REMINISCENCES OF WIT.

Wit distinguished from ribaldry—Chief Baron Yelverton and Mr. Curran—Chief Justice Clonmell—Lord Norbury’s comprehensive powers—Sir Hercules Langreish, and his digressions in claret-drinking—Gervoise Parker Bushe, Chief Baron Burgh, &c.—Peculiar traits of Irish convivial society in the author’s day—Jeremiah Keller—Lord Clare’s funeral—A scanty fee—The Pope and Pretender—Counsellor Norcott’s talent of mimickry—Ballinlaw ferry—Cæsar Colclough, of Duffry Hall, and Julius Cæsar.

There is no intellectual faculty so difficult to define, or of which there are so many degrees and gradations, aswit. Humour may be termed a sort oftable d’hôte, whereat wit and ribaldry sometimes mingle. Certain eminent countrymen of mine possessed these various conversational qualities in great perfection, and often called them into action at the same sitting. Among them, Mr. Curran and Chief Baron Yelverton were most conspicuous; but the flow of theirbonhomiewas subject to many contingencies. It is worthy notice, that all the Irish judges of those days whocould conjure up a single joke, affectedwit. Lord Clonmell, chief justice, was but clumsy at repartee, though an efficient humourist. He seldom rose aboveanecdotes, but these heactedwhilst he told them. He had the peculiar advantage of knowing mankind well, and suiting his speech to the ears of his company. Lord Norbury had witticisms, puns,jeux-d’esprit—in short, jokes of all kinds, constantly at hand. His impromptus were sometimes excellent, but occasionally failed;—he made, however, morehitsthan any one of his contemporaries. Nobody, it is true, minded much what he said:—if it was good, they laughed heartily; if bad, it was only aNorbury;—and so, by an indefatigable practice ofsquibbing, it is not wonderful that, during a life of eighty years, he should have uttered manygood things—though, oddly enough, few of them are preserved.

Lord Norbury sang extremely well.—On my first circuit as counsel, in 1787, he went as judge, and I have often heard him warble “Black-eyed Susan” and “Admiral Benbow,” as well as parts in divers glees and catches, most agreeably.—Requiescat in pace!

Sir Hercules Langreish, a commissioner of revenue, and one of the most popularcourtiersof our society, had an abundance of slow, kind-hearted, though methodistically pronounced, repartee. (A living friend of mine in high rank has much more wit than Sir Hercules; but there isless philanthropy about it). I have heretofore mentioned hisretort courteousto Mr. Dundas, and will now give another specimen:—He was surprised one evening at his house in Stephen’s Green, by Sir John Parnell, Duigenan, and myself, who went to him on an immaterial matter of revenue business. We found him in his study alone, poring over the national accounts, with two claret bottles empty before him and a third bottle on the wane; it was about eight o’clock in the evening, and the butler, according to general orders when gentlemen came in, brought a bottle of claret to each of us. “Why,” said Parnell, “Sir Heck, you have emptiedtwo bottlesalready.” “True,” said Sir Hercules. “And had you nobody to help you?” “O yes, I had that bottle ofportthere, and I assure you he afforded me very great assistance!”

Gervoise Parker Bushe could boast of wit enough for a member of parliament, and more than enough for a commissioner of the revenue. An eminent relative of his, now living, possesses the finest specimen I know at present of the smooth, classical species.

I never knew two distinguished individuals approach each other so nearly in many respects as the late Chief Baron Hussy Burgh and the personage who now presides over the first law court of Ireland. In some points, it is true, they differed:—the former was proud, the latter affable.The eloquence of the former was more highly polished, more classical and effective; that of the latter, more simple, more familiar, yet decided. When very young, I was fascinated by the eloquence of thesilver-tonguedorator (as he was then called), and sought every possible opportunity of hearing him both at the bar and in the House of Commons. His was the purest declamation I have ever listened to; and when he made an instrument of his wit, it was pointed and acute. He was a miscellaneous poet, and wrote epigrams (several upon Lord Aldborough), which were extremely severe, but at the same time extremely humorous.

It would be almost impossible to enumerate the wits and humourists of Ireland in my early days. Wit was then regularlycultivatedas an accomplishment, and was, in a greater or less degree, to be found in every society. Those whom nature had not blessed with that faculty (if a blessing it is) still did their very best—as a foreigner sports his broken English.

The convivial circles of the higher orders of Irish society, in fact, down to the year 1800, in point of wit, pleasantry, good temper, and friendly feeling, were pre-eminent; while the plentiful luxuries of the table, and rich furniture of the wine-cellar, were never surpassed, if equalled, among the gentry of any country. But every thing is now changed; that class of society is no more;neither men nor manners are the same; and even the looking back at those times affords a man who participated in their pleasures higher gratification than do the actual enjoyments of the passing era.

People may say this change is in myself: perhaps so: yet I think that if it were possible for an old man still to preserve unimpaired all the sensations of youth, he would, were he a gentleman, be of my way of thinking. As for those of my contemporaries who survive, and who lived in the same circles with myself, I have no doubt they are unanimously of my opinion. I had very lately an opportunity of seeing this powerfully exemplified by a noble lord at my house. Good fortune had attended him throughout life; always respected and beloved, he had at length become wealthy. When we talked over the days we had spent in our own country, his eyes filled, and he confessed to me his bitter repentance as tothe Union.

The members of the Irish bar were then collectively the best home-educated persons in Ireland, the elder sons of respectable families being almost uniformly called to that profession. Among them, nevertheless, were some of humbler origin. Jeremiah Keller was such;—but his talent sufficed to elevate him. He had the rare faculty of dressing up theseverestsatire in the garb of pleasantry—a faculty, by the bye, which makes no friends, and often deepens and fixes animosity.

Keller was a good man, generally liked, andpopular with a considerable portion of his profession. But though not rich, he occasionally exercised an independence of mind and manners which gave great distaste to the pride and arrogance of some of the leading authorities. Lord Clare could not endure him, and never missed an opportunity of showing or affecting to show his contempt for Jerry.

Lord Clare having diedof the Unionand theDuke of Bedford, it was proposed by his led captains and partizans, that the bar, in a body, should attend his funeral procession. But as his Lordship had made so many inveterate foes at the bar, by taking pains to prove himselftheirfoe, it was thought necessary tocanvassthe profession individually, and ascertain who among them wouldobjectto attend. Very few did;—not that they cherished any personal respect for Lord Clare, but wished to compliment the remains of the first Irish chancellor. As Keller was known to be obstinate as well as virulent, it was held desirable to conciliate him if possible—though they anticipated the certainty of a direct refusal.

The deputation accordingly called on him: “You know, my dear fellow,” said Arthur Chichester M‘Courtney, who had been deputed as spokesman (beating about the bush), “that Lord Clare is to be buried to-morrow?”

“’Tis generally the last thing done with dead chancellors,” said Keller coolly.

“He’ll be buried in St. Peter’s,” said the spokesman.

“Then he’s going to a friend of the family,” said Keller. “His father was a papist.”[43]

43.Old Counsellor Fitzgibbon, Lord Clare’s father, was born a Roman Catholic, and educated for a priest. His good sense, however, opened his eyes to his own intellectual abilities; and he determined to get, if possible, to the bar—that sure source of promotion for reasoning talent. But when or where (if ever) he renounced the Romish church, I am ignorant. He acquired great and just eminence as a barrister, and made a large fortune. Lord Clare was born his second son. Mrs. Jeffries (his sister) I knew well, and I cannot pass her by here without saying, that whatever faults she had, her female correctness was unquestioned; and throughout my life I have never met a kinder-hearted being than Mrs. Jeffries, or a fairer though a decided enemy. Old Mr. Fitzgibbon loved to make money, and in his day it was not the habit for lawyers to spend it. They used to tell a story of him respecting a certain client who brought his own brief and fee, that he might personally apologise for the smallness of the latter. Fitzgibbon, on receiving the fee, looked rather discontented. “I assure you, Counsellor,” said the client (mournfully), “I am ashamed of its smallness; but in fact it is all I have in the world.” “Oh! then,” said Fitzgibbon, “you can do no more:—as it’s ‘all you have in the world,’—why—hem!—I must—take it!”

This created a laugh disconcerting to the deputation;—however, for fear of worse, the grand question was then put. “My dear Keller,” said the spokesman, “the bar mean to go in procession; have you any objection to attend Lord Clare’s funeral?”

“None at all,” said Keller, “none at all! I shall certainly attend hisfuneralwith thegreatest pleasure imaginable!”

Examples of Keller’s dry species of wit in fact daily occurred; it was always pungent, and generally well-timed. In the year 1798 flourished Sir Judkin Fitzgerald, Bart., a barrister whose loyal cruelties in the county of Tipperary were made the subject of apost factoindemnity bill by Lord Castlereagh, to save him from punishment. Among other pastimes, he caused cats-o’-nine-tails to be soaked inbrine, that the peasantry and every body else at whom he durst have a fling might be better cut, and remember it the longer. Bragging to Keller of his numerous ultra-loyal achievements, this man said, “You must own, Keller, at least, that I preserved the county of Tipperary.”

“Ay, and youpickledit into the bargain!” said Keller: “you promise to make so good a body confectioner, that I dare say the lord-lieutenant will hire you;” and in fact Sir Judkin was soon afterward put in office at the castle.

The unfortunate Counsellor Norcott, heretofore mentioned in these sketches, was a fat, full-faced, portly-looking person. He had a smirking countenance, and a swaggering air; was an excellentbon vivant, a remarkably good mimic, and affected to be witty.

Speaking of the Catholics in the hall of the FourCourts, Keller seemed to insinuate that Norcott was favourable to their emancipation.

“What!” said Norcott, with a great show of pomposity—“what! Pray, Keller, do you see any thing that smacks of thePopeabout me?”

“I don’t know,” replied Keller; “but at all events there is a great deal of thePretender, and I always understood them to travel in company.”

This was a kind of caustic wit which was not much cultivated in the higher convivial societies of that day, the members whereof used a more cordial species. But such sallies were alwaysrepeatedwith great glee when they did not affect the person who repeated them.

Norcott’s mimickry was complete. This is a disagreeable and dangerous, because generally anoffensivefaculty. The foibles, absurdities, or personal defects of mankind are thus caricatured, and the nearer perfection the mimickry, the more annoying to the mimicked. Done in a man’s presence, it amounts to a personal insult; in his absence, it is dramatic backbiting,—a bad quality in every point of view to cultivate, and such a weapon of ill-nature as every body should assist in blunting.

In a company where the late Lord Chief Baron Avonmore was a guest, Norcott was called on to show his imitative powers. He did so with great effect, taking off particularly well the peculiarities of the judges; and when he had finished, LordAvonmore said, with point, but good-humour, “Upon my word, Norcott, as you so ably exposed the absurdities ofelevenof the judges, I think you did not act fairly by us in not giving also thetwelfthof them” (his lordship’s self).—Norcott did not utter a word more during the evening.

It is very singular, that a man with such a surplus of wit as Curran, never could write a good epigram—nor, with such an emporium of language, compose a pamphlet or essay that would pay for the printing; while a very eminent living friend of mine, high in the world—though not Curran’s equal in either qualities—has written some of the most agreeable and classicjeux d’esprits, of the most witty and humorous papers, and most effective pamphlets, that have issued from the pen of any member of his profession during my time. I had collected as many as I could of this gentleman’s productions and sayings (several printed and a few in manuscript); but, unfortunately, the whole was lost in a trunk of mine, (with a great number of my books and private papers and memoranda,) in 1812. I can scarce attempt to recollect any of them, save one or two, which may give some idea, but nothing more, of the agreeable playfulness of this gentleman’s fancy. They have been long recorded by the Irish bar; and some of the English bar, who are not at present celebrated for their own impromptus or witticisms, and are toowiseandsteadytounderstandthose of Ireland(unless in print and after due consideration), may be amused by reading and unriddling an Irish epigram, sent into the world by an English bookseller.[44]

44.An English gentleman once said to me very seriously, that he always preferred a London edition of an Irish book, as he thought, somehow or other, it helped totake out the brogue.

A placard having been posted in the courts of law in Dublin by a bookseller for the sale ofBibles, the gentleman I allude to wrote instantly under it with his pencil—

How clear is the case,He’s mistaken the place,His books of devotion to sell:He should learn, once for all,That he’ll never get callFor the sale of hisBiblesinhell.

How clear is the case,

He’s mistaken the place,

His books of devotion to sell:

He should learn, once for all,

That he’ll never get call

For the sale of hisBiblesinhell.

Had the abovejeu d’espritbeen the impromptu of a beaten client, he would have got great credit for it; and in truth, I think, after a year or two of litigation in a court of justice, most clients would freely subscribe their names to the concluding epithet.

Anotherjeu d’espritI remember, and so no doubt do all the bar of my standing who have any recollection left,—of whom, however, there is, I fancy, no great number.

There is a very broad and boisterous ferry betweenthe counties of Wicklow and Wexford, called Ballinlaw, which the Leinster bar, on circuit, were obliged to cross in a bad boat. At times the wind was extremely violent between the hills, the waters high, and the passage dangerous;—yet thebriefswere at the other side; and many a nervous barrister, who on a simple journey would have rode a high-trotting horse fifty miles round-about rather than cross Ballinlaw when the waves were in an angry humour, yet, being sure that there was a golden mine, and a phalanx of attorneys brandishing their white briefs on the opposite shore—commending himself to Divine Providence, and flinging his saddle-bags into the boat—has stepped in after them; and if he had any prayers or curses by heart, now and then pronounced a fragment of such in rotation as were most familiar to him, on launching into an element which he never drank and had a rooted aversion to be upset in.

The curious colloquy of a boatman, on one of those boisterous passages, with Counsellor Cæsar Colclough, once amused such of the passengers as had not the fear of death before their eyes.

Cæsar Colclough of Duffry Hall, a very eccentric, quiet character, not overwise, (he was afterward Chief Justice of Newfoundland,) was in the boat during a storm. Getting nervous, he could not restrain his piety, and began to lisp out, “O Lord!—O Lord!” breathing an ardent prayerthat he might once more see his own house, Duffry Hall, in safety, and taste a sweet barn-door fowl or duck, of which he had fine breeds.

“Arrah! Counsellor,” said the boatman, “don’t be going on prayingthat side, if you plase; sure it’s theother ladyou ought to be praying to.”

“Whatladdo you mean?” said Colclough with alarm.

“What lad! why, Counsellor, the old people always say, that thedeviltakes care of hisown; and if you don’t vex him by praying theother way, I really think, Counsellor, we have a prettysafecargo aboard at this present passage.”

The friend I alluded to, whose wit and pencil were always ready, immediately placed Cæsar in a much more classical point of view. Though he made him a downright idolater, yet he put him on a level with a mighty hero, or emperor—writing upon the back of a letter thus:

While meaner souls the tempest kept in awe,Intrepid Colclough, crossing Ballinlaw,Cried to the sailors (shivering in their rags)You carryCæsarand hissaddle-bags!

While meaner souls the tempest kept in awe,

Intrepid Colclough, crossing Ballinlaw,

Cried to the sailors (shivering in their rags)

You carryCæsarand hissaddle-bags!

Little did Julius Cæsar foresee before the birth of Christ that the first man at the Irish bar would, near two thousand years afterward, call to mind his exploits in Gaul on the waves of Ballinlaw, in the roaring of a hurricane. Should I meet him hereafter, I shall certainly tell him the anecdote.

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