persons going--thoroughly conversant not only with the features of
every walk and class in life, but also with their intimate sentiments,
habits of thought, and modes of expression. Now, I have long been of
opinion, that in all these respects, lawyers are infinitely their
superiors. The author chooses his characters as you choose your dish,
or your wine at dinner--he takes what suits, and leaves what is not
available to his purpose. He then fashions them to his hand--finishing
off this portrait, sketching that one--now bringing certain figures
into strong light, anon throwing them into shadow: they are his
creatures, who must obey him while living, and even die at his
command. Now, the lawyer is called on for all the narrative and
descriptive powers of his art, at a moment's notice, without time for
reading or preparation; and worse than all, his business frequently
lies among the very arts and callings his taste is most repugnant to.
One day he is to be found creeping, with a tortoise slowness through
all the wearisome intricacy of an equity case--the next he is borne
along in a torrent of indignant eloquence, in defence of some Orange
processionist or some Ribbon associate: now he describes, with the
gravity of a landscape gardener, the tortuous windings of a
mill-stream; now expatiating in Lytton Bulwerisms over the desolate
hearth and broken fortunes of some deserted husband. In one court he
attempts to prove that the elderly gentleman whose life was insured
for a thousand at the Phoenix, was instrumental to his own decease, for
not eating Cayenne with his oysters; in another, he shows, with
palpable clearness, that being stabbed in the body, and having the
head fractured, is a venial offence, and merely the result of
"political excitement" in a high-spirited and warm-hearted people.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
These are all clever efforts, and demand consummate powers, at the
hand of him who makes them; but what are they to that deep and
critical research with which he seems, instinctively, to sound the
depths of every scientific walk in life, and every learned profession.
Hear him in a lunacy case--listen to the deep and subtle distinctions
he draws between the symptoms of mere eccentricity and erring
intellect--remark how insignificant the physician appears in the case,
who has made these things the study of a life long--hear how the
barrister confounds him with a hail-storm of technicals--talking of
the pineal gland as if it was an officer of the court, and of atrophy
of the cerebral lobes, as if he was speaking of an attorney's clerk.
Listen to him in a trial of supposed death by poison; what a triumph
he has there, particularly if he be a junior barrister--how he walks
undismayed among all the tests for arsenic--how little he cares for
Marsh's apparatus and Scheele's discoveries--hydro-sulphates,
peroxydes, iodurates, and proto-chlorides are familiar to him as
household words. You would swear that he was nursed at a glass
retort, and sipped his first milk through a blow-pipe. Like a child
who thumps the keys of a pianoforte, and imagines himself a Liszt or
Moschelles, so does your barrister revel amid the phraseology of a
difficult science--pelting the witnesses with his insane blunders, and
assuring the jury that their astonishment means ignorance. Nothing in
anatomy is too deep--nothing in chemistry too subtle--no fact in
botany too obscure--no point in metaphysics too difficult. Like
Dogberry, these things are to him but the gift of God; and he knows
them at his birth. Truly, the chancellor is a powerful magician; and
the mystic words by which he calls a gentleman to the bar, must have
some potent spell within them. The youth you remember as if it were
yesterday, the lounger at evening parties, or the chaperon of riding
damsels to the Phoenix, comes forth now a man of deep and consummate
acquirement--he whose chemistry went no further than the composition
of a "tumbler of punch," can now perform the most difficult
experiments of Orfila or Davy, or explain the causes of failure in a
test that has puzzled the scientific world for half a century. He
knows the precise monetary value of a deserted maiden's affections--he
can tell you the exact sum, in bank notes, that a widow will be
knocked down for, when her heart has been subject to but a feint
attack of Cupid. With what consummate skill, too, he can show that an
indictment is invalid, when stabbing is inserted for cutting; and when
the crown prosecutor has been deficient in his descriptive anatomy,
what a glorious field for display is opened to him. Then, to be sure,
what droll fellows they are!--how they do quiz the witness as he sits
trembling on the table--what funny allusions to his habits of
life--his age--his station--turning the whole battery of their powers
of ridicule against him--ready, if he venture to retort, to throw
themselves on the protection of the court. And truly, if a little
Latin suffice for a priest, a little wit goes very far in a law court.
A joke is a universal blessing: the judge, who, after all, is only "an
old lawyer," loves it from habit: the jury, generally speaking, are
seldom in such good company, and they laugh from complaisance; and the
bar joins in the mirth, on that great reciprocity principle, which
enables them to bear each other's dulness, and dine together
afterwards. People are insane enough to talk of absenteeism as one of
the evils of Ireland, and regret that we have no resident aristocracy
among us--rather let us rejoice that we have them not, so long as the
lawyers prove their legitimate successors.
[Illustration]
How delightful in a land where civilization has still some little
progress before it, and where the state of crime is not quite
satisfactory--to know that we have those amongst us who know all
things, feel all things, explain all things, and reconcile all
things--who can throw such a Claude Lorraine light over right and
wrong, that they are both mellowed into a sweet and hallowed softness,
delightful to gaze on. How the secret of this universal acquirement is
accomplished I know not--perhaps it is the wig.
What set me first on this train of thought, was a trial I lately read,
where a cross action was sustained for damage at sea--the owners of
the brig Durham against the Aurora, a foreign vessel, and _vice
versa_, for the result of a collision at noon, on the 14th of October.
It appeared that both vessels had taken shelter in the Humber from
stress of weather, nearly at the same time--that the Durham, which
preceded the Prussian vessel, "clewed up her top-sails, and dropped
her anchor _rather_ suddenly; and the Aurora being in the rear, the
vessels came in collision." The question, therefore, was, whether the
Durham came to anchor too precipitately, and in an unseamanlike
manner; or, in other words, whether, when the "Durham clewed up
top-sails and let go her anchor, the Aurora should not have luffed up,
or got sternway on her," &c. Nothing could possibly be more
instructive, nor anything scarcely more amusing, than the lucid
arguments employed by the counsel on both sides. The learned Thebans,
that would have been sick in a ferry-boat, spoke as if they had
circumnavigated the globe. Stay-sails, braces, top-gallants, clews,
and capstans they hurled at each other like _bon bons_ at a carnival;
and this naval engagement lasted from daylight to dark. Once only,
when the judge "made it noon," for a little refection, did they cease
conflict, to renew the strife afterwards with more deadly daring, till
at last so confused were the witnesses--the plaintiff, defendant, and
all, that they half wished, they had gone to the bottom, before they
thought of settling the differences in the Admiralty Court. This was
no common occasion for the display of these powers so peculiarly the
instinctive gift of the bar, and certainly they used it with all the
enthusiasm of a _bonne bouche_.
How I trembled for the Aurora, when an elderly gentleman, with a wart
on his nose, assured the court that the Durham had her top-sail backed
ten minutes before the anchor fell; and then, how I feared again for
the Durham, as a thin man in spectacles worked the Prussian about in a
double-reefed mainsail, and stood round in stays so beautifully. I
thought myself at sea, so graphic was the whole description--the waves
splashed and foamed around the bulwarks, and broke in spray upon the
deck--the wind rattled amid the rigging--the bulkheads creaked, and
the good ship heaved heavily in the trough of the sea, like a mighty
monster in his agony. But my heart quailed not--I knew that Dr.
Lushington was at the helm, and Dr. Haggard had the look-out a-head--I
felt that Dr. Robinson stood by the lee braces, and Dr. Addison
waited, hatchet in hand, to cut away the mainmast. These were
comforting reflections, till I was once more enabled to believe myself
in her Majesty's High Court of Admiralty.
Alas! ye Coopers--ye Marryats--ye Chamiers--ye historians of storm and
sea-fight, how inferior are your triumphs compared with the
descriptive eloquence of a law court. Who can pourtray the broken
heart of blighted affection, like Charles Phillips in a breach of
promise? What was Scott compared to Scarlett?--how inferior is Dickens
to Counsellor O'Driscoll?--here are the men, who, without the trickery
of trade, ungilt, unlettered, and unillustrated, can move the world to
laughter and to tears. They ask no aid from Colburn, nor from
Cruikshank--they need not "Brown" nor Longman. Heaven-born warriors,
doctors, chemists, and anatomists--deep in every art, learned in every
science--mankind is to them an open book, which they read at will, and
con over at leisure--happy country, where we have you in abundance,
and where your talents are so available, that they can be had for
asking.
[Illustration]
A NUT FOR THE IRISH.
AN IRISH ENCORE.
[Illustration]
We certainly are a very original people, and contrive to do everything
after a way of our own! Not content with cementing our friendships by
fighting, and making the death of a relative the occasion of a merry
evening, we even convert the habits we borrow from other lands into
something essentially different from their original intention, and
infuse into them a spirit quite national.
The echo which, when asked "How d'ye do, Paddy Blake?" replied,
"Mighty well, thank you," could only have been an Irish echo. Any
other country would have sulkily responded, "Blake--ake--ake--ake," in
_diminuendo_ to the end of the chapter. But there is a courtesy, an
attention, a native politeness on our side of the channel, it is in
vain to seek elsewhere. A very strong instance in point occurs in a
morning paper before me, and one so delightfully characteristic of our
habits and customs, it would be unpardonable to pass it without
commemoration. At an evening concert at the Rotundo, we are informed
that Mr. Knight--I believe his name is--enchanted his audience by the
charming manner he sung "Molly Astore." Three distinct rounds of
applause followed, and an encore that actually shook the building, and
may--though we are not informed of the circumstance--have produced
very remarkable effects in the adjacent institution; upon which Mr.
Knight, with his habitual courtesy, came forward and sang--what, think
ye, good reader? Of course you will say, "Molly Astore," the song he
was encored for. Alas! for your ignorance;--that might do very well in
Liverpool or Manchester, at Bath, Bristol, or Birmingham--the poor
benighted Saxons there might like to get what they asked so eagerly
for; but we are men of very different mould, and not accustomed to the
jog-trot subserviency of such common-sense notions; and accordingly,
Mr. Knight sang "The Soldier Tired"--a piece of politeness on his part
that actually convulsed the house with acclamations; and so on to the
end of the entertainment, "the gentleman, when encored, invariably
sang a new song"--I quote the paper _verbatim_--"which testimony of
his anxiety to meet the wishes of the audience afforded universal
satisfaction."
Now, I ask--and I ask it in all the tranquillity of triumph--show me
the country on a map where such a studied piece of courteous civility
could have been practised, or which, if attempted, could have been so
thoroughly, so instantaneously appreciated. And what an insight does
it give us into some of the most difficult features of our national
character. May not this Irish encore explain the success with which
Mr. O'Connell consoles our "poverty" by attacks on the clergy, and
relieves our years of scarcity by creating forty-shilling freeholders.
We ask for bread; and he tells us we are a great people--we beg for
work, and he replies, that we must have repeal of the union--we
complain of our poverty, and his remedy is--subscribe to the rent.
Your heavy-headed Englishman--your clod-hopper from Yorkshire--or
your boor from Northumberland, would never understand this, if you
gave him a life-long to con over it. Norfolk pudding to his gross and
sensual nature would seem better than the new registration bill; and
he'd rather hear the simmering music of the boiled beef for his
dinner, than all the rabid ruffianism of a repeal meeting.
But to come back to ourselves. What bold and ample views of life do
our free-and-easy habits disclose to us, not to speak of the very
servant at table, who will often help you to soup, when you ask for
sherry, and give you preserves, when you beg for pepper. What amiable
cross-purposes are we always playing at--not bigotedly adhering to our
own narrow notions, and following out our own petty views of life, but
eagerly doing what we have no concern in, and meritoriously performing
for our friends, what they had been well pleased, we'd have let alone.
This amiable waywardness--this pleasing uncertainty of
purpose--characterises our very climate; and the day that breaks in
sunshine becomes stormy at noon, calm towards evening, and blows a
hurricane all night. So the Irishman that quits his home brimful of
philanthropy is not unlikely to rob a church before his return. But so
it is, there is nobody like us in any respect. We commemorate the
advent of a sovereign by erecting a testimonial to the last spot he
stood on at his departure; and we are enthusiastic in our gratitude
when, having asked for one favour, we receive something as unlike it
as possible.
Our friends at the other side are beginning to legislate for us in the
true spirit of our prejudices; and when we have complained of "a
beggared proprietary and a ruined gentry," they have bolstered up our
weakness with the new poor law. So much for an Irish encore.
A NUT FOR VICEREGAL PRIVILEGES.
"The sixth of Anne, chap. seventeen, makes it unlawful to
keep gaming-houses in any part of the city except the
'Castle,' and prohibits any game being played even there
except during the residence of the Lord Lieutenant. This act
is still on the statute book."--_Dublin Paper._
One might puzzle himself for a very long time for an explanation of
this strange _morceau_ of legislation, without any hope of arriving at
a shadow of a reason for it.
That gaming should be suppressed by a government is in no wise
unnatural; nor should we feel any surprise at our legislature having
been a century in advance of France, in the due restriction of this
demoralizing practice. But that the exercise of a vice should be
limited to the highest offices of the state is, indeed, singular, and
demands no little reflection on our part to investigate the cause.
Had the functions of Lord Lieutenant of Ireland been of that drowsy,
tiresome, uninteresting nature, that it was only deemed fair by the
legislature to afford him some amusing pastime to distract his
"_ennui_" and dispel his melancholy, there might seem to have been
then some reason for this extraordinary enactment. On the contrary,
however, every one knows that from the remotest times to the present,
every viceroy of Ireland has had quite enough on his hands. Some have
been saving money to pay off old mortgages, others were farming the
Phoenix; some took to the King Cambyses' vein, like poor dear Lord
Normanby--raked up all the old properties and faded finery of the
Castle, and with such material as they could collect, made a kind of
Drury-lane representation of a court. And very lately, and with an
originality so truly characteristic of true genius, Lord Ebrington
struck out a line of his own, and slept away his time with such a
persevering intensity of purpose, that "the least wide-awake" persons
of his government became actually ashamed of themselves. But to go
back. What, I would ask, was the intention of this act? I know you
give it up. Well, now, I have made the matter the subject of long and
serious thought, and I think I have discovered it.
Have you ever read, in the laws of the smaller German states, the
singular rules and regulations regarding the gaming-table? If so, you
will have found how the entire property of the "_rouge et noir_" and
"_roulette_" is vested in certain individuals in return for very
considerable sums of money, paid by them to the government, for the
privilege of robbing the public. These honourable and estimable people
farm out iniquity as you would do your demesne, selling the cheatable
features of mankind, like the new corn law, on the principle of "a
general average." The government of these states, finding--no uncommon
thing in Germany--a deficiency in their exchequer, have hit upon this
ready method of supplying the gap, by a system which has all the
regularity of a tax, with the advantage of a voluntary contribution.
These little kingdoms, therefore, of some half-dozen miles in
circumference, are nothing more than _rouge et noir_ tables, where the
grand duke performs the part of croupier, and gathers in the gold.
Now, I am convinced that something of this kind was intended by our
lawgivers in the act of parliament to which I have alluded, and that
its programme might run thus--that "as the office of Lord Lieutenant
in Ireland is one of great responsibility, high trust, and necessarily
demanding profuse expenditure; and that, as it may so happen that the
same should, in the course of events, be filled by some Whig-Radical
viceroy of great pretension and little property; and that as the
ordinary sum for maintaining his dignity may be deemed insufficient,
we hereby give him the exclusive liberty and privilege of all games of
chance, skill, or address, in the kingdom of Ireland, whether the same
may be chicken-hazard, blind hookey, head and tail, &c.--thimble-rigging
was only known later--to be enjoyed by himself only, or by persons
deputed by him; such privilege in nowise to extend to the lords
justices, but only to exist during the actual residence and presence
of the Lord Lieutenant himself."--_See the Act._
I cannot but admire the admirable tact that dictated this portion of
legislation; at the same time, it does seem a little hard that the
chancellor, the archbishop, and the other high functionaries, who
administer the law in the absence of the viceroy, should not have been
permitted the small privilege of a little unlimited loo, or even
beggar-my-neighbour, particularly as the latter game is the popular
one in Ireland.
There would seem, too, something like an appreciation of our national
character in the spirit of this law, which, unhappily for England, and
Ireland, too, has not always dictated her enactments concerning us.
It is well known that we hate and abhor anything in the shape of a
legal debt. Few Irishmen will refuse you the loan of five pounds;
still fewer can persuade themselves to pay five shillings. The kingdom
of Galway has long been celebrated for its enlightened notions on this
subject, showing how much more conducive it is to personal
independence and domestic economy, to spend five hundred pounds in
resisting a claim, than to satisfy it by the payment of twenty.
Accordingly, had any direct taxation of considerable amount been
proposed for the support of viceregal dignity, the chances are--much
as we like show and glitter, ardently as we admire all that gives us
the semblance of a state--we should have buttoned up our pockets, and
upon the principle of those economical little tracts, that teach us to
do so much for ourselves, every man would have resolved to be "his own
Lord Lieutenant;" coming, however, in the shape of an indirect
taxation, a voluntary contribution to be withheld at pleasure, the
thing was unobjectionable.
You might not like cards, still less the company--a very possible
circumstance, the latter, in some times we wot of not long
since--Well, then, you saved your cash and your character by staying
at home; on the other hand, it was a comfort to know that you could
have your rubber of "shorts" or your game at _ecarte_, while at the
same time you were contributing to the maintenance of the crown, and
discharging the _devoirs_ of a loyal subject. It is useless, however,
to speculate upon an obsolete institution; the law has fallen into
disuse, and the more is the pity. How one would like to have seen Lord
Normanby, with that one curl of infantine simplicity that played upon
his forehead, with that eternal leer of self-satisfied loveliness that
rested on his features, playing banker at _rouge et noir_, or calling
the throws at hazard. I am not quite so sure that the concern would
have been so profitable as picturesque. The principal frequenters of
his court were "York too;" Lord Plunket was a "downy cove;" and if
Anthony Blaek took the box, most assuredly "I'd back the caster." Now
and then, to be sure, a stray, misguided country gentleman--a kind of
"wet Tory"--used to be found at that court; just as one sees some
respectable matronly woman at Ems or Baden, seated in a happy
unconsciousness that all the company about her are rogues and
swindlers, so _he_ might afford some good sport, and assist to
replenish the famished exchequer. Generally speaking, however, the
play would not have kept the tables; and his lordship would have been
_in_ for the wax-lights, without the slightest chance of return.
As for his successor, "patience" would have been his only game; and
indeed it was one he had to practise whilst he remained amongst us.
Better days have now come: let us, therefore, inquire if a slight
modification of the act might not be effected with benefit, and an
amendment, somewhat thus, be introduced into the bill:--"That the
words 'Lord Mayor' be substituted for the words 'Lord Lieutenant;' and
that all the privileges, rights, immunities, &c., aforesaid, be
enjoyed by him to his sole use and benefit; and also that, in place of
the word 'Castle,' the word 'Mansion-house' stand part of this
bill"--thus reserving to his lordship all monopoly in games of chance
and address, without in anywise interfering with such practices of the
like nature exercised by him elsewhere, and always permitted and
conceded by whatever government in power.
Here, my dear countrymen, is no common suggestion. I am no prophet,
like Sir Harcourt Lees; but still I venture to predict, that this
system once legalised at the Mayoralty, the tribute is totally
unnecessary. The little town of Spa, with scarce 10,000 inhabitants,
pays the Belgian government 200,000 francs per annum for the liberty:
what would Dublin--a city so populous and so idle? only think of the
tail!--how admirably they could employ their little talent as
"bonnets," and the various other functionaries so essential to the
well-being of a gambling-house; and, lastly, think of great Dan
himself, with his burly look, seated in civic dignity at the green
cloth, with a rake instead of a mace before him, calling out, "Make
your game, gentlemen, make your game"--"Never venture, never
win"--"Faint heart," &c., &c.