edings against the queen--her sins or
indiscretions should have been allowed to remain in the obscurity of her
private circle.

I have attended the trial several times. For a judicial proceeding, it
seems to me too long--and for a legislative, too technical. Brougham, it
is allowed, has displayed even greater talent than was expected; but he
is too sharp; he seems to me more anxious to gain a triumph, than to
establish truth. I do not like the tone of his proceedings, while I
cannot sufficiently admire his dexterity. The style of Denman is more
lofty, and impressed with stronger lineaments of sincerity. As for their
opponents, I really cannot endure the Attorney-General as an orator; his
whole mind consists, as it were, of a number of little hands and
claws--each of which holds some scrap or portion of his subject; but you
might as well expect to get an idea of the form and character of a tree,
by looking at the fallen leaves, the fruit, the seeds, and the blossoms,
as anything like a comprehensive view of a subject, from an intellect so
constituted as that of Sir Robert Gifford. He is a man of application,
but of meagre abilities, and seems never to have read a book of travels
in his life. The Solicitor-General is somewhat better; but he is one of
those who think a certain artificial gravity requisite to professional
consequence; and which renders him somewhat obtuse in the tact of
propriety.

Within the bar, the talent is superior to what it is without; and I have
been often delighted with the amazing fineness, if I may use the
expression, with which the Chancellor discriminates the shades of
difference in the various points on which he is called to deliver his
opinion. I consider his mind as a curiosity of no ordinary kind. It
deceives itself by its own acuteness. The edge is too sharp; and,
instead of cutting straight through, it often diverges--alarming his
conscience with the dread of doing wrong. This singular subtlety has the
effect of impairing the reverence which the endowments and high
professional accomplishments of this great man are otherwise calculated
to inspire. His eloquence is not effective--it touches no feeling nor
affects any passion; but still it affords wonderful displays of a lucid
intellect. I can compare it to nothing but a pencil of sunshine; in
which, although one sees countless motes flickering and fluctuating, it
yet illuminates, and steadily brings into the most satisfactory