COUNSELLOR LYSIGHT.

Edward Lysight, Esq., barrister-at-law—His peculiar talents—A song of his contrasted with one of Moore’s on the same subject—OunaghandMary—Pastoral poetry—“The Devil in the Lantern”—A love story—“We’re a’noddin”—Sketch of Mr. Solomon Salmon and his daughter—Mr. Lysight’s nuptials with the latter—Sociality at Somers’ Town—A morning call—All is not gold that glitters—Death of the counsellor and his lady.

Among the eccentric characters formerly abounding at the Irish bar, was one whose species of talent is nearly extinct, but whose singularities are still recollected by such of his professional contemporaries as have had the good fortune to survive him.

Edward Lysight, a gentleman by birth, was left, as to fortune, little else than his brains and his pedigree. The latter, however, was of no sort of use to him, and he seldom employed the former to any lucrative purpose. He considered law as histrade, and conviviality (to the cultivation whereof no man could apply more sedulously) ashisprofession. Full of point and repartee, every humourist andbon vivantwas his patron. He had a full proportion of animal courage; and even the fire-eaters of Tipperary never courted his animosity. Songs, epigrams, and lampoons, which from other pens would have terminated in mortal combat, being considered inherent inhisnature, were universally tolerated.

Some of Lysight’s sonnets had great merit, and many of his national stanzas were singularly characteristic. His “Sprig of shillelah and shamrock so green” is admirably and truly descriptive of the low Irish character, and never was that class so well depicted in so few words: but, to my taste, his sketch of a May morning is not to be exceeded in that cheerful colouring and natural simplicity which constitute the very essence and spirit of genuine pastoral. The beginning of the copy of verses called “Ounagh” offers an illustration of this; and it is much to be lamented that, with strange inconsistency, the man did not write another line of it adapted for publication. The first verse is, however, in my mind, worthy of being recorded, and I give it as a sample either of my bad or good taste. All I amsureof is, thatIadmire it.

’Twas on a fine May morning,When violets were springing O,Dew-drops the fields adorning,The birds melodious singing O:The green treesEach soft breezeWas gently waving up and down:The primroseThat sweet blowsAdorned Nature’s verdant gown:The purling rillStole down the hill,And softly murmur’d thro’ the grove,This was the time Ounagh stole out, to meet her barefoot love.[45]

’Twas on a fine May morning,

When violets were springing O,

Dew-drops the fields adorning,

The birds melodious singing O:

The green trees

Each soft breeze

Was gently waving up and down:

The primrose

That sweet blows

Adorned Nature’s verdant gown:

The purling rill

Stole down the hill,

And softly murmur’d thro’ the grove,

This was the time Ounagh stole out, to meet her barefoot love.[45]

45.Pastoral poetry, whether classic, amatory, or merely rural, owes its chief beauty tosimplicity. Far-fetched points and fantastic versification destroy its generic attribute; and their use reminds one of the fashion ofharmonisingthe popular melodies of a country, in order that young ladies may screech them with more complicated execution.Thus, I prefer, upon the whole, my deceased friend Lysight’s words written to an old tune, to those of my celebrated living friend, Mr. Thomas Moore; and think theOunaghof the one likely to be quite as attractive a girl as theMaryof the other, notwithstanding all the finery wherewith the mention of the latter is invested. But our readers shall judge for themselves. We have given the commencement of Mr. Lysight’s version: here followeth that of Mr. Moore’s.The day had sunk in dim showers,But midnight now with “lustre meek”Illumin’d all the pale flowers,Like hope that lights the mourner’s cheek.I said (whileThe moon’s smilePlay’d o’er a stream in dimpling bliss)The moon looksOn many brooks—The brook can see no moon but this.And thus I thought our fortunes run,For many a lover looks on thee,While, Oh! I feel there is but one—One Mary in the world for me!—Had not my talented friend garnished the above ditty with a note, admitting that he had pilfered hisIrishMelody from anEnglishman’sbrains (Sir William Jones’s), I should have passed over so extravagant an attempt tomanufacture simplicity. I therefore hope my friend will in future either confide in his own supreme talents, or not be so candid as to spoil his song by his sincerity. “It is the devil (said Skirmish) to desert; but it’s a d—d deal worse toownit!”I think Dean Swift’s sample of Love Songs (though written near a century ago) has formed an admirable model for a number of modern sonnets; it should be much esteemed, since it is copied by so many of our minstrels.LOVE SONG BY DEAN SWIFT.Fluttering, spread thy purple pinions,Gentle Cupid, o’er my heart:I a slave in thy dominions—Nature must give way to art, &c. &c.

Thus, I prefer, upon the whole, my deceased friend Lysight’s words written to an old tune, to those of my celebrated living friend, Mr. Thomas Moore; and think theOunaghof the one likely to be quite as attractive a girl as theMaryof the other, notwithstanding all the finery wherewith the mention of the latter is invested. But our readers shall judge for themselves. We have given the commencement of Mr. Lysight’s version: here followeth that of Mr. Moore’s.

The day had sunk in dim showers,But midnight now with “lustre meek”Illumin’d all the pale flowers,Like hope that lights the mourner’s cheek.I said (whileThe moon’s smilePlay’d o’er a stream in dimpling bliss)The moon looksOn many brooks—The brook can see no moon but this.And thus I thought our fortunes run,For many a lover looks on thee,While, Oh! I feel there is but one—One Mary in the world for me!—

The day had sunk in dim showers,

But midnight now with “lustre meek”

Illumin’d all the pale flowers,

Like hope that lights the mourner’s cheek.

I said (while

The moon’s smile

Play’d o’er a stream in dimpling bliss)

The moon looks

On many brooks—

The brook can see no moon but this.

And thus I thought our fortunes run,

For many a lover looks on thee,

While, Oh! I feel there is but one—

One Mary in the world for me!—

Had not my talented friend garnished the above ditty with a note, admitting that he had pilfered hisIrishMelody from anEnglishman’sbrains (Sir William Jones’s), I should have passed over so extravagant an attempt tomanufacture simplicity. I therefore hope my friend will in future either confide in his own supreme talents, or not be so candid as to spoil his song by his sincerity. “It is the devil (said Skirmish) to desert; but it’s a d—d deal worse toownit!”

I think Dean Swift’s sample of Love Songs (though written near a century ago) has formed an admirable model for a number of modern sonnets; it should be much esteemed, since it is copied by so many of our minstrels.

LOVE SONG BY DEAN SWIFT.

Fluttering, spread thy purple pinions,Gentle Cupid, o’er my heart:I a slave in thy dominions—Nature must give way to art, &c. &c.

Fluttering, spread thy purple pinions,

Gentle Cupid, o’er my heart:

I a slave in thy dominions—

Nature must give way to art, &c. &c.

Lysight was, perhaps, not a poet in the strict acceptation of the term;—but he wrote a great number of miscellaneous verses—some of them,in general estimation, excellent; some delicate, some gross. I scarce ever saw two of these productions of the same metre, and very few were ofthe same character. Several of the best poetical trifles in M‘Nally’s “Sherwood Forest” were penned by Lysight.

Having no fixed politics, or in truthdecidedprinciples respecting any thing, he was one day a patriot, the next a courtier, and wrote squibs bothforgovernment andagainstit. The stanzas relatively commencing,

Green were the fields that our forefathers dwelt on, &c.Where the loud cannons rattle, to battle we’ll go, &c.

Green were the fields that our forefathers dwelt on, &c.

Where the loud cannons rattle, to battle we’ll go, &c.

and

Some few years ago, though now she says no, &c.

were three of the best of hispatrioticeffusions; they were certainly very exciting, and he sang them with great effect. He ended his literary career by a periodical paper in 1800, written principally against me, and called “The Lantern,” for which and similar squibs, he received four hundred pounds from Lord Castlereagh. I sincerely wished him joy of the acquisition, and told him “if he found me a good chopping-block, he was heartily welcome to hack away as long as he could get any thing by his butchery.” He shook me heartily by the hand, swore I was a “d—d good fellow,” and the next day took me at my word by lampooning me very sufficingly in a copy of verses entitled “The Devil in the Lantern!” But I loved abuse, when it was incurred for opposing the Union; andwe never had a moment’s coolness upon that or any other subject. Indeed, I really regarded him.

He attempted to practise at the English bar; but after a short time, told me he found he had not law enough for the King’s Bench, was not dull enough for the Court of Chancery, and that before he could make way at the Old Bailey he must shoot Garrow, which would be extremely disagreeable to him. He therefore recurred to the periodicals; and though an indifferent prose writer, wielded his goose-quill with no small success. He showed me atariffof his pieces in verse: it was a most pleasant document, and I greatly regret I did not keep a copy of it: he burned it, he told me, to light his candle with. So indifferent was he of the main chance throughout life, that he never adhered long to any pursuit after he found it was really likely to be productive.

In the year 1785, when I was at Temple, he called on me one morning at the Grecian Coffee-house, where I then lodged, and said, with much seeming importance—

“Barrington, put on your hat, and come along with me this moment. I want to show you a lady who has fallen in love with me.”

“In love withyou, Ned?” said I.

“Ay, to insanity!” replied he.

“It must indeed be toinsanity.”

“Oh!” resumed he, gaily, “she is, I assure you, only considering what death she shall inflicton herself if I do not marry her. Now, you know, I am as poor as a rat, though agentleman, and her father is as rich as Crœsus, though ablackguard: so we shall be well matched. The blood and the fat duly mixed, as Hogarth says, makes a right sort of pudding. So the thing is settled, and I’ll have the twelve tribes of Israel at my beck in the course of Monday morning.”

I thought he was distracted, and raving; but, however, immediately set out with him upon this singular expedition; and on our way to the Strand, wherethe paparesided, he disclosed to me all the circumstances of his amour.

“Barrington,” said he, “the lady herself is not, to be sure, the mostpalatablemorsel one might see in a circle of females; yet she is obviously of thehumanspecies; has the usual features in her face (such as they are), four fingers and a thumb on each hand, and two distinct feet with a proper number (I suppose) of toes upon each,—and what more need I expect, seeing she has plenty of theshiners?”

“True,” said I: “as for beauty, those English girls, whoarehandsome, are too frolicksome: she’ll stick the closer to you, because she has none.”

“And whatadvantagewill that be?” muttered Lysight, with a half-suppressed imprecation. “Her father pretends,” continued he, “to be aChristian, and affects to keep a shop in the Strand,under the name of ‘Salmon, watchmaker:’ but in reality he is a d—d Jew, and only pretends to be a Christian that he may transact affairs for certain Israelites of the city, who give him the devil’s own rate of commission!—I hope to be apartnerere long!”

“Suppose he receivesstolen goods, Ned?” said I. “You’d cut but a queer figure at thetail of a cartwith a cat-o’-nine-tails flourished over you.”

“Father of Israel!” exclaimed Lysight, already half a Jew, “you mistake the matter totally. No, no! the maid-servant, whom I bribed with the price of my last squib in the Chronicle, told me every thing about Solomon Salmon—his dealings, his daughter, and his great iron chest with eleven locks to it: but as togoods, he never has fifty pounds’ worth of trinkets or watches in his shop—only a few in the window, tolooklike trade. He deals in the lending and borrowing way only—allcashtransactions, depend on it.”

“For Heaven’s sake, Ned,” said I, “how did you introduce yourself into the family of a Hebrew?”

“I met the girl three months ago,” he replied, “at a dancing-school at Somers’ Town, set up by an old Irish acquaintance, Terry M‘Namara, with whom I dine sometimes: he told me she was a rich Jewess; so when I heard of her papa, I determined to know something more about his daughter, and stole frequently to Somers’ Town, whereMr. Solomon Salmon has a pretty cit cottage. There I hid behind a dead wall just in front, and whenshecame to the window, I nodded, and she ran away, as if offended. I knew this was a good sign with a woman. She soon returned to the window. I nodded again. Away went she a second time; but I heard a loud laugh, and considered that a capital sign: and in fact, she came a third time. Then I was sure, and noddedtwice, whereupon she returned the salutation. Having carried on thenoddingsystem sufficiently, I now ventured to speak to her on my fingers—an art which I had seen her dexterously practise at the dancing-school. ‘My love!’ fingered I; at which she turned her back, but soon turned her face again. ‘My love!’ I repeated, still on my fingers. Off she scampered, but soon came back in company with the maid-servant (whom I therefore bribed next day). I now ventured to suggest an interview the following evening. The Jewess flushed at this proposal; but on my repetition of it, held upsevenof her fingers.

“Of course I was punctual at the time appointed, was admitted, and we swore eternal fidelity on theOldTestament. The maid betrayed us as soon as I ran short of hush-money, but repented afterward, when I gave her a fresh supply, and told me that her master, Mr. Solomon Salmon, had locked his daughter up. She had then attempted to throw herself out of a two-pair window for mysake; but the old Jew having caught her in the very act, she peremptorily told him she was determined to fall into a decay or consumption of the lungs, if he did not consent to her marrying the Christian counsellor.

“This he was in the sequel forced to agree to, or sacrifice his own virgin daughter, (like the king in the Bible,) besides whom he luckily has no other child to inherit his fortune, and the mother is at least twenty years past childbearing.

“At length all was settled, and we are to be actually married as Christians on Monday next. Little Egar of Hare Court has drawn up the marriage articles, and I am to have ten thousand now—that is, the interest of it during the Jew’s life, payable quarterly: then twenty more, andall the reston the mother’s death: and in the mean time, half his commission on money dealings (to commence after a few months’ instruction), together with the house in Somers’ Town, where I shall reside and transact business.”

All this Lysight told me with great glee and admirable humour.

“Egad, it’s no bad hit, Ned,” said I; “many a high-headed grand-juror on the Munster circuit would marry Solomon Salmon himself upon the same terms.”

“You’ll dine with me,” said Lysight, “on Wednesday, at Somers’ Town, at five o’clock? I’ll give you a good turkey, and such a bottle of oldblack-strap as neither the Grecian nor the Oxford ever had in their cellars for any money.”

“I’ll surely attend a new scene, Ned,” answered I.

I was accordingly most punctual. All appeared to be just as he had described. It was a small house, well furnished. Miss’s visage, to be sure, though notfrightful, was lessornamentalthan any article on the premises. The maid-servant was really a fine girl; the cook no badartiste; the dinner good, and the wine capital. Two other Templars were of the party, and every thing went on well. About eight at night the old Jew came in. He appeared a civil, smug, dapper, clean, intelligent little fellow, with a bob-wig. He made us all welcome, and soon retired to rest, leaving us to a parting bottle.

The affair proceeded prosperously; and I often dined with my friend in the same cheerful manner. Ned, in fact, became absolutely domestic. By degrees he got intothe trade; accepted all the bills at the Jew’s request, to savehimtrouble, as old Salmon kept his own books; and a large fortune was accumulating every day, as was apparent by the great quantities of miscellaneous property which was sent in and as quickly disappeared; when one morning, Ned was surprised at three ugly-looking fellows entering his house rather unceremoniously and without stating their business. Ned immediately seized the poker, when hisarm was arrested gently by a fourth visitor, who said:

“Easy, easy, Counsellor Lysight, we mean you no harm or rudeness; we only do our duty. We are thecommissioners’messengers, that’s all. Gentlemen,” said theattorney, as he proved to be, to the three ruffians, “do your duty without the slightest inconvenience to the counsellor.”

They then proceeded to seal up all the doors, leaving Ned, wife, & Co. a bed-room only, to console themselves in. Mr. Solomon Salmon, in truth, turned out both a Christian and a bankrupt, and had several thousands to pay out of the sale of about twoscore of silver watches and a few trinkets—which constituted the entire of the splendid property he had so liberally settled on Mr. Edward Lysight as a portion with his lady daughter.

Ned now found himself completely taken in,—reduced, as he told me, to ten shillings and sixpence in gold, and four shillings in silver, but acceptor of bills of exchange for Salmon & Co. for more than he could pay should he live a hundred years longer than the course of nature would permit him. As he had signed no partnership deed, and had no funds, they could not make him a bankrupt; and as the bills had not arrived at mercantile maturity, he had some days of grace during which to consider himself at liberty:—so he thought absence and fresh air better than hunger and imprisonment, and thereforeretreatthe wisestcourse to be taken. He was right; for in some time, the creditors having ascertained that they could get nothing of a cat but its skin, (even could they catch it,) suffered him to remain unmolested on his own promise—and a very safe one—thatif ever he was able, he would pay them.

He afterward went over to Dublin to the Irish bar, where he made nearly as many friends as acquaintances, but not much money; and at length died,—his widow soon following his example, and leaving two daughters, who, I believe, as teachers of music in Dublin, were much patronised and regarded.

Several years subsequently, being surprised that the creditors had let Lysight off so easily, I inquired particulars from a solicitor who had been concerned in the affairs of Salmon & Co., and he informed me that all the parties, except one, had ceased to proceed on the commission; and that he found the true reason why the alleged creditors had agreed to let Lysight alone was, that they had been all engaged in a piece of complicated machinery to deceive the unwary, and dreaded lest matters should come out, in the course of a strict examination, which might place them in a more dangerous situation than either the bankrupt or his son-in-law. In fact, the creditors were a knot; the bankrupt an instrument; and Lysight a tool.

Felix qui facit aliena periculum comtum.

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