Observations on the law of libel, particularly in Ireland—“Hoy’s
Mercury”—Messrs. Van Trump and Epaphroditus Dodridge—Former leniency
regarding cases of libel contrasted with recent severity—Lord Clonmel
and the Irish bar—Mr. Magee, of the “Dublin Evening Post”—Festivities
on “Fiat Hill”—Theophilus Swift and his two sons—His duel with the
Duke of Richmond—The “Monster!”—Swift libels the Fellows of Dublin
University—His curious trial—Contrast between the English and Irish
bars—Mr. James Fitzgerald—Swift is found guilty, and sentenced to
Newgate—Dr. Burrows, one of the Fellows, afterward libels Mr. Swift,
and is convicted—Both confined in the same apartment at Newgate.
In the early part of my life, the Irish press, though supposed to be
under due restraint, was in fact quite uncontrolled. From the time of
Dean Swift, and Draper’s Letters, its freedom had increased at intervals
not only as to public but private subjects. This was attributable to
several curious causes, which combined to render the law of libel,
although stronger in theory, vastly feebler in practice than at the
present day; and whoever takes the trouble of looking into the Irish
newspapers about the commencement of the American revolution, and to
1782, will find therein some of the boldest writing and ablest _libels_
in the English language. Junius was the pivot on which the liberty of
the press at one moment vibrated: liberty was triumphant; but if that
precedent were to prevail to the same extent, it achieved too much.
The law of libel in England, however railed at, appears to me upon the
freest footing that private or public security can possibly admit. The
press is not encumbered by any _previous_ restraints. Any man may write,
print, and publish whatever he pleases; and none but his own peers and
equals, in two distinct capacities, can declare his culpability, or
enable the law to punish him as a criminal for a breach of it (this
excepts the practice of informations, often necessary). I cannot
conceive what greater liberty or protection the press can require, or
ought to enjoy. If a man voluntarily commits an offence against the law
of libel with his eyes open, it is only fair that he should abide by the
statute that punishes him for doing so. Despotic governments employ a
previous censorship, in order to cloak their crimes and establish their
tyranny. England, on the other hand, appoints independent judges and
sworn jurors to defend her liberties; and hence is confirmed to the
press a wholesome latitude of full and fair discussion on every public
man and measure.
The law of libel in Ireland was formerly very loose and badly
understood, and the courts there had no particular propensity for
multiplying legal difficulties on ticklish subjects.
The judges were then dependant; a circumstance which might have
partially accounted for such causes being less frequent than in later
times: but another reason, more extensively operating, was, that in
those days men who were libelled generally took the law into their own
hands, and eased the King’s Bench of great trouble by the substitution
of a small-sword for an information, or a case of pistols for a
judgment;—and these same articles certainly formed a greater check upon
the propagation of libels than the twelve judges and thirty-six jurors,
altogether, at the present day; and gave rise to a code of laws very
different from those we call municipal. A third consideration is, that
scolding-matches and disputes among soldiers were then never made
matters of legal inquiry. Military officers are now, by statute,[69]
held unfit to remain such _if_ they _fight_ one another, whilst formerly
they were thought unfit to remain in the army if they did _not_:
formerly, they were bound to fight in person; now, they can fight by
proxy, and in Ireland may hire champions to contest the matter for them
every day in the week, (Sunday excepted,) and so decide their quarrels
without the least danger or one drop of bloodshed. A few able lawyers,
armed with paper and parchment, will fight for them all day long, and,
if necessary, all night likewise; and that, probably, for only as much
recompense as may be sufficient to provide a handsome entertainment to
some of the spectators and pioneer attorneys, who are generally
bottle-holders on these occasions.
-----
Footnote 69:
See the Mutiny Act.
-----
Another curious anomaly is become obvious. If _lawyers_ now refuse to
pistol each other, they may be scouted out of society as cowards, though
duelling is _against_ the _law_! but if military officers take a shot at
each other, they may be dismissed from the army, though fighting is the
essence and object of their profession: so that a civilian, by the new
lights of society, changes places with the soldier;—the soldier is bound
to be peaceable, and the civilian is forced to be pugnacious—_cedent
arma togæ_. It is curious to conjecture what our next metamorphosis may
be!
The first publication which gave rise (so far as I can remember) to
decided measures for restraining the Irish press, was a newspaper called
“Hoy’s Mercury,” published above fifty years ago by Mr. Peter Hoy, a
printer, in Parliament-street, whom I saw some time since in his shop,
on Ormond Quay, in good health, and who voted for me on the Dublin
election of 1803.
In this newspaper Mr. Hoy brought forward two fictitious characters—one
called Van Trump, the other Epaphroditus Dodridge. These he represented
as standing together in one of the most public promenades of the Irish
capital; and the one, on describing the appearance, features, and dress
of each passer-by, and asking his companion—who that was?—received, in
reply, a full account of the individual, to such a degree of accuracy as
to leave no doubt respecting identity—particularly in a place so
contracted as (comparatively speaking) Dublin then was. In this way as
much libellous matter was disseminated as would now send a publisher to
gaol for half his life; and the affair was so warmly and generally taken
up, that the lawyers were set to work, Peter Hoy sadly terrified, and
Van Trump and Epaphroditus Dodridge banished from that worthy person’s
newspaper.
But the most remarkable observation is, that so soon as the Irish judges
were, in 1782, made by statute independent of the crown, the law of
libel became more strictly construed, and libellers more severely
punished. This can only be accounted for by supposing that, while
dependent, the judges felt that any peculiar rigour might be attributed,
in certain instances, less to their justice than to their policy; and,
being thus sensitive (especially in regard to crown cases), they were
cautious of pushing the enactments to their full scope. After the
provision which rendered them independent of the ruling powers, this
delicacy became needless:—but, nevertheless, a candid judge will always
bear in mind, that austerity is no necessary attribute of justice, which
is always more efficient in its operation when tempered with mercy. The
unsalutary harshness of our penal code has become notorious. True, it is
not acted up to; and this is only another modification of the evil,
since it tempts almost every culprit to anticipate his own escape. On
the continent it is different. There, the punishment which the law
provides is _certainly_ inflicted: and the consequence is, that in
France there is not above _one_ capital conviction to any _twenty_ in
England.
The late Lord Clonmel’s[70] heart was nearly broken by vexations
connected with his public functions. He had been in the habit of holding
parties to excessive bail in libel cases on his own fiat, which method
of proceeding was at length regularly challenged and brought forward;
and, the matter being discussed with asperity in parliament, his
lordship was restrained from pursuing such courses for the future.
-----
Footnote 70:
His lordship’s only son (married to a daughter of the Earl of Warwick)
is now a total absentee, and exhibits another lamentable proof, that
the children even of men who rose to wealth and title by the favours
of the Irish people feel disgusted, and renounce for ever that country
to which they are indebted for their bread and their elevation!
-----
He had in the Court of King’s Bench, about 1789, used rough language
toward Mr. Hackett, a gentleman of the bar, the members of which
profession at that time considered themselves as all assailed in the
person of a brother barrister. A general meeting was therefore called by
the father of the bar; a severe condemnation of his lordship’s conduct
voted, with only one dissentient voice; and an unprecedented resolution
entered into, that “until his lordship publicly apologised, no barrister
would either take a brief, appear in the King’s Bench, or sign any
pleadings for that court.”
This experiment was actually tried:—the judges sat, but no counsel
appeared; no cause was prepared; the attorneys all vanished, and their
lordships had the court to themselves. There was no alternative; and
next day Lord Clonmel published a very ample apology, by advertisement
in the newspapers, and, with excellent address, made it appear as if
written on the evening of the offence, and therefore voluntary.[71]
-----
Footnote 71:
An occurrence somewhat of the same nature took place at no very great
distance of time, at Maryborough assizes, between Mr. Daley, a judge
of the Irish Court of King’s Bench, and Mr. W. Johnson, now judge of
the Common Pleas.
Mr. Daley spoke of committing Mr. Johnson for being rude to him; but,
unfortunately, he committed himself! A meeting was called, at which I
was requested to attend; but I declined, and was afterward informed
that my refusal had (very unjustly) given offence to _both_ parties.
The fact is, that, entertaining no very high opinion of the
placability of either, I did not choose to interfere, and so unluckily
replied that “they might _fight dog_, _fight bear_,—I would give no
opinion about the matter.”
One of the few things I ever forgot is, the way in which that affair
terminated:—it made little impression on me at the time, and so my
memory rejected it.
-----
This nobleman had built a beautiful house (which he called Neptune) near
Dublin, and walled in a deer-park to operate medicinally, by inducing
him to use more riding exercise than he otherwise would take. Mr. Magee,
printer of the Dublin Evening Post (who was what they call a little
cracked, but very acute), one of the men whom his lordship had held to
excessive bail, had never forgiven it, and purchased a plot of ground
under my lord’s windows, which he called “_Fiat-hill_:” there he
entertained the populace of Dublin, once a week, with various droll
exhibitions and sports:—such, for instance, as asses dressed up with
wigs and scarlet robes; dancing dogs, in gowns and wigs, as barristers;
soaped pigs, &c. These assemblies, although productive of the greatest
annoyance to his lordship, were not sufficiently riotous to be termed a
public nuisance, being solely confined to Magee’s own field, which his
lordship had unfortunately omitted to purchase when he built his house.
The earl, however, expected at length to be clear of his tormentor’s
feats—at least for awhile; as Magee was found guilty on a charge of
libel, and Lord Clonmel would have no qualms of conscience in giving
_justice_ full scope by keeping him under the eye of the marshal, and
consequently an absentee from “Fiat-hill,” for a good space of time.
Magee was brought up for judgment, and pleaded himself, in mitigation,
that he was ignorant of the publication, not having been in Dublin when
the libel appeared; which fact, he added, Lord Clonmel well knew. He had
been, indeed, entertaining the citizens under the earl’s windows, and
saw his lordship peeping out from the side of one of them the whole of
that day; and the next morning he had overtaken his lordship riding into
town. “And by the same token,” continued Magee, “your lordship was
riding _cheek by jowl_ with your own brother, Matthias Scott, the
tallow-chandler,[72] from Waterford, and audibly discussing the price of
fat, at the very moment I passed you.”
-----
Footnote 72:
Lord Clonmel and Matthias Scott vied with each other which had the
largest and most hanging pair of cheeks—vulgarly called _jowls_. His
lordship’s chin was a treble one, whilst Matthias’s was but
doubled;—but then it was broader and hung deeper than his brother’s.
-----
There was no standing this:—a general laugh was inevitable; and his
lordship, with that address for which he was so remarkable, (affecting
to commune a moment with his brother judges) said,—“it was obvious, from
the poor man’s manner, that he was not just then in a state to receive
definitive judgment; that the paroxysm should be permitted to subside
before any sentence could be properly pronounced. For the present,
therefore, he should only be given into the care of the marshal, till it
was ascertained how far the state of his intellect should regulate the
court in pronouncing its judgment.” The marshal saw the crisis, and
hurried away Magee before he had further opportunity of incensing the
chief justice.
Theophilus Swift, who, though an Irishman, practised at the English bar,
gave rise to one of the most curious libel cases that ever occurred in
Ireland, and which involved a point of very great interest and
importance.
Theophilus had two sons. In point of figure, temper, disposition, and
propensities, no two brothers in the whole kingdom were so dissimilar.
Dean Swift, the elder, was tall, thin, and gentlemanly, but withal an
unqualified reformer and revolutionist: the second, Edmond, was broad,
squat, rough, and as fanatical an ultra-royalist as the king’s dominions
afforded. Both were clever men in their way.
The father was a free-thinker in every respect;—fond of his sons,
although materially different from either, but agreeing with the younger
in being a professed and extravagant loyalist. He was bald-headed, pale,
slender, and active—with gray eyes, and a considerable squint: an
excellent classic scholar, and versed likewise in modern literature and
belles lettres. In short, Theophilus Swift laid claim to the title of a
sincere, kind-hearted man; but was, at the same time, the most visionary
of created beings. He saw every thing whimsically—many things
erroneously—and nothing like another person. Eternally in motion,—either
talking, writing, fighting, or whatever occupation came uppermost, he
never remained idle one second while awake, and I really believe was
busily employed even in his slumbers.
His sons, of course, adopted entirely different pursuits; and, though
affectionate brothers, _agreed_ in nothing save a love for each other
and attachment to their father. They were both writers, and good ones;
both speakers, and bad ones.
Military etiquette was formerly very conspicuous on some occasions. I
well recollect when a man bearing the king’s commission was considered
as bound to fight any body and every body that gave him the invitation.
When the Duke of York was pleased to exchange shots with Colonel Lennox
(afterwards Duke of Richmond), it was considered by our friend
Theophilus as a personal offence to every gentleman in England, civil or
military; and he held that every man who loved the reigning family
should challenge Col. Lennox, until somebody turned up who was good
marksman enough to penetrate the colonel, and thus punish his
presumption.
Following up his speculative notions, Mr. Swift actually challenged
Colonel Lennox for having had the arrogance to fire at the king’s son.
The colonel had never seen or even heard of this antagonist; but
learning that he was a barrister and a gentleman, he considered that, as
a military man, he was bound to fight him as long as he thought proper.
The result, therefore, was a meeting;—and Colonel Lennox shot my friend
Theophilus clean through the carcase; so that, as Sir Callaghan
O’Brallaghan says, “he made his body shine through the sun!”—Swift,
according to all precedents on such occasions, first staggered, then
fell—was carried home, and given over—made his will, and bequeathed the
Duke of York a gold snuff-box! However, he recovered so completely, that
when the Duke of Richmond went to Ireland as lord lieutenant, I (to my
surprise) saw Swift at his grace’s first levee, most anxious for the
introduction. His turn came; and without ceremony he said to the Duke,
by way of a pun, that “the last time he had the honour of waiting on his
grace, as Colonel Lennox, he received better entertainment—for that his
grace had given him a _ball_!”
“True,” said the duke, smiling; “and now that I am lord lieutenant, the
least I can do is to give you a _brace_ of them!”—and in due time, he
sent Swift two special invitations to the balls, to make these terms
consistent with his excellency’s compliments.
Swift, as will hence be inferred, was a romantic personage. In fact, he
showed the most decisive determination not to die in obscurity, by
whatever means his celebrity might be acquired.
A savage, justly termed _the monster_, had, during Swift’s career at the
bar, practised the most horrid and mysterious crime we have yet heard
of—namely, that of stabbing women indiscriminately in the
street—deliberately and without cause. He was at length taken and
ordered for trial: but so odious and detestable was his crime, that not
a gentleman of the bar would act as his advocate. This was enough to
induce Swift to accept the office. He argued truly, that every man must
be presumed innocent till by legal proof he appears to be guilty, and
that there was no reason why the monster should be excepted from the
general rule, or that actual guilt should be presumed on the charge
against him more than any other charge against any other person: that
prejudice was a _primâ facie_ injustice; and that the crime of stabbing
a lady with a weapon which was only calculated to wound, could not be
_greater_ than that of stabbing her to the heart, and destroying her on
the instant: that if the charge had been cutting the lady’s throat, he
would have had his choice of advocates. This line of reasoning was
totally unanswerable. He spoke and published his defence of the monster,
who, however, was found guilty, and not half punished for his atrocity.
Theophilus had a competent private fortune; but as such men as he must
somehow be always dabbling in what is called in Ireland “a bit of a
law-suit,” a large per-centage of his rents never failed to get into the
pockets of the attorneys and counsellors; and after he had recovered
from the Duke of Richmond’s perforation, and the monster had been
incarcerated, he determined to change his site, settle in his native
country, and place his second son in the university of Dublin.
Suffice it to say, that he soon commenced a fracas with _all_ the
fellows of the university, on account of their “not doing justice
somehow,” as he said, “to the cleverest lad in Ireland!” and, according
to his usual habit, he determined at once to punish several of the
offenders by penmanship, and regenerate the great university of Ireland
by a powerful, pointed, personal, and undisguised libel against its
fellows and their ladies.
Theophilus was not without some plausible grounds to work upon; but he
never considered that a printed libel did not admit of any legal
justification. He at once put half a dozen of the fellows _hors de
société_, by proclaiming them to be perjurers, profligates, impostors,
&c. &c.; and printed, published, and circulated this his _eulogium_ with
all the activity and zeal which belonged to his nature, working hard to
give it a greater circulation than almost any libel published in
Ireland, and that is saying a great deal!—but the main tenor of his
charge was a most serious imputation and a very home one.
By the statutes of the Irish university, strict celibacy is required;
and Mr. Swift stated “that the fellows of that university, being also
clergymen, had sworn on the Holy Evangelists, that they would strictly
obey and keep sacred these statutes of the university, in manner, form,
letter, and spirit, as enjoined by their charter from the virgin queen.
But that, notwithstanding such their solemn oath, several of these
fellows and clergymen, flying in the face of the Holy Evangelists and
Queen Elizabeth—and forgetful of morality, religion, common decency, and
good example, had actually taken to themselves each one woman (at
least), who went by the name of _Miss Such-a-one_, but who, in fact,
had, in many instances, undergone, or was supposed to have undergone,
the ceremony and consummation of marriage with such and such a perjured
fellow and parson of Dublin university: and that those who had not so
married, had done worse! and that, thereby, they had either perjured
themselves or held out so vicious a precedent to youth, that he was
obliged to take away his son, for fear of his morals becoming relaxed.”
It is easy to conceive that this publication, from the pen of a very
gentlemanly, well-educated barrister, who had defended the _monster_ at
the bar and the _Duke of York_ in Hyde Park, and showed himself ready
and willing to write or fight with any man or body of men in Ireland,
naturally made no small bustle and fuss among a portion of the
university-men. Those who had kept out of the scrape by neither
_marrying_ nor _doing worse_, were reported not to be in any state of
deep mourning on the subject, as their _piety_ was the more conspicuous;
and it could not hurt the feelings of either of them to reflect that he
might possibly get a step in his promotion, on account of the defection
of those seniors whose hearts might be broken, or removal made
necessary, by the never-ending perseverance of this tremendous
barrister, who had christened his son _Dean_ Swift, that he might appear
a relative of that famous churchman, the patron and idol of the Irish
people.
The gentlemen of the long robe were, of course, delighted with the
occurrence: they had not for a long time met with so full and fair an
opportunity of expending every sentence of their wit, eloquence, law,
and logic, as in taking part in this celebrated controversy. I was
greatly rejoiced at finding on my table a retainer _against_ the fellows
and parsons of Trinity College, whom I formerly considered as a
narrow-minded and untalented body of men, getting from 1000_l._ to
1500_l._ a year each for teaching several hundred students how to remain
ignorant of most of those acquirements that a well-educated gentleman
ought to be master of: it is true, the students had a fair chance of
becoming good Latin scholars, of gaining a little Greek and Hebrew, and
of understanding several books of Euclid, with three or four chapters of
Locke on the Human Understanding, and a sixpenny treatise on logic
written by the Rev. Dr. Murray, a very good divine, (one of the body,)
to prove clearly that sophistry is superior to reason.[73] This being my
opinion of them, I felt no qualms of conscience in undertaking the
defence of Theophilus Swift, Esq., though most undoubtedly a gross
libeller. It is only necessary to say, that Lord Clonmel, who had been
(I believe) a sizer himself in that university, and, in truth, all the
judges felt indignant (and with good reason) at Theophilus Swift’s so
violently assailing and disgracing, in the face of the empire, the only
university in Ireland—thus attacking the clergy though he defended a
monster.
-----
Footnote 73:
Nothing can so completely stamp the character of the university of
Dublin as their suppression of the only school of eloquence in
Ireland—“The Historical Society;”—a school from which arose some of
the most distinguished, able, and estimable characters that ever
appeared in the forum, or in the parliament of Ireland: this step was
what the blundering Irish would call—“advancing backwards.”
-----
An information was in due form granted against Theophilus; and as he
could neither deny the fact nor plead a justification to the libel, of
course we had but a bad case of it. But the worse the case the harder an
Irish barrister always worked to make it appear a good one. I beg here
to observe, that the Irish bar were never so decorous and mild at that
time, as to give up their briefs in desperate cases, as I have seen done
in England—politely to save (as asserted) public time, and conciliate
their lordships: thus sending their clients out of court, because they
_thought_ they were not _defensible_. On the contrary, as I have said,
the _worse_ the case entrusted to an Irish barrister, the more zealously
did he labour and fight for his client. If he thought it _indefensible_,
why take a fee? but his motto was—While there is life there is hope.
During the speeches of these resolute advocates, in obstinate cases,
powder and perspiration mingled in cordial streams adown their features:
their mouths, ornamented at each corner with generous froth, threw out
half-a-dozen arguments, with tropes and syllogisms to match, while
English gentlemen would have been cautiously pronouncing one
monosyllable, and considering most discreetly what the next should be.
In short, they always stuck to their cause to the very last gasp!—and it
may appear fabulous to a steady, regular English expounder of the law,
and conceder of cases, that I have repeatedly seen a cause which the
bar, the bench, and the jury, seemed to think was irrevocably
lost,—after a few hours’ rubbing and puffing, (like the exertions of the
Humane Society,) brought into a state of restored animation; and, after
another hour or two of cross-examination and perseverance, the judges
and jury have changed their impressions, and sent home the cause quite
alive in the pockets of the lawful owner and his laborious solicitor.
In making these observations, I cannot but mention a gentleman long at
the very head of the bar, as prime serjeant of Ireland, Mr. James
Fitzgerald.[74] I had a great friendship for him: I knew him in
extensive practice, and never saw him give up one case while it had a
single point to rest upon, or he a puff of breath left to defend it; nor
did I ever see any barrister succeed, either wholly or partially, in so
many cases out of a given number, as Mr. Fitzgerald: and I can venture
to say (at least to think), that had that Right Honourable James
Fitzgerald been sent ambassador to Stockholm in the place of the Right
Honourable Vesey Fitzgerald, his _cher garçon_, he would have worked
Bernadotte to the stumps, by treating him just as if he were a _motion_
in the court of exchequer. There was no treaty which the government of
England might have ordered him to _insist_ upon, that he would not have
carried, at all events to a degree, and pleaded for _costs_ into the
bargain.
-----
Footnote 74:
This is the Mr. James Fitzgerald who gave up the highest office of his
profession rather than betray his country:—he opposed the Union
zealously, and received and _deserved_ the most flattering address
from the Irish bar.
-----
This is a digression: but having been accustomed, for near forty years,
to express my regard for that gentleman, and as this is probably the
last time I shall ever have an opportunity of doing so, I was determined
in my “last speech” not to be forgetful of my old, and, I really
believe, sincere friend.
And now, reader! (I have in my preface stated my objections to the
epithet _gentle_) we will go back to Theophilus Swift, and the college,
and the King’s Bench. The trial at length came on, and there were
decidedly more parsons present than I believe ever appeared in any court
of justice of the same dimensions. The court set out full gallop against
us: nevertheless, we worked on—twice twelve judges could not have
stopped us! I cross-examined the most learned man of the whole
university, Dr. Barret, a little, greasy, shabby, croaking, round-faced
vice-provost: he knew of nothing on earth, save books and guineas—seldom
went out, held but little intercourse with men, and none at all with
women. I worked at him unsuccessfully for more than an hour; not one
decisive sentence could I get him to pronounce: at length, he grew quite
tired of me, and I thought to conciliate him by telling him that his
father had christened me. “Indeed!” exclaimed he: “Oh!—I did not know
you were a _Christian_!” At this unexpected repartee, the laugh was so
strong against me, that I found myself silenced. My colleagues worked as
hard as I: but a seventy-horse power could not have moved the court. It
was, however, universally admitted that there was but one little point
against us out of a hundred which the other side had urged: that point
too had only three letters in it: yet it upset all our arguments: that
talismanic word “_law_” was more powerful than two speeches of three
hours each;—and, by the unanimous concurrence of the court and jury,
Theophilus Swift, Esq., was found guilty of writing, publishing, (and
undoubtedly _proving_,) that certain parsons, fellows of Dublin
University, had been living (conjugally) with certain persons of an
entirely different sex: and, in consequence, he was sentenced to twelve
months’ imprisonment in his Majesty’s close, called the “gaol of
Newgate,” where he took up his residence with nearly two hundred and
forty felons and handy pickpockets—exclusive of burglars, murderers, and
United Irishmen, who were daily added to that select society.
My poor visionary friend was in a sad state of depression: but Heaven
had a banquet in store for him which more than counterbalanced all his
discomfitures:—an incident that I really think even the oracle of
Delphos never would have thought of predicting.
The Rev. Doctor Burrows was, of all the parsons, the most inveterate
enemy and active prosecutor of my friend Theophilus: he was one of those
who, in despite of Queen Elizabeth, and the rules of the Holy Trinity,
had fallen in love, and indulged his concupiscence by uniting his
fortunes and person with the object of it in the holy bands, without a
dispensation—and by that incontinent omission got within the circle of
Swift’s anti-moralists. This reverend person determined to make the
public hate Theophilus, if possible, as much as he did himself; and
forgetting, in his zeal, the doctrine of libel, and the precedent which
he had himself just helped to establish, set about to _slay_ the
_slayer_, and write a _quietus_ for Theophilus Swift (as he supposed)
during the rest of his days! Thus, hugging himself in all the luxury of
complete revenge on a fallen foe, Dr. Burrows produced a libel nearly as
unjustifiable against the prisoner, as the prisoner had promulged
against him: and having printed, published, and circulated the same, his
reverence and madam conceived they had executed full justice on the
enemy of marriage and the clergy. But, alas! they reckoned without their
host: no sooner had I received a copy of this redoubtable pamphlet, than
I hastened to my friend Theophilus, whom, from a state of despondency
and unhappiness, I had the pleasure, in half an hour, of seeing at least
as happy and more pleased than any king in Europe. It is unnecessary to
say more than that I recommended an immediate prosecution of the Rev.
Doctor Burrows, for a false, gross, and malicious libel against
Theophilus Swift, Esq. Never was any prosecution better founded, or more
clearly and effectually supported; and it took complete effect. The
reverend prosecutor, now culprit in his turn, was sentenced to one-half
of Swift’s term of imprisonment, and sent off to the same _close_ and
same company as Theophilus.
The learned fellows were astounded; the university so far disgraced; and
the triumphant Swift immediately published both trials, with
observations, and notes critical and historical, &c.
But, alas! the mortification of the reverend fellow did not end here. On
arriving at his Majesty’s gaol of Newgate, (as the governor informed
me,) the doctor desired a room as high up as could be had, that he might
not be disturbed whilst remaining in that mansion. The governor informed
him, with pungent regret, that he had not a pigeon-hole unoccupied at
the time, there being upward of two hundred and forty prisoners, chiefly
pickpockets, many of whom were waiting to be transported; and that, till
these were got rid of, he had no room, nay, not even a _cell_, that
would answer his reverence: but there was a very neat little chamber in
which were only _two_ beds—one occupied by a respectable and polite
gentleman; and if the doctor could manage in this way meanwhile, his
reverence might depend on a preference the moment there should be a
vacancy, by the removal of the pickpockets.
Necessity has no law; and the doctor, forced to acquiesce, desired,
though with a heavy heart, to be shown to the chamber. On entering, the
gentleman and he exchanged bows; but in a moment both started and stared
involuntarily at sight of each other. On one was to be seen the smile of
triumph, on the other the grin of mortification. But Swift (naturally
the _pink_ of politeness) gave no reason for an increase of the doctor’s
chagrin. On the contrary, after several obeisances, (looking steadily at
his own nose with one eye, and fixing the other on the parson,) my
friend Theophilus commenced a rapid and learned dissertation upon the
Greek and Latin classics, natural philosophy, Locke on the Human
Understanding, &c. &c. running on without stop or stay, until he
perceived an incipient relaxation in the muscles of his reverence’s
face.
In fine, his good humour and good manners had their full operation on
the incarcerated Trinitarian. As the sunbeams put out a fire, so did a
sense of his own folly flash so strong upon the doctor’s reason, that it
extinguished the blaze of his anger; and the governor having left them,
in a short time an _éclaircissement_ took place between these two
fellow-lodgers in a room fourteen feet by twelve! I afterward learned
that they jogged on very well together till the expiration of their
sentences, and I never heard of any libel published by either the doctor
or Theophilus from that day forth.