Quarrel between Lord Norbury and the author in the House of
Commons—Curran’s bon-mot—Dinner at Lord Redesdale’s, who attempts
being agreeable, but is annoyed by Lord Norbury (then Mr.
Toler)—Counsellor O’Farrell—Mr. (now Lord) Plunkett and Lord
Redesdale—Lord Norbury and young Burke—His lordship presides at Carlow
assizes in the character of _Hawthorn_.
Lord Norbury (then Mr. Toler) went circuit as _judge_ the first circuit
I went as _barrister_. He continued many years my friend, as warmly as
he possibly could be the friend of any one, (he had been a sporting
companion of my uncle, Harry French,) and I thought he was in earnest.
One evening, however, coming hot with the Tuscan grape from Lord Clare’s
(at that time my proclaimed enemy), he attacked me with an after-dinner
volubility, which hurt and roused me very much. I kept indifferent
bounds myself: but he was generally so very good-tempered, that I really
felt a repugnance to indulge him with as tart a reply as a stranger
would have received, and simply observed, that “I should only just give
him that character which developed itself by his versatility—namely,
that _he had a hand for every man, and a heart for nobody_!” I did not
say this in an incensed tone, though I fear the sarcasm has stuck to him
from that day to this. He returned a _very_ warm answer, gave me a wink,
and made his exit:—of course I followed. The serjeant-at-arms was
instantly sent by the Speaker to pursue us with his attendants, and to
bring both refractory members back to the House. Toler was caught by the
skirts of his coat fastening in a door, and they laid hold of him just
as the skirts were torn completely off. I was overtaken (while running
away) in Nassau-street, and, as I resisted, was brought like a sack on a
man’s shoulders, to the admiration of the mob, and thrown down in the
body of the House. The Speaker told us we must give our honours
forthwith that the matter should proceed no further:—Toler got up to
defend himself; but as he then had no skirts to his coat, made a most
ludicrous figure; and Curran put a finishing-stroke to the comicality of
the scene, by gravely saying, that it was the most unparalleled insult
ever offered to the House! as it appeared that one honourable member had
_trimmed_ another honourable member’s _jacket_ within these walls, and
nearly within view of the Speaker.
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.”[61]
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Footnote 61:
An Irish vulgar idiom for “_nonsense_.”
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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 2000_l._ 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.[62]
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Footnote 62:
His lordship purchased from the legatee of the parliamentary trustee
of my family estate, a small portion of it in the Queens’ county, for,
I believe, 40,000_l._ I have taken steps to render all those sales
subjects of equity inquiry—the trustee having bought it up himself,
after some transfers—I unfortunately assented to the Act of Parliament
which left 8000_l._ a year at the mercy of trustees—_Dieu et mon
droit!_
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