Chapter VI: Part 6

My situation in this curious _dénouement_ was truly to be commiserated, since I should be considered as the adviser of my brother; and I therefore determined to consult Mr. Downs, (Gillespie’s counsel) as to what was best to be done in the matter.

Mr. (afterward Lord) Downs, always proud, icy, and decorous, seemed to think my brother’s case irremediable, and that a couple of years’ imprisonment and a heavy fine, at least, must be the necessary result of such a trimming of a high sheriff in the face of a county—advising French, at the same time, to fly and make terms if possible. “Fly!” said French Barrington, when I informed him of the suggestion; “no, no! tell Counsellor _Thingumbob_ to go to the ball to-night, and he’ll see more of the matter.” In fact, my brother went to the ball-room when it was crowded, and having tied the sheriff’s curls and queue to a lamp which hung in the centre of the room, got upon a form, and made a loud proclamation of the whole transaction from first to last. A sort of sympathetic feeling caught the young men in the room, many of whom were my brother’s companions: they immediately led out their partners, and formed a circle-dance (as about a May-pole) around the sheriff’s spoils, which were sticking to the lamp. The remonstrances of mothers, and other discreet efforts, were totally vain:—the girls liked the fun, and a succession of different sets did honour in turn to Mr. Lyons’ late queue and curls. A club was subsequently proposed, to be called the _Curl Club_, and to be held every summer assize; and this was for several years kept up.

The ensuing morning my brother dressed up the bridle of his hunter with the curls and queue, newly powdered by Mr. Robert Casey; and having paraded the streets for a considerable time (avoiding the judge’s residence), he rode home; and was never called to account or molested on the subject in any way whatsoever.

Mr. Lyons left the country almost immediately, went back to the Continent, and never after, at least to my knowledge, returned.

The matter, however, having been justly represented in a serious light to the judge, he sent for me, and I related the entire truth. He had been much dissatisfied with the verdict, and had received strong hints as to the arrangement of the jury: he could not restrain a smile, but said he must, if required, give permission to a magistrate to take examinations against Mr. Barrington. He, however, declined all personal interference on circuit; desiring Mr. Lyons to apply to the King’s Bench, where no doubt he would be duly attended to, according to the merits of the case. But no examinations whatever were taken; nor was any application made to the King’s Bench. It could not have been made without involving the question as to the way in which the jury was constituted; and since that matter would not bear sifting, the circumstances were suffered to remain without further investigation.

ENTRANCE INTO PARLIAMENT.

My first entrance into the Irish House of Commons—Dinner at Sir John
Parnell’s—Commencement of my intimacy with public men of
celebrity—Maiden speech—I attack Grattan and Curran—Suicide of Mr.
Thoroton—Lord De Blacquiere—His character.

The day on which I first took my seat in the Irish Parliament for the city of Tuam I still reflect on as one of the most gratifying of my life. The circumstance, abstractedly, was but of secondary consideration; but its occurrence brought back to my mind the events of past ages, and the high respectability of the race from which I sprang. My imagination was excited, and led me almost to fancy that I could see my forefathers ranged upon those seats which they had so long and so honourably occupied in the senate of their country, welcoming their descendant to that post which had not for a few years past been filled by any member of the family. In fact, the purer part of my ambition was hereby gratified. I felt myself an entirely independent representative of an equally independent nation—as a man assuming his proper station in society, not acquiring a new one.

I confess I always had, and still continue to have, and to nourish, the pride which arises from having been born a gentleman. I am aware that wealth, and commerce, and perhaps talent, have, in modern times, occasioned family pride to be classed in the rank of follies; but I feel it, nevertheless, most strongly:—and if it be even a crime, I am culpable; if a folly, I submit to be regarded as imbecile. The sensations I experienced were indeed altogether delightful upon finding myself seated under that grand and solemn dome:—I looked around me, and saw the most dignified men of that day,—the ablest orators of Europe,—many of the best-bred courtiers, and some of the most unsophisticated patriots in the empire! These, including a few friends and intimates of my family, were mingled, here and there, in amicable groups, and by turns kindly encouraged a young barrister, of only two years’ practice, without patronage or party, as a fair independent aspirant to rank and eminence.[38]

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Footnote 38:

Perhaps this may be considered rather too egotistical and highly
coloured; but I must observe that at that time the importance of a
member of the Irish Parliament was much greater in his country, than
that of an English member at present in _his_. The Irish parliament
was formerly almost wholly composed of gentlemen of family and high
respectability: there was neither an attorney nor a usurer in it; on
the contrary, there were no two professions in the world to which the
Irish gentlemen had so great an aversion; to the one from
_experience_, the other from _anticipation_.

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I was greatly moved and excited: but it was not excitement of an ephemeral or feverish character; on the contrary, my emotions had their source in a tranquil, deep-seated, perhaps proud, satisfaction, impossible to be clearly described, and almost impossible to be felt by any but such as might be placed in circumstances precisely similar.

There were some members present, I have already said, with whom I was personally acquainted. My friend, Sir John Parnell—partly, I am sure, on my account, and partly, no doubt, with a view to the service of government, lost no time in introducing me to many of his own particular friends.

I dined with him on that day: he was then chancellor of the exchequer. The entire party I do not recollect; but I remember perfectly those individuals of it with whom I subsequently cultivated acquaintance. Among them were Major Hobart (since Lord Buckinghamshire), Isaac Corry, Sir John (since Lord) De Blacquiere, Robert Thoroton, Marcus Beresford (Lord Clare’s nephew), the present Lord Oriel (then Speaker), Thomas Burgh, of Bert, Sir Hercules Langreish, and James Cuffe (since Lord Tyrawley). The scene was new to me:—hitherto, my society in Dublin had naturally fallen among the members of my own profession; we were all barristers, and I felt myself but a barrister: and though certainly we formed at that time the second-best society in Ireland, it was inferior to that of which I had now become a member. I found myself, in fact, associated as an equal with a circle of legislators whose good-breeding, wit, and conviviality were mingled with political and general information. I was in my element:—the first steps of the ladder were mounted; and as meanwhile Sir John’s champaign was excellent, and quickly passed round, my spirits rose to a pitch far higher than in the morning, and any talent for conversation or anecdote which I might possess involuntarily coming out, Sir John Parnell, shaking his fat sides with laughter, according to his usual custom, said to me, before we broke up, “Barrington, you’ll do!” upon which, Sir Hercules Langreish, who had very much the tone of a Methodist preacher, yet was one of the wittiest men in Ireland, immediately said,—“No: we must have another trial;” and a day was fixed to dine with him.

My acquaintance soon augmented to a degree almost inconvenient. My _friendship_ I limited to such men as I held to possess congeniality of sentiment; and before any long time had elapsed, I was not only the frequent guest of many of the distinguished characters of Ireland, but was considered as an early and favoured candidate for any professional promotion which the shortness of my standing at the bar would admit of.

Reflecting, soon after I had taken my seat, on the novel nature of my situation, I felt that it was beset by considerable difficulties. I allude to the decision necessary for me to come to with respect to the line of politics I meant to pursue. I was not a _new_ man, by whom any course might be taken, without exciting comment or question. On the contrary, I was of an old family, the importance and influence of which I was desirous to revive in that house, and hence it became requisite that I should weigh my actions well, and avoid precipitancy.

Political parties at that time ran high, though but little individual hostility existed. Grattan, the two Ponsonbys, Curran, Brownlow, Forbes, Bowes, Daly, Connolly, Arthur Brown, and numerous other most respectable personages were then linked together in a phalanx of opposition which, under the name of Whiggery, not only assailed the government upon every feasible occasion, but was always proposing measures which, under the then existing system, were utterly inadmissible. The opposition had the advantage in point of ability, and, therefore, nothing but supreme talent had any chance, among them, of rendering its possessor useful or valued. Though my nature was patriotic, I ever respected the aristocracy, which, while the democracy exhibits a people’s general character and energy, tends to embellish the state, and to give it an imposing grandeur.

The supporters of the Irish government, as I have said, were certainly inferior, except in patronage and power, to the opposition by which they were assailed. But they lived socially: there was a sort of convivial union among them, which, whether in high or low life, is, of all other ties, for awhile most binding upon my countrymen. It was therefore rather inconsistent in Lord Clare to give offence, as he did, to many of the most respectable gentlemen of Ireland by calling the Whigs an “eating and drinking club,”[39] since the sarcasm might, at least with equal justice, have been retorted on the supporters of His Majesty’s government. All the great constitutional questions were, in 1790, supposed to have been arranged. Still the opposition sought a more radical reform, to which the government would not accede. They wrangled, in fact, about every trifle—and that at a time when the local concerns of the country were advancing to the highest pitch of prosperity. To neither party, however, attached any dishonourable stigma, which should prevent an honest man from joining their ranks; and meanwhile, I sought celebrity and advancement. The coast was clear before me. I was my own master, and free to choose my own course. In case of my connecting myself with the Whigs, I saw that I must play but a very inferior part in their game. I felt that amidst such an assemblage of talent I had but little right to expect eminence, and still less probability of acquiring professional advancement, even if my friends should become victorious. But, above all, I reflected that what at first view had appeared to me a blaze of constitutional _patriotism_, dwindled, on a closer inspection, into what is generally called _party_.

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Footnote 39:

What they called in Ireland _mahogany_ acquaintances.

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The country had prospered beyond all possible anticipation, and was still further advancing in prosperity, under the then existing system of administration. I did not perceive that any immediate change of men or measures was at all in prospect, nor that it was at that moment necessary, or even desirable. My immediate personal connexions were on the side of the government. I had always doubted the sincerity of the Whigs: my doubts were now realised, and, on the whole consideration, I determined to attach myself to the administration. I had previously voted with them on the choice of a Speaker; but that I did not consider as constituting any pledge as to my future conduct. I voted for Mr. Forster, as the friend of Sir John Parnell, and because I considered him more fitting for the station than his opponent, Mr. William Ponsonby.

Thus, my mind being at length made up, I determined to render myself of some importance to the side I had adopted. The common course of desultory debate (even conquest over declaimers of my own calibre) would have led to no distinction. I decided either to rise or fall; and with this view, resolved to fly at once at the highest game, in which attempt even if I should not succeed, the trial itself would be honourable. My earliest effort was therefore directed against the two most celebrated speakers of that period, Grattan and Curran; and on the first day I rose I exhibited a specimen of what I may now call true arrogance. The novelty of such unexpected effrontery surprised the House, and afterward surprised myself. It was a species of bold hardihood, which, I believe, no person who had a just sense of his own inferiority would have ventured on without great hesitation. I launched into a strong philippic on the conduct of the most able and respectable opposition that Ireland had ever possessed. I followed and traced the Whigs, as I thought, through all their meanderings and designs. In a word, I surpassed the boundaries, not only of what I had myself resolved, but of what common prudence and propriety should have dictated. The government party, at the same time, was evidently not gratified. Its members, no doubt, considered me as a lost partizan, who had courted and called for my own suppression; and with some portion of the same feeling myself, I sat down almost ashamed of my forwardness, and awaiting, if not with resignation, at least with certainty, a just although cruel chastisement. How then must I have been surprised, and how wofully rebuked, by the mild and gentlemanly retorts which I received from Grattan! whilst Curran’s good temper never showed itself more conspicuously than in his treating me merely with wit and facetiousness. I was abashed and mortified on contrasting the forbearance of those great men with my own intemperance. Had I perceived any thing like contempt in that forbearance, I really believe I should have found it difficult to resume my spirits in the House; but no such feeling appeared toward me; and it is most singular to say, that some incidents which sprang from that very night’s debate gave rise both to the friendship of Mr. Grattan,[40] with which I was afterward honoured, and to the close intimacy between me and Mr. Curran, which was never after interrupted.

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Footnote 40:

Though my actual intimacy with, and friendship for, Mr. Grattan, did
not mature at a _very_ early period, his conduct that night proved to
me the nobleness of his nature. I was impetuous, petulant, and
altogether too inexperienced for a debater. Mr. Cuffe, after I had put
forth something improperly warm as to Mr. Grattan, said to him, “Why
don’t you put down that chap at once? a single sentence of yours would
silence him completely.”—“No, no, no!” said Grattan, “we are not at
all on a fair level. I could do him a great deal of mischief; he can
do me none. _My_ name is made; _he_ is trying to make one, too: he’s a
bold boy, but I don’t think he is a bad one.”

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I had the good fortune, on that occasion, to make one fair hit as to Grattan, which he afterward told me he was much pleased with. It came across me at the moment:—in fact, most of the speeches I ever made have been literally _impromptu_. I never studied a speech in my life, except on law cases; and perhaps to this circumstance I may honestly attribute an incorrectness of language that frequently attended my best efforts.

Grattan had repeatedly assailed our side of the house, as “a side from which all public virtue had long been banished.” I observed, “that the right honourable gentleman had proved unequivocally the falsehood of his own assertion, that public virtue was confined to _one_ side of the house; for I had had the honour of seeing the right honourable gentleman himself on _both_!” I alluded to his having supported government against Mr. Flood, after the vote of 50,000_l._ by parliament. This joke was loudly cheered, and perhaps somewhat contributed to save me from discomfiture.

From that day I attached myself zealously and sincerely to the administration of Lord Westmoreland. I became more or less intimate with almost every member of my party in parliament. I formed close and lasting friendships with Edward Cooke, the unfortunate and lamented Robert Thoroton, Isaac Corry, and Sir John De Blacquiere; and it was not very long before the opposition also opened their convivial ranks to receive me. Curran and Arthur Brown were the earliest of my intimates on that side the house; and before 1792 had expired, I felt myself as happy on all points, and as much befriended, as any man of my standing who had preceded me.

Before I went into parliament, I had become acquainted with Mr. R. Thoroton, who had come over to Ireland with the Duke of Rutland. He had the manner of a coxcomb, but the heart of a friend, and the sentiments of a gentleman. He was clerk of the House of Commons; and being by no means a common man, formed a necessary part of all our societies. He and I lived much together: and I found the intercourse very advantageous, since my friend knew every thing that was going forward, and, under the rose, set me right on many occasions. At the same time, I was aware that circumstances existed which were the cause, to him, of great anxiety; and, finally, a most unexpected event,—namely, the death of Mr. Thoroton by his own hand,—deprived me of one of the sincerest and most useful friends I ever possessed.

But among the foremost of all those persons who, from first to last, endeavoured to do me service, was a man universally esteemed for his gentlemanly manners, and as universally abused for public jobbing. As to the latter, it concerned not me; whilst his friendship was of the greatest advantage.

Sir John (afterward Lord) De Blacquiere (I believe of Swiss descent) had been colonel of a regiment of heavy cavalry in Ireland; had acted as secretary of legation in France with Lord Harcourt, and, having succeeded him there for a short time as minister, came to Ireland with his lordship as principal secretary, and becoming a permanent resident, attached himself to that side of politics whence only he could derive the great object of his exertions,—a revenue sufficiently ample to enable him to entertain his friends as well, and far more agreeably, than any other person I had previously met. Nobody ever understood eating and drinking better than Sir John De Blacquiere; and no man ever was better seconded in the former respect than he was by his cook, Mrs. Smith, whom he brought from Paris, after he had been minister there. His company seldom exceeded ten in number; but so happily was it selected, that I never yet saw a person rise from his table who did not feel gratified. Sir John was one of the old school; and with all the playful good-breeding by which it was distinguished, he had nothing of that starch pride which, in more recent times, has supplanted conviviality without making men either wiser, better, or happier.

Sir John certainly was a _pluralist_, enjoying, at one time, the first, the middle, and the last pension on the Irish civil list. He was director of the public works in Dublin; and to his _jobbing_ is that capital indebted for its wide streets, paving, lighting, and convenient fountains. He made as much as he could of these works, it is true; but every farthing he acquired in Ireland he expended in it. If his money came from the public purse, it was distributed to the public benefit: if he received pensions from the crown, butchers, bakers, and other tradesmen pocketed every shilling of it. He knew employment to be the best species of charity. In short, Sir John De Blacquiere was as much abused, and as much regarded, as any public character of any period.

SINGULAR CUSTOMS IN THE IRISH PARLIAMENT.

Anecdote of Tottenham _in his boots_—Interesting trial of the Earl of
Kingston for murder—Description of the forms used on that occasion.

A very singular custom prevailed in the Irish House of Commons which never was adopted in England, nor have I ever seen it mentioned in print. The description of it may be amusing.

On the day whereon the routine business of the budget was to be opened, for the purpose of voting supplies, the speaker invited the whole of the members to dinner in the House, in his own and the adjoining chambers. Several peers were accustomed to mix in the company; and I believe an equally happy, joyous, and convivial assemblage of legislators never were seen together. All distinctions as to government or opposition parties were totally laid aside; harmony, wit, wine, and good-humour reigning triumphant. The speaker, clerk, chancellor of the exchequer, and a very few veteran financiers, remained in the House till the necessary routine was gone through, and then joined their happy comrades—the party seldom breaking up till midnight.

On the ensuing day the same festivities were repeated; but on the third day, when the report was to be brought in, and the business discussed in detail, the scene totally changed;—the convivialists were now metamorphosed into downright public declamatory enemies, and, ranged on opposite sides of the House, assailed each other without mercy. Every questionable item was debated—every proposition deliberately discussed; and more zealous or assiduous senators could nowhere be found than in the very members who, during two days, had appeared to commit the whole funds of the nation to the management of half a dozen arithmeticians.

But all this was consonant to the national character of the individuals. Set them at table, and no men enjoyed themselves half so much; set them to business, no men ever worked with more earnestness and effect. A steady Irishman will do more in an hour, when fairly engaged upon a matter which he understands, than any other countryman (so far, at least, as my observation has gone) in two. The persons of whom I am more immediately speaking were extraordinarily quick and sharp. I am, however, at the same time, ready to admit that the lower orders of officials—such, for instance, as mere clerks in the public offices, exhibited no claim to a participation in the praise I have given their superiors: they were, on the other hand, frequently confused and incorrect; and amongst that description of persons I believe there were then fewer competent men than in most countries.

Another custom in the House gave rise to a very curious anecdote, which I shall here mention. The members of Parliament formerly attended the House of Commons in full dress—an arrangement first broken through by the following circumstance:—

A very important constitutional question was debating between government and the opposition; a question, by the bye, at which my English readers will probably feel surprised; namely, “as to the application of a sum of 60,000_l._, then lying _unappropriated_ in the Irish Treasury, being a balance after paying all debts and demands upon the country or its establishments.” The numbers seemed to be nearly poised,—although it had been supposed that the majority would incline to give it to the king, while the opposition would recommend laying it out upon the country; when the serjeant-at-arms reported that a member wanted to force into the House _undressed_, in dirty boots, and splashed up to his shoulders.

The speaker could not oppose custom to privilege, and was necessitated to admit him. It proved to be Mr. Tottenham, of Ballycurry, County Wexford, covered with mud, and wearing a pair of huge jack-boots! Having heard that the question was likely to come on sooner than he expected, he had (lest he should not be in time) mounted his horse at Ballycurry, set off in the night, ridden nearly sixty miles up to the Parliament-house direct, and rushed in, without washing or cleaning himself, to vote for _the country_. He arrived just at the critical moment! and critical it was, for the numbers were in truth _equal_, and his casting vote gave a majority of one to “the country” party.

This anecdote could not die while the Irish Parliament lived; and I recollect “Tottenham in his boots” remaining, down to a very late period, a standing toast at certain patriotic Irish tables.

Being on the topic, (and, I confess, to me it is still an interesting one,) I must remark a singular practical distinction in the rules of the Irish and English Houses of Commons. In England, the House is cleared of strangers for every division, and no person is supposed to see or know in what way the representatives of the people exercise their trust. In Ireland, on the contrary, the divisions were public, and red and black lists were immediately published of the voters on every important occasion. The origin of this distinction I cannot explain, but it must be owned that the Irish was the most _constitutional_ practice.

One interesting scene at which I was present merits especial description, on many accounts. No other instance of the kind has occurred in the British Empire in my time; and as it forms a very important record with relation to the independent political state of Ireland at the period, and has not yet been made the subject of any historical detail or observation, it cannot fail to be interesting in every point of view:—I allude to the trial of a peer of the realm of Ireland for murder, by the House of Lords in Dublin, after the acknowledgment of Irish independence.

The grand and awful solemnity of that trial made a deep impression on my memory; and, coupled with the recollection that it proclaimed indisputably the sovereignty of the Irish nation, its effect on a contemplative mind was of a penetrating nature.

Robert, Earl of Kingston, stood charged with the murder of Colonel Fitzgerald, by shooting him. The relation of the circumstances of that event would be, in every point of view, improper, and would only serve to recall painful recollections long since sunk into oblivion. I therefore abstain from any further allusion to them. The laws of the country required the trial of the accused party at the bar of his peers:—but as no similar case had occurred in Ireland within the memory of man, it was requisite to consult precedents upon the subject, in order to render his lordship’s trial conformable to the _Lex Parliamentaria_ common to both countries. These precedents were accordingly sought by the proper officers; and as his lordship was very popular, and his provocation maddening,—and as all were ignorant of the evidence which was to be brought forward, the whole affair was of a most exciting nature to every man, more especially to those individuals who possessed the noble lord’s acquaintance.

Owing to the great number of attendants, the full muster of peers, and the extensive preparations of every kind necessary in order to adhere to precedent, the House of Lords was supposed not to be sufficiently large for the occasion.—The number of peers, in fact, had been more than doubled since the time it was built.

The Irish House of Peers was considered one of the most beautiful and commodious chambers possible. It combined every appearance of dignity and comfort: the walls were covered with tapestry, representing the battle of the Boyne, and the entire _coup-d’œil_ was grand and interesting; but being, as I have said, considered too small for all the purposes of the trial in question, the House of Commons was made ready in preference.

Whoever had seen the interior of the Irish House of Commons must have admired it as one of the most chaste and classic models of modern architecture. A perfect rotunda, with Ionic pilasters, enclosed a corridor which ran round the interior. The cupola, of immense height, bestowed a magnificence which could rarely be surpassed; whilst a gallery, supported by columns, divided into compartments, and accommodating nearly 700 spectators, commanded an uninterrupted view of the chamber.

This gallery, on every important debate, was filled, not by reporters, but by the superior orders of society—the first rows being generally occupied by ladies of fashion and rank, who diffused a brilliance over, and excited a polite order and chivalrous decorum in that assembly which the British House does not appear very sedulously to cultivate.

This fine chamber was now fitted up in such a way as to give it the most solemn aspect. One compartment of seats in the body of the House was covered with scarlet cloth, and appropriated to the peeresses and their daughters, who ranged themselves according to the table of precedence. The Commons, their families and friends, lined the galleries: the whole house was superbly carpeted, and the speaker’s chair newly adorned for the lord chancellor.—On the whole, it was by far the most impressive and majestic spectacle ever exhibited within the walls of the Irish Parliament.

At length the peers entered, according to their rank, in full dress, and richly robed. Each man took his seat in profound silence; and even the ladies (which was rather extraordinary) were likewise still. The chancellor, bearing a white wand, having taken his chair, the most interesting moment of all was at hand, and its approach really made me shudder.

Sir Chichester Fortescue, king-at-arms, in his party-coloured robe, entered first, carrying the armorial bearings of the accused nobleman emblazoned on his shield: he placed himself on the left of the bar. Next entered Lord Kingston himself, in deep mourning, moving with a slow and melancholy step. His eyes were fixed on the ground; and, walking up to the bar, he was placed next to the king-at-arms, who then held the armorial shield on a level with his lordship’s shoulder.

The supposed executioner then approached, bearing a large hatchet with an immense broad blade. It was painted black except within about two inches of the edge, which was of bright polished steel. Placing himself at the bar on the right of the prisoner, he raised the hatchet about as high as his lordship’s neck, but with the edge averted; and thus he remained during the whole of the trial. The forms, I understood, prescribed that the edge should continue averted until the pronouncing of judgment, when, if it were unfavourable, the blade was instantly to be turned by the executioner _toward_ the prisoner, indicating at once his sentence and his fate. The whole scene was extremely affecting.

I could not reconcile my mind to the thought of such a consummation. I knew the accused party, and had a high regard for him; and hence I felt a very uneasy sensation, inasmuch as I was profoundly ignorant of what would be the termination of the awful scrutiny.

The usual legal ceremonies were now entered on:—the charge was read—the prisoner pleaded not guilty—and the trial proceeded. A proclamation was made (first generally, then name by name,) for the witnesses for the prosecution to come forward. It is not easy to describe the anxiety and suspense excited as each name was called over. The eyes of every body were directed to the bar where the witnesses must enter, and every little movement of the persons who thronged it was held to be intended to make room for some accuser. None, however, appeared—thrice they were called, but in vain: and it was then announced that “no witnesses appearing, to substantiate the charge of murder against Robert, Earl of Kingston, the trial should terminate in the accustomed manner.” The chancellor proceeded to put the question; and every peer, according to his rank, arose and deliberately walking by the chair in which the chancellor was seated, placed his hand as he passed solemnly on his heart, and repeated, “Not guilty, upon my honour!” (The bishops were, very properly, precluded from voting in these criminal cases.) After all had passed, which ceremony occupied an hour, the chancellor rose and declared the opinion of the Peers of Ireland,—“That Robert, Earl of Kingston, was not guilty of the charge against him.” His lordship then broke his wand, descended from his chair, and thus ended the trial—most interesting because it had at once a strong political and constitutional bearing, and affected a nobleman universally beloved. The result was highly satisfactory to every one who had learned the circumstances which led to the fatal event for which the Earl of Kingston was arraigned,—whose conduct, though strictly justifiable neither in law nor morality, might have been adopted by the best of men under similar provocation.

This was the first and last trial by the House of Peers in Ireland after the declaration of Irish independence: and, all other considerations apart, its record remains as a testimonial of the temporary emancipation of Ireland from British trammels.

THE SEVEN BARONETS.

Sir John Stuart Hamilton—Sir Richard Musgrave—Sir Edward Newnham—Sir
Vesey Colclough—Sir Frederick Flood—Sir John Blacquiere—Sir Boyle
Roche, and his curious bulls—Their characters and personal
description—Anecdotes and bon-mots—Anecdote of the Marquess of
Waterford.

Among those parliamentary gentlemen frequently to be found in the coffee-room of the House, were certain baronets, of very singular character, who, until some division called them to vote, passed the intermediate time in high conviviality. Sir John Stuart Hamilton, a man of small fortune and large stature, possessing a most liberal appetite both for solids and fluids—much wit, more humour, and indefatigable cheerfulness,—might be regarded as their leader.

Sir Richard Musgrave, who (except on the abstract topics of politics, religion, martial law, his wife, the pope, the pretender, the Jesuits, Napper Tandy, and the whipping-post,) was generally in his senses, formed, during those intervals, a very entertaining addition to the company: he was extremely full of anecdote (given in rather a rhapsodical vein) about Martin Luther, Tod Jones, Pope Pius, Sir Judkin Fitzgerald, Doctor Troy, &c.

Sir Edward Newnham, member for Dublin county, afforded a whimsical variety by his affectation of early and exclusive transatlantic intelligence. By repeatedly writing letters of congratulation, he had at length extorted a reply from General Washington, which he exhibited upon every occasion, giving it to be understood, by significant nods, that he knew vastly more than he thought proper to communicate to any body.

Sir Vesey Colclough, member for County Wexford, who understood books and wine better than any of the party, had all his days treated money so extremely ill, that it would continue no longer in his service! and the dross (as he termed it) having entirely forsaken him, he _bequeathed_ an immense landed property, during his _life_, to the uses of custodiums, elegits, and judgments, which never fail to place a gentleman’s acres under the especial guardianship of the attorneys. He was father to that excellent man, John Colclough, who was killed at Wexford, and to the present Cæsar Colclough, whose fall might have afforded rather less cause of regret than his brother’s.

Sir Vesey added much to the pleasantry of the party by occasionally forcing on them deep subjects of literature, of which few of his companions could make either head or tail: but to avoid the _imputation_ of ignorance, they often gave the most ludicrous _proofs_ of it on literary subjects, geography, history, and astronomy, with which he eternally bored them.

Sir Frederick Flood, also member for County Wexford, whose exhibitions in the Imperial Parliament have made him tolerably well known in England, was very different in his habits from the last-mentioned baronet;—his love of _the dross_, and spirit of ostentation, never losing their hold throughout every action of his life. He was but a second-rate blunderer in Ireland. The bulls of Sir Boyle Roche (of whom we shall speak hereafter) commonly involved aphorisms of sound sense, while Sir Frederick’s (on the other hand) possessed the qualification of being, in general, pure nonsense.

He was a _pretty_, dapper man, very good-tempered; and had a droll habit, of which he could never effectually break himself (at least in Ireland):—whenever a person at his back whispered or suggested any thing to him while he was speaking in public, without a moment’s reflection he almost always involuntarily repeated the suggestion _literatim_.

Sir Frederick was once making a long speech in the Irish Parliament, lauding the transcendent merits of the Wexford magistracy, on a motion for extending the criminal jurisdiction in that county, to keep down the disaffected. As he was closing a most turgid oration, by moving “that the said magistracy ought to receive some signal mark of the lord lieutenant’s favour,”—John Egan, who was rather mellow, and sitting behind him, jocularly whispered, “and be whipped at the cart’s tail:”—“and be whipped at the cart’s tail!” repeated Sir Frederick unconsciously, amidst peals of the most uncontrollable laughter.—Mr. Egan then rose, and seconded the motion: this was irresistible. Sir Frederick’s achievements in the English House of Commons were quite insipid.

Sir John Blacquiere flew at higher game than the other baronets, though he occasionally fell into the trammels of Sir John Hamilton. Sir John Blacquiere was a little deaf of one ear, for which circumstance he gave a very singular reason:—his seat, when secretary, was the outside one on the treasury bench, next to a gangway; and he said that so many members used to come perpetually to whisper him, and the buzz of importunity was so heavy and continuous,—that before one claimant’s words had got out of his ear, the demand of another forced its way in, till the ear-drum, being overcharged, absolutely burst! which, he said, turned out conveniently enough, as he was then obliged to stuff the organ tight, and tell every gentleman that his physician had directed him not to use _that_ ear at all, and _the other_ as little as possible!

Sir John Stuart Hamilton played him one day, in the corridor of the House of Commons, a trick which was a source of great entertainment to all parties. Joseph Hughes, a country farmer and neighbour of Sir John Stuart Hamilton, who knew nothing of great men, and (in common with many remote farmers of that period) had very seldom been in Dublin, was hard pressed to raise some money to pay the fine on a renewal of a bishop’s lease—his only property.—He came directly to Sir John, who, I believe, had himself drunk the farmer’s spring pretty dry, whilst he could get any thing out of it. As they were standing together in one of the corridors of the Parliament-house, Sir John Blacquiere stopped to say something to his brother baronet:—his star, which he frequently wore on rather shabby coats, struck the farmer’s eye, who had never seen such a thing before; and coupling it with the very black visage of the wearer, and his peculiar appearance altogether, our rustic was induced humbly to ask Sir John Hamilton “who that man was with the silver sign on his coat?”

“Don’t you know him?” cried Sir John; “why, that is a famous Jew money-broker.”

“May-be, please your honour, he could do my little business for me,” responded the honest farmer.

“Trial’s all!” said Sir John.

“I’ll pay well,” observed Joseph.

“That’s precisely what he likes,” replied the baronet.

“Pray, Sir John,” continued the farmer, “what’s those words on his _sign_?” (alluding to the motto on the star.)

“Oh,” answered the other, “they are Latin, ‘_Tria juncta in uno_.’”

“And may I crave the English thereof?” asked the unsuspecting countryman.

“_Three_ in a _bond_,” said Sir John.

“Then I can match him, by J—s!” exclaimed Hughes.

“You’ll be hard set,” cried the malicious baronet; “however, you may try.”

Hughes then approaching Blacquiere, who had removed but a very small space, told him with great civility and a significant nod, that he had a little matter to mention, which he trusted would be agreeable to both parties. Blacquiere drew him aside and desired him to proceed. “To come to the point then, at once,” said Hughes, “the money is not to say a great deal, and I can give you three in a bond—myself and two good men as any in Cavan, along with me. I hope that will answer you. _Three_ in a _bond_! safe good men!”

Sir John Blacquiere, who wanted a supply himself, had the day before sent to a person who had advertised the lending of money; and, on hearing the above harangue, (taking for granted that it resulted from his own application,) he civilly assured Hughes that a bond would be of no use to him! good bills might be negotiated, or securities turned into cash, though at a loss; but _bonds_ would not answer at all.

“I think I can get another man, and that’s one more than your _sign_ requires,” said Hughes.

“I tell you,” repeated Sir John, “_bonds_ will not answer at all, sir!—_bills! bills!_”

“Then it’s fitter,” retorted the incensed farmer, “for you to be after putting your _sign_ there in your pocket, than wearing it to deceive the _Christians_, you damn’d usurer! you _Jew_, you!”

Nobody could be more amused by this _dénouement_ than Blacquiere himself, who told every body he knew, of “Hamilton’s trick upon _the countryman_.”

Sir Richard Musgrave, although he understood _drawing the long bow_ as well as most people, never patronised it in any other individual. Sir John Hamilton did not spare the exercise of this accomplishment in telling a story, one day, in the presence of Sir Richard, who declared his incredulity rather abruptly, as indeed was his constant manner. Sir John was much nettled at the mode in which the other dissented, more particularly as there were some strangers present. He asseverated the truth on his _word_: Sir Richard, however, repeating his disbelief, Sir John Hamilton furiously exclaimed—“You say you don’t believe my word?”

“I _can’t_ believe it,” replied Sir Richard.

“Well, then,” said Sir John, “if you won’t believe my _word_, by G—d I’ll give it you under my _hand_!” clenching at the same moment his great fist.

The witticism raised a general laugh, in which the parties themselves joined, and in a moment all was good-humour. But the company condemned both the offenders—Sir John for _telling_ a lie, and Sir Richard for _not believing_ it—to the payment of two bottles of hock each.

Whoever the following story may be fathered on, Sir John Hamilton was certainly its parent. The Duke of Rutland, at one of his levees, being at a loss (as probably most kings, princes, and viceroys occasionally are) for something to say to every person he was bound in etiquette to notice, remarked to Sir John Hamilton that there was “a prospect of an excellent crop:—the timely rain,” observed the duke, “will bring every thing above ground.”

“God forbid, your Excellency!” exclaimed the courtier.

His excellency stared, whilst Sir John continued, sighing heavily as he spoke:—“yes, God forbid! for I have got _three wives_ under it!”

At one of those large convivial parties which distinguished the table of Major Hobart, when he was secretary in Ireland, among the usual loyal toasts, “The wooden walls of England” being given,—Sir John Hamilton, in his turn, gave “The wooden walls of Ireland!” This toast being quite new to us all, he was asked for an explanation: upon which, filling a bumper, he very gravely stood up, and bowing to the Marquess of Waterford and several country gentlemen, who commanded county regiments, he said—“My lords and gentlemen! I have the pleasure of giving you ‘The wooden walls of Ireland’—_the colonels of militia_!”

So broad but so good-humoured a _jeu d’esprit_, excited great merriment: the _truth_ was forgotten in the jocularity, but the epithet did not perish. I saw only one grave countenance in the room, and that belonged to the late Marquess of Waterford, who was the proudest egotist I ever met with. He had a tremendous squint—the eyes looking _inward_, a disposition which Lavater particularly characterises; and as to the marquess, he was perfectly right: nor was there any thing prepossessing in the residue of his features to atone for this deformity. Nothing can better exemplify his lordship’s opinion of himself and others, than an observation I heard him make at Lord Portarlington’s table. Having occasion for a _superlative_ degree of _comparison_ between two persons, he was at a loss for a climax. At length, however, he luckily hit on one. “That man was—(said the marquess)—he was as superior as—as—as—I am to Lord Ranelagh!”

I will now advert to Sir Boyle Roche, who certainly was, without exception, the most celebrated and entertaining anti-grammarian in the Irish Parliament. I knew him intimately. He was of a very respectable Irish family, and, in point of appearance, a fine, bluff, soldier-like old gentleman. He had numerous good qualities; and having been long in the army, his ideas were full of honour and etiquette—of discipline and bravery. He had a claim to the title of Fermoy, which however he never pursued; and was brother to the famous Tiger Roche, who fought some desperate duel abroad, and was near being hanged for it.[41] Sir Boyle was perfectly well-bred in all his habits; had been appointed gentleman-usher at the Irish Court, and executed the duties of that office to the day of his death with the utmost satisfaction to himself as well as to every one in connexion with him. He was married to the eldest daughter of Sir John Frankland, Bart.; and his lady, who was a _bas bleu_, prematurely injured Sir Boyle’s capacity (it was said) by forcing him to read “Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire,” whereat he was so cruelly puzzled without being in the least amused, that, in his cups, he often stigmatised the great historian as a low-bred fellow, who ought to have been kicked out of company whereever he was, for turning people’s thoughts away from their prayers and their politics, to what the devil himself could make neither head nor tail of!

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Footnote 41:

He regarded swords no more than knitting-needles, and pinked every man
he faced in combat.

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His perpetually bragging that Sir John Frankland had given him his _eldest_ daughter, afforded Curran an opportunity of replying,—“Ay, Sir Boyle, and depend on it, if he had had an _older_ one still, he would have given her to you!” Sir Boyle thought it best to receive the repartee as a compliment, lest it should come to her ladyship’s ears, who, for several years back, had prohibited Sir Boyle from all allusions to chronology.

This baronet had certainly one great advantage over all other bull and blunder makers: he seldom launched a blunder from which some fine aphorism or maxim might not be easily extracted. When a debate arose in the Irish House of Commons on the vote of a grant which was recommended by Sir John Parnell, chancellor of the exchequer, as one not likely to be felt burdensome for many years to come,—it was observed in reply, that the House had no just right to load posterity with a weighty debt for what could in no degree operate to their advantage. Sir Boyle, eager to defend the measures of government, immediately rose, and, in a few words, put forward the most unanswerable argument which human ingenuity could possibly devise. “What, Mr. Speaker!” said he, “and so we are to beggar ourselves for fear of vexing posterity! Now, I would ask the honourable gentleman, and this _still more_ honourable House, why we should put ourselves out of our way to do any thing for _posterity_:—for what has _posterity_ done for _us_?”

Sir Boyle, hearing the roar of laughter which of course followed this sensible blunder, but not being conscious that he had said any thing out of the way, was rather puzzled, and conceived that the House had misunderstood him. He therefore begged leave to explain, as he apprehended that gentlemen had entirely mistaken his words: he assured the House “that by _posterity_ he did not at all mean our _ancestors_, but those who were to come _immediately_ after _them_!” Upon hearing this _explanation_, it was impossible to do any serious business for half an hour.

Sir Boyle Roche was induced by government to fight as hard as possible for the Union:—so he did, and I really believe fancied, by degrees, that he was right. On one occasion, a general titter arose at his florid picture of the happiness which must proceed from this event. “Gentlemen (said Sir Boyle) may titther, and titther, and titther, and may think it a bad measure; but their heads at present are hot, and will so remain till they grow cool again; and so they can’t decide right now; but when the _day of judgment_ comes, _then_ honourable gentlemen will be satisfied at this most excellent Union! Sir, there is no Levitical degrees between nations, and on this occasion I can see neither sin nor shame in _marrying our own sister_!”

He was a determined enemy to the French Revolution, and seldom rose in the House for several years without volunteering some abuse of it.

“Mr. Speaker,” said he, in a mood of this kind, “if we once permitted the villanous French masons to meddle with the buttresses and walls of our ancient constitution, they would never stop nor stay, sir, till they brought the foundation-stones tumbling down about the ears of the nation! There,” continued Sir Boyle, placing his hand earnestly on his heart, his powdered head shaking in unison with his loyal zeal, whilst he described the probable consequences of an invasion of Ireland by the French republicans;—“There, Mr. Speaker! if those Gallican villains should invade us, sir, ’tis on _that very table_, may-be, these honourable members might see their own destinies lying in heaps a-top of one another! Here perhaps, sir, the murderous _marshal-law-men_ (Marseillois) would break in, cut us into joints, and throw our bleeding heads upon that table, to stare us in the face!”

Sir Boyle, on another occasion, was arguing for the Habeas Corpus Suspension Bill in Ireland:—“It would surely be better, Mr. Speaker,” said he, “to give up not only a _part_, but, if necessary, even the _whole_, of our constitution, to preserve _the remainder_!”

This baronet having been one of the Irish Parliamentary curiosities before the Union, I have only exemplified his _mode_ of blundering, as many ridiculous sayings have been attributed to him. He blundered certainly more than any public speaker in Ireland; but his bulls were rather logical perversions, and had some strong point in most of them.

The English people consider a bull as nothing more than a vulgar nonsensical expression: but Irish blunders are frequently humorous hyperboles or _oxymorons_,[42] and present very often the most energetic mode of expressing the speaker’s meaning.

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Footnote 42:

That figure of rhetoric

“—— where contradictions meet,
And jarring epithets and subjects greet.”

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On the motion to expel Lord Edward Fitzgerald from the House of Commons, for hasty disrespectful expressions regarding the House and the Lord Lieutenant, it was observable that the motion was violently supported by the younger men then in Parliament; including the late Marquess of Ormonde, &c. The marquess was, indeed, one of the strongest supporters of a measure, the object of which was to disgrace a young nobleman, his own equal: and it was likewise worthy of remark that the motion was resisted by the steadiest and oldest members of the House, and by them finally rejected.

Sir Boyle Roche laboured hard and successfully for Lord Edward, who was eventually required to make an apology: it was not, however, considered sufficiently ample or repentant. Sir Boyle was at his wits’ end, and at length produced a natural syllogism, which, by putting the House in good-humour, did more than a host of reasoners could have achieved. “Mr. Speaker,” said the baronet, “I think the noble young man has no business to make any apology.—He is a gentleman, and none such should be asked to make an _apology_, because no _gentleman_ could _mean_ to _give offence_!”