At nine o'clock the jury retired, and a little afterwards the front
drawing-room of the Head Inn was becoming every moment more crowded,
as the door opened to admit the several members of the bar, invited to
partake of Mrs. Rooney's hospitalities. Mrs. Rooney's, I say; for
the etiquette of the circuit forbidding the attorney to entertain the
dignitaries of the craft, Paul was only present at his own table on
sufferance, and sought out the least obtrusive place he could find among
the juniors and side-dishes.
No one who could have seen the gay, laughing, merry mob of shrewd,
cunning-looking men that chatted away there would have imagined them a
few moments previously engaged in a question where the lives of four of
their fellow-men hung in the balance, and where at the very moment the
deliberation was continuing that should, perhaps, sentence them to death
upon the scaffold.
The instincts of a profession are narrow and humiliating things to
witness. The surgeon who sees but in the suffering agony of his patient
the occasional displacement of certain anatomical details is little
better than a savage; the lawyer who watches the passions of hope and
fear, distrust, dread, and suspicion, only to take advantage of them
in his case, is far worse than a savage. I confess, on looking at these
men, I could never divest myself of the impression that the hired and
paid-for passion of the advocate, the subtlety that is engaged special,
the wit that is briefed, the impetuous rush of indignant eloquence that
is bottled up from town to town in circuit, and like soda-water grows
weaker at every corking, make but a poor _ensemble_ of qualities for the
class who, _par excellence_, stand at the head of professional life.
One there was, indeed, whose haggard eye and blanched cheek showed no
semblance of forgetting the scene in which so lately he had been an
actor. This was the lawyer who had defended the prisoners. He sat in a
window, resting his head upon his hand--fatigue, exhaustion, but more
than all, intense feeling, portrayed in every lineament of his pale
face.
'Ah,' said the gay, jovial-looking attorney-general, slapping him
familiarly on the shoulder--'ah, my dear fellow; not tired, I hope. The
court was tremendously hot; but come, rally a bit: we shall want you.
Bennet and O'Grady have disappointed us, it seems; but you are a host in
yourself.'
'Maybe so,' replied the other faintly, and scarce lifting his eyes; 'but
you can't depend on my elevation.'
The ease and readiness of the reply, as well as the tones of the voice,
struck me; and I perceived that it was no other than the prior of the
Monks of the Screw who had spoken. Mrs. Rooney made her appearance at
the moment, and my attention was soon taken away by the announcement of
dinner.
One of the judges arrived in time to offer his arm, and I could not
help feeling amused at the mock-solemnity of the procession, as we moved
along. The judge, I may observe, was a young man, lately promoted, and
one whose bright eye and bold, dashing expression bore many more traces
of the outer bar than it smacked of the dull gravity of the bench. He
took the end of the table beside Mrs. Paul, and the others soon seated
themselves promiscuously along the table.
There is a species of gladiatorial exhibition in lawyers' society which
is certainly very amusing. No one speaks without the foreknowledge that
he is to be caught up, punned up, or ridiculed, as the case may be. The
whole conversation is therefore a hailstorm of short stories, quips,
and retorts, intermingled with details of successful bar-stratagems, and
practical jokes played off upon juries. With less restraint than at a
military mess, there is a strong professional feeling of deference for
the seniors, and much more tact and knowledge of the world to unite
them. While thus the whole conversation ran on topics of the circuit, I
was amazed at Mrs. Rooney's perfect intimacy with all the niceties of
a law joke, or the fun of a _nisi prius_ story. She knew the chief
peculiarities of the several persons alluded to, and laughed loud and
long at the good things she listened to. The judge alone, above all
others, had the lady's ear. His bold but handsome features, his rich
commanding voice (nothing the worse that it was mellowed by a little
brogue), his graceful action and manly presence, stamped him as one well
suited to be successful wherever good looks, ready tact, and consummate
conversational powers have a field for their display. His stories were
few, but always pertinent and well told; and frequently the last joke at
the table was capped by him, when no one else could have ventured to
try it, while the rich roll of his laugh was a guarantee for mirth that
never failed.
It was just when my attention was drawn off by Mrs. Booney to some
circumstance of our former intimacy, that a hearty burst of laughing
from the end of the table told that something unusually absurd was being
related.
'Yes, sir,' said a shrewd-looking, thin old fellow in spectacles, 'we
capitulated, on condition of leaving the garrison with all the honours
of war; and, 'faith, the sheriff was only too glad to comply.'
'Bob Mahon is certainly a bold fellow, and never hard pushed, whatever
you may do with him.'
'Bob Mahon!' said I: 'what of him?'
'Keatley has just been telling how he held the jail of Ennis for four
weeks against the sheriff. The jailer was an old tenant of his, and
readily came into his plans. They were victualled for a long siege, and
as the place was strong they had nothing to fear. When the garrison was
summoned to surrender, they put a charge of No. 4 into the sub-sheriff,
that made him move to the rear; and as the prisoners were all coming
from the assizes, they were obliged to let him have his own terms if he
'd only consent to come out. So they gave him twelve hours' law, and a
clear run for it? and he's away.'
This was indeed a very quick realisation of Father Tom's prediction, and
I joined in the mirth the story elicited--not the less readily that I
was well acquainted with the principal actor in it.
While the laughter still continued, the door opened, and a young
barrister stole into the room and whispered a few words into the ear of
the counsel for the prisoners. He leaned back in his chair, and pushed
his wine-glass hurriedly before him.
'What, Collinson!' cried the attorney-general, 'have they agreed?' 'Yes,
sir--a verdict of guilty.'
'Of course; the evidence was too home for a doubt,' said he, filling his
glass from the decanter.
A sharp glance from the dark eye of the opposite counsel was the only
reply, as he rose and left the room.
'Our friend has taken a more than common interest in this case,' was
the cool observation of the last speaker; 'but there was no getting
over Hanlon's testimony.' Here he entered into some detail of the trial,
while the buzz and confusion of voices became greater than ever. I took
this opportunity of making my escape, and joined Mrs. Rooney, who a
short time before had retired to the drawing-room.
Mrs. Paul had contrived, even in the short space since her arrival, to
have converted the drawing-room into a semblance of something like an
apartment in a private house--books, prints, and flowers, judiciously
disposed, as well as an open pianoforte, giving it an air of comfort and
propriety far different from its ordinary seeming. She was practising
Moore's newly-published song of, 'My from this world, dear Bessy, with
me,' as I entered.
'Pray, continue, my dear Mrs. Rooney,' said I: 'I will take it as the
greatest possible favour----'
'Ah,' said Mrs..Paul, throwing up her eyes in the most languishing
ecstasy--'ah, you have a soul, I know you have!'
Protesting that I had strong reasons to believe so, I renewed my
entreaty.
'Yes,' said she, musing, and in a Siddons tone of soliloquy, 'yes, the
poet is right--
“Music hath charms to _smooth_ the savage _beast_.”
But I really can't sing the melodies--they are too much for me. The
allusion to former times, when King O'Toole and the rest of the royal
family---- Ah, you are aware, I believe, that family reasons----'
Here she pressed her embroidered handkerchief to her eyes with one hand,
while she pressed mine convulsively with the other.
'Yes, yes,' said I hurriedly, while a strong temptation to laugh
outright seized me; 'I have heard that your descent----'
'Yes, my dear; if it wasn't for the Danes, and the cruel battle of the
Boyne, there's no saying where I might not be seated now.'
She leaned on the piano as she spoke, and seemed overpowered with
sorrow. At this instant the door opened, and the judge made his
appearance.
'A thousand pardons for the indiscretion,' said he, stepping back as he
saw me sitting with the lady's hand in mine. I sprang up, confused and
ashamed, and rushing past him hurried downstairs.
I knew how soon my adventure, for such it would grow into, would be the
standing jest of the bar mess; and not feeling disposed to be present at
their mirth, I ordered a chaise, and before half an hour elapsed was on
my road to Dublin.