Personal Sketches of His Own Times, Vol. 1 (of 3)
A general roar of laughter ensued. I gave my honour, as required, I think with more good-will than Toler; and would willingly have forgotten the affair altogether, which he apparently never did. I only hope that, when his memory declines, (which time cannot be very far off now,) our quarrel will be the first circumstance that slips it. If I could forget any thing, I should long ago have lost all recollection thereof.
Lord Norbury had more readiness of repartee than any man I ever knew who possessed neither classical wit nor genuine sentiment to make it valuable. But he had a fling at every thing; and, failing in one attempt, made another – sure of carrying his point before he relinquished his efforts. His extreme good-temper was a great advantage. The present Lord Redesdale was much (though unintentionally) annoyed by Lord Norbury, at one of the first dinners he gave (as lord chancellor of Ireland) to the judges and king’s counsel. Having heard that the members of the Irish bar (of whom he was then quite ignorant) were considered extremely witty, and being desirous, if possible, to adapt himself to their habits, his lordship had obviously got together some of his best bar-remarks (for of wit he was totally guiltless, if not inapprehensive) to repeat to his company, as occasion might offer; and if he could not be humorous, determined at least to be entertaining.
The first of his lordship’s observations after dinner, was the telling us that he had been a Welsh judge, and had found great difficulty in pronouncing the double consonants which occur, as in the instance of Lloyd, in Welsh proper names. “After much trial,” continued his lordship, “I found that the difficulty was mastered by moving the tongue alternately from one dog-tooth to the other.”
Toler seemed quite delighted with this discovery; and requested to know his lordship’s dentist, as he had lost one of his dog-teeth, and would, before he went to North Wales, which he intended to do during the long vacation, get another in place of it. This went off flatly enough – no laugh being gained on either side.
Lord Redesdale’s next remark was, – that when he was a lad, cock-fighting was the fashion; and that both ladies and gentlemen went full-dressed to the cock-pit, the ladies being in hoops.
“I see now, my lord,” said Toler, “it was then that the term cock-a-hoop was invented!”
A general laugh now burst forth, which rather discomposed the learned chancellor. He sat for awhile silent; until skaiting became a subject of conversation, when his lordship rallied, and with an air of triumph said, that in his boyhood all danger was avoided; for, before they began to skait, they always put blown bladders under their arms; and so, if the ice happened to break, they were buoyant and safe.
“Ay, my lord;” said Toler, “that’s what we call blatherum-skate in Ireland.”58
His lordship did not understand the sort of thing at all; and (though extremely courteous) seemed to wish us all at our respective homes. Having failed with Toler, in order to say a civil thing or two, he addressed himself to Mr. Garrat O’Farrell, a jolly barrister, who always carried a parcel of coarse national humour about with him; a broad, squat, ruddy-faced fellow, with a great aquiline nose and a humorous Irish eye. Independent in mind and property, he generally said whatever came uppermost. – “Mr. Garrat O’Farrell,” said the chancellor solemnly, “I believe your name and family are very respectable and numerous in County Wicklow. I think I was introduced to several of them during my late tour there.”
“Yes, my lord,” said O’Farrell, “we were very numerous; but so many of us have been lately hanged for sheep-stealing, that the name is getting rather scarce in that county!”
This was quite conclusive: his lordship said no more; and (so far as respect for a new chancellor admitted) we got into our own line of conversation, without his assistance. His lordship, by degrees, began to understand some jokes a few minutes after they were uttered. An occasional smile discovered his enlightenment; and, at the breaking up, I really think his impression was, that we were a pleasant, though not very comprehensible race, possessing at a dinner-table much more good-fellowship than special-pleading; and that he would have a good many of his old notions to get rid of before he could completely cotton to so dissimilar a body: – but he was extremely polite. Chief Justice Downs, and a few more of our high, cold sticklers for “decorum,” were quite uneasy at this skirmishing: yet I doubt if Lord Redesdale liked them at all the better before the end of the entertainment.
I never met a cold-blooded ostentatious man of office, whom I did not feel pleasure in mortifying: an affectation of sang-froid is necessary neither to true dignity nor importance; on the contrary, it generally betrays the absence of both, and of many amiable qualities into the bargain.
I never saw Lord Redesdale more puzzled than at one of Plunkett’s best jeux d’esprits. A cause was argued in Chancery, wherein the plaintiff prayed that the defendant should be restrained from suing him on certain bills of exchange, as they were nothing but kites. – “Kites!” exclaimed Lord Redesdale: – “Kites, Mr. Plunkett! Kites never could amount to the value of those securities! I don’t understand this statement at all, Mr. Plunkett.”
“It is not to be expected that you should, my lord,” answered Plunkett: “in England and in Ireland, kites are quite different things. In England, the wind raises the kites; but in Ireland, the kites raise the wind!”
“I do not feel any way better informed yet, Mr. Plunkett,” said the matter-of-fact chancellor.
“Well, my lord, I’ll explain the thing without mentioning those birds of prey:” – and therewith he elucidated the difficulty.
Lord Redesdale never could pronounce the name of Mr. Colclough (a suitor in the Chancery court). It was extremely amusing to hear how he laboured to get it off his tongue, but quite in vain! Callcloff was his nearest effort. I often wished I could recommend him to try his dog-teeth. – His lordship was considered by the Irish bar a very good lawyer. They punned on his title, as he had singularly assumed one so apropos to his habits: they pronounced it Reads-a-deal. But his lordship’s extraordinary passion for talking, added Talks-a-deal to his appellation. He was told of both sobriquets, but did not understand punning; and perhaps he was right.
On the discussion of the Catholic bill, in 1792, Lord Westmoreland, then lord lieutenant of Ireland, certainly did not approve of the precipitate measures wished for by his secretary, Major Hobart (afterwards Earl of Buckinghamshire). I had the honour of distinctly knowing the sentiments of both, and clearly saw the shades of difference which existed between them, but which, of course, I had not the presumption to notice. I felt convinced that both were my friends, and was desirous, if possible, to run counter to neither.
I never had disputed the political right of the Catholics theoretically: but I had been bred up amongst Williamites, and had imbibed (without very well understanding their bearing) strong Protestant principles; and hence I deemed it wisest neither to speak nor vote upon the subject at that period; and, in fact, I never did.
The Irish Catholics had conceived a wonderfully high opinion of Mr. Edmund Burke’s assistance and abilities. – Because he was a clever man himself, they conceived his son must needs be so too; and a deputation was sent over to induce young Mr. Burke to come to Ireland, for the purpose of superintending the progress of their bills of emancipation in the Irish Parliament; and, to bear his expenses, a sum of 2000l. was voted. Mr. Keogh, of Dublin, a very sensible man, who had retired from trade, was extremely active upon this occasion.
The bills were introduced, and resisted: a petition had been prepared by Burke; but being considered neither well-timed nor well-worded, certain even of the warmest Catholic supporters declined to present it.
Young Burke, either totally ignorant of parliamentary rules, or supposing that in a disturbed country like Ireland they would be dispensed with (especially in favour of a son of the great Burke), determined he would present the petition himself; – not at the bar, but in the body of the House! Accordingly, he descended from the gallery, walked into the body of the House with a long roll of parchment under his arm, and had arrived near the Treasury-bench, when a general cry of “Privilege! – A stranger in the House!” arose from all quarters, and checked the progress of the intruder: but when the Speaker, in his loud and dignified tone, called out “Serjeant-at-arms, do your duty!” it seemed to echo like thunder in Burke’s ears; he felt the awkwardness of his situation, and ran towards the bar. Here he was met by the serjeant-at-arms with a drawn sword, – retracing his steps, he was stopped by the clerk; and the serjeant gaining on him, with a feeling of trepidation he commenced actual flight! The door-keepers at the corridor now joined in pursuit; but at length, after an excellent chase, (the members all keeping their seats,) he forced through the enemy behind the Speaker’s chair, and escaped! no doubt, to his great satisfaction. Strong measures were immediately proposed: messengers despatched in all quarters to arrest him: very few knew who he was; when Lord Norbury, (with that vivacious promptness which he always possessed,) on its being observed that no such transaction had ever occurred before, exclaimed, “Yes – I found the same incident some few days back in the cross-readings of the columns of a newspaper: – ‘Yesterday a petition was presented to the House of Commons – it fortunately missed fire, and the villain ran off!’”
It was impossible to withstand this sally, which put the House in a moment into good humour. Burke returned to England unsuccessful, and the matter dropped.
It being observed by some member that the serjeant-at-arms should have stopped the man at the back-door, Sir Boyle Roche very justly asked the honourable gentleman – “How could the serjeant-at-arms stop him in the rear, whilst he was catching him in the front?”
I read some time back in the English newspapers an anecdote of Lord Norbury’s having appeared on the bench in a masquerade dress! As I was myself present at that occurrence, it is only just to his lordship to state the facts, whence it will appear that it was totally a mistake – so much so, indeed, that his lordship did not seem to be conscious of his habiliments even whilst every person in court was staring with astonishment.
Some time previously, Lady Castlereagh had given a very splendid masquerade, at which I saw the chief justice in the dress, and character of Hawthorn, in “Love in a Village;” and well did he enact that part. The dress was a green tabinet, with mother-of-pearl buttons, striped yellow-and-black waistcoat, and buff breeches; and was altogether cool and light.
On going the next circuit, (the weather being excessively sultry, and his lordship having a great press of sentences to pass on rebels, &c. at Carlow,) he put on, under his robes, the lightest vestments in his lordship’s wardrobe. Now, be it remembered, that the use of the said masquerade-dress was a dead secret except to the robes that covered it; and neither the passing nor future generations would ever have heard a word of the green jacket, if the said robes had kept themselves close, as the chief justice had carefully provided before the sounding of the trumpet.
The warmth of the day, however, and the variety of appropriate addresses necessary to be framed for so many convicted criminals, might be expected to take away a certain quantity of any man’s precaution; and, as a chief justice is but a man, Lord Norbury fell into the snare! and, feeling the heat insufferable, (which the twisting his wig sideways did not relieve,) he involuntarily first turned up the sleeves of his robe, then loosened the zone round his waist: the robe being now free from all restraint, thought it had a right to steal away from the green jacket; and thus the unconscious chief justice, the representative of the King, “stood confessed” to the auditory in the court-house as representative of a very different character from that of his Majesty! But it was an accident that might, without culpability, have happened even to an archbishop! I myself once saw a bishop play the fiddle, at one of the concerts of the first Lady Westmoreland, in Dublin Castle; and it was not even pretended that he did it by accident.
It is only justice to Lord Norbury to add, that I have repeatedly seen him do things involuntarily, which it would have been totally impossible for him to have done, if conscious, at the time, of his own actions. Though acute in general, he occasionally thought of so many things at once, that he lost all recollection whether of place or circumstance.59
HENRY GRATTAN
Mr. Grattan in his sedan-chair – The “point of honour” – Mr. Egan’s gift of second-sight – The guillotine and executioner – Colonel Burr, vice-president of the United States, and Mr. Randolph – Mr. Grattan in masquerade – Death of that illustrious patriot, and strictures on his interment in Westminster Abbey – Letter from the author to his son, Henry Grattan, Esq.
Many anecdotes occur to me of my late respected friend, Mr. Grattan. There are but few, however, which can throw fresh light upon a character so long and so generally known, and which exhibited unvarying excellence.
I never met any man who possessed the genuine elements of courage in a higher degree than Mr. Grattan, – in whom dwelt a spirit of mild, yet impetuous bravery, which totally banished all apprehensions of danger.
I have already given some account of my contest for Dublin city, and of the circumstances connecting my illustrious friend therewith. On the evening of the first day of polling, whilst I sat at dinner, a servant announced that a gentleman in a sedan-chair was at the door and wished to speak to me. I immediately went out, and finding it was Grattan, begged him to enter the house; upon which he desired his chair to be taken into the hall. His manner was so agitated and mysterious, that I felt quite alarmed, and feared something untoward had happened to him. We went into a parlour, where, without any introductory observation, he exclaimed – “Barrington, I must have a shot at that r – l!”
“Heavens!” said I, “what r – l?”
“There is but one such!” cried he: – “Giffard!”
“My dear Grattan,” I replied, “you cannot be serious: – there is no ground for a challenge on your part: if he survives your words, no bullet could have effect upon him.”
“Ah, that won’t do, Barrington!” exclaimed Grattan: “he objected to my voting for you, because, he said, I was a ‘discarded corporator.’”
“That was not intended as personal,” said I; “and even had he gained his point, would it not be an honour for you to be removed from such a corporation?”
“Barrington,” rejoined he, “it’s of no use! – I must have a shot at the man: I can’t sleep unless you go to him for me.”
This I peremptorily refused; arguing and reasoning with him again and again: he still continuing obstinate, I begged him to go and ask the advice of Mr. George Ponsonby.
“Oh no,” replied he, “Ponsonby is a wise man; – wiser than either of us: in fact, he is sometimes too wise and too peaceable. You must go to Giffard: – perhaps it may not be wise, but I know you prefer your friend’s honour to his safety. – Come, now, get your hat, Barrington!”
Upward of an hour elapsed before I could even half convince him that he was wrong; but at length I hit on the only argument that could make any impression on him, and extracted a promise that he would let the affair drop: – “Grattan,” said I, “recollect matters, and have consideration for me.” He started: – “Yes,” continued I, “you know it was solely on my account that you exposed yourself to any insult; and do you think I could remain an idle spectator, in a conflict whereof I was the cause? – If you do not promise me that you will go ‘no further in this business,’ I shall instantly make the thing personal with Giffard myself.”
For a moment he was silent, then smiling – “Coriolanus,” said he, “replied to his parent – ‘Mother! you have conquered!’ – I will go no further.”
“I humbly thank you,” said I, “for making an old woman of me!” – He then went away, as I conceived, tolerably satisfied. – He had come thus privately (for the curtains were drawn round his chair) to avoid suspicion being excited of his intentions, and the authorities consequently interfering to prevent the combat. My surprise may be imagined, when, at six o’clock the next morning, I was roused by the same announcement of a gentleman in a chair! I knew it must be Grattan, and directed him to be brought in.
I had now the same game to play over again. He said he had not slept a wink all night, from thinking about “that Giffard;” and that he “must have a shot at him.” Another course now suggested itself to me, and I told him I had, on consideration, determined, whether right or wrong, that, if he persevered, I would wait upon the sheriff and get him bound over to keep the peace. He was not pleased at this, but had no option: he strode about the room, taking long steps and frequently raising himself up, as was his custom whenever agitated. – I was peremptory; and ultimately he agreed not to revive the subject during the election.
Mr. Egan (one of the roughest-looking persons possible), being at one time a supporter of government, made virulent philippics, in the Irish House of Commons, against the French Revolution. His figure was coarse and bloated, and his dress not over-elegant withal; in fact, he had by no means the look of a member of Parliament.
One evening he fell foul of a speech of Grattan’s; and among other absurdities, said in his paroxysm, that the right honourable gentleman’s speech had a tendency to introduce the guillotine into the very body of the House: indeed, he almost thought he could already perceive it before him! – (“Hear him! hear him!” echoed from Sir Boyle Roche.) Grattan good-humouredly replied, that the honourable member must have a vastly sharper sight than he had. He certainly could see no such thing: “but though,” added Grattan, looking with his glass toward Egan, “I may not see the guillotine, yet methinks I can perceive the executioner!”
“Order! order!” shouted Sir Boyle Roche: “Disorder! disorder!” cried Curran: – a general laugh prevented any further observation.
Colonel Burr, who had been vice-president of America, and probably would have been the next president, but for his unfortunate duel with General Hamilton, came over to England, and was made known to me by Mr. Randolph, of Virginia, a gentleman with whom I was very intimate. He requested I would introduce him to Mr. Grattan, whom he was excessively anxious to see. Colonel Burr was not a man of prepossessing appearance – rough-featured, and neither dressy nor polished – but a well-informed, sensible man; and though not a particularly agreeable, yet an instructive companion.60
People in general form extravagant anticipations regarding eminent persons. The idea of a great orator and Irish chief carried with it, naturally enough, corresponding notions of physical powers, elegance, vigour, and dignity. Such was Colonel Burr’s mistake, I believe, about Mr. Grattan, and I took care not to undeceive him.
We went to my friend’s house, who was to leave London next day. I announced that Colonel Burr (from America), Mr. Randolph, and myself, wished to pay our respects; and the servant informed us that his master would receive us in a short time, but was at the moment much occupied on business of consequence. Burr’s expectations were of course on the alert! Randolph also was anxious to be presented to the great Grattan; and both impatient for the entrance of this Demosthenes. At length the door opened, and in hopped a small bent figure, – meagre, yellow, and ordinary; one slipper and one shoe; his breeches’ knees loose; his cravat hanging down; his shirt and coat-sleeves tucked up high, and an old hat upon his head.
This apparition saluted the strangers very courteously: – asked (without any introduction) how long they had been in England, and immediately proceeded to make inquiries about the late General Washington and the revolutionary war. My companions looked at each other: – their replies were costive, and they seemed quite impatient to see Mr. Grattan! I could scarcely contain myself; but determined to let my eccentric, unconscious countryman take his course: he appeared quite delighted to see his visitors, and was the most inquisitive person in the world. Randolph was far the tallest, and most dignified-looking man of the two, gray-haired and well-dressed: Grattan, therefore, took him for the late vice-president, and addressed him accordingly. Randolph at length begged to know if they could shortly have the honour of seeing Mr. Grattan! – Upon which, our host (not doubting but they knew him) conceived it must be his son James for whom they inquired, and said, he believed he had that moment wandered out somewhere to amuse himself!
This completely disconcerted the Americans: they looked at each other, then at me, and were about to make their bow and their exit, when I thought it high time to explain; and, taking Colonel Burr and Mr. Randolph respectively by the hand, introduced them to the Right Honourable Henry Grattan.
I never saw people stare so, or more embarrassed! Grattan himself now perceiving the cause, heartily joined in my merriment: – he pulled down his shirt-sleeves, pulled up his stockings, and, in his own irresistible way, apologised for the outré figure he cut, assuring them he had totally overlooked his toilet, in anxiety not to keep them waiting; that he was returning to Ireland next morning, and had been busily packing up his books and papers in a closet full of dust and cobwebs! This circumstance rendered the interview more interesting: the subject of colonial independence recommenced, and Grattan shone. The Americans were charmed with their reception; and, after a protracted visit, retired highly gratified: whilst Grattan returned again to his books and cobwebs, regretting very heartily that his immediate departure prevented him from having the pleasure of their further society.
Nobody lamented more than myself the loss of this distinguished man and true patriot, who, as every one knows, breathed his last in the British metropolis, after a long and painful illness; and the public papers soon after announced, to my astonishment and chagrin, the fact of preparations being on foot for his interment in Westminster Abbey! I say, to my astonishment and chagrin; because it was sufficiently plain that this affected mark of respect was only meant to restrain the honest enthusiasm which might have attended his funeral obsequies in his own country.
The subtle minister then ruling the councils of Britain, knew full well that vanity is the falsest guide of human judgment, and therefore held out that Westminster Abbey (the indiscriminate dormitory of generals and spies – of ministers, admirals, and poets,) was the most honourable resting-place for the remains of an Irish patriot. This lure was successful; and, accordingly, he who had made British ministers tremble in the cabinet – whose forbearance they had propitiated by a tender of the king’s best palace in Ireland61– and whose fame they had, nevertheless, endeavoured to destroy, and whose principles they had calumniated, – was escorted to the grave by the most decided of his enemies, and (as if in mockery of his country and himself) inhumed among the inveterate foes of Ireland and of Grattan! It is mean to say that Lord Castlereagh had latterly changed his opinion, and become civil to his illustrious opponent: – so much the worse! he thereby confessed that, in 1797, and the two following years, he had laboured to destroy an innocent man and to disgrace an Irish patriot, who, during a great portion of that period, lay on the bed of sickness.
