of incident.  The lustre of his talents retires in eclipse behind that picture of misery, which he obtrudes on your view.  The advocate becomes not only invisible but forgotten, and although your attention to him may be for a moment awakened by his action, or recalled by his language, you chasten your admiration, and are tempted to exclaim, Oh! His task is easy, for his cause is good; you are unsuspicious that this growing accumulation of hardship may be nothing more than the metre of the arrangement.  But such is the art of eminent eloquence; it is, indeed, the very nature of true eloquence to make you unconscious that that any has been used.  Such is the eloquence of Kendal Bushe – and the last impression which he leaves on the mind of the audience, is that the person whose cause he advocates, is among the most injured and innocent of the community…

His delivery, strong but not vehement, ever zealous but seldom passionate, often rapid but never precipitate – though he acts, he does not appear to act – he sometimes pauses, as if in search of an expression which may more fitly convey some strong emotion.  The auditory becomes interested in the pause, but never disappointed in the event – for he always succeeds in bringing forth some happy phrase, which is thus produced with an increased effect from the apparent difficulty and positive delay.

Whilst he speaks, time seems short; all who hear must listen.  In his narration never tedious – he never keeps the memory on the stretch, he breaks up his statement into judicious periods; each division he terminates by some ornament of diction, each ornament serves as a pleasing resting point, which gratifies whilst it relieves the attention.  His transitions – sudden but natural, now majestic, then pathetic – now forcible and commanding, then insinuating and persuasive.

Respectful to the Bench, polite to the Bar, and conciliating to the Jury – his manner conveys the strongest censure on that contentious habit, that waspish spirit, that disposition to snap and sneer, and interrupt, by which too many of the great profession abate the dignity of their high vocation…

He has created much gratitude, by a well-timed attention to the junior members of the Bar -vigilant in observing the professional efforts of young men – instant, generous, warm and emphatic, paying the tribute of this own approbation, and collecting on their exertion the notice of the Bench…

[O]n the Bench, at the Bar, or in the private circle, Bushe is always ‘in his place’ – the upright judge, the able advocate. the finished gentleman.  Compare him with any, in each of those relations, and you will feel compelled to compare him with the first.  Indeed, the great peculiarity of his character appears to be this – that though some may excel him in the degree, none does in the number of his qualifications.”

The only context in which Bushe’s legendary fluency appears to have deserted him was in his letters to his sweetheart, and later wife, Nancy. The extracts from his letters to her during their courtship included in the biography of them published by their great-grandchildren Edith Somerville and Martin Ross were described by reviewers as somewhat stilted, though perhaps Bushe, always keenly aware of the appropriateness of the act for the occasion, agreed with Shakespeare, that, as far as love was concerned, tongue-tied simplicity spoke most to one’s capacity!  In any event, the couple went on to have a very happy marriage.

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