There are few things more puzzling to the uninitiated than the total
separation lawyers are able to exercise between their private sentiments
and the emotions they display in the wear and tear of their profession.
So widely apart are these two characters, that it is actually difficult
to understand how they ever can unite in one man. But so it is. He can
pass his morning in the most virulent assaults upon his learned brother,
ridiculing his law, laughing at his logic, arraigning his motives,--nay,
sometimes ascribing to him some actually base and wicked. Altercations,
heightened by all that passion stimulated by wit can produce, ensue.
Nothing that can taunt, provoke, or irritate, is omitted. Personalities
even are introduced to swell the acrimony of the contest; and yet,
when the jury have given in their verdict and the court breaks up, the
gladiators, who seemed only thirsting for each other's blood, are seen
laughingly going homeward arm-in-arm, mayhap discoursing over the very
cause which, but an hour back, seemed to have stamped them enemies for
the rest of life.
Doubtless there is a great deal to be pleased at in all this, and, we
ought to rejoice in the admirable temper by which men can discriminate
between the faithful performance of a duty and the natural course of
their affections. Still, small-minded folk--of which wide category
we own ourselves to be a part--may have their misgivings that the
excellence of this system is not without its alloy, and that even the
least ingenious of men will ultimately discover how much principle is
sapped, and how much truthfulness of character is sacrificed in this
continual struggle between fiction and reality.
The Bar is the nursery of the Senate, and it would not be a very
fanciful speculation were we to ascribe the laxity of purpose, the
deficient earnestness, and the insincerity of principle we often deplore
in our public men, to this same legal training.
The old lawyer, however, finds no difficulty in the double character.
With his wig and gown he puts on his sarcasm, his insolence, and his
incredulity. His brief bag opens to him a Pandora's box of noxious
influences; and as he passes the precincts of the court, he leaves
behind him all the amenities of life and all the charities of his
nature. The young barrister does not find the transmutation so easy. He
gives himself unreservedly to his client, and does not measure his ardor
by the instructions in his brief. Let us ask pardon of our reader for
what may seem _a mal à propos_ digression; but we have been led to these
remarks by the interests of our story.
It was in the large dining-room of the “Martin Arms” at Oughterard, that
a party of lawyers spent the evening, some of whose events, elsewhere,
our last chapter has recorded. It was the Bar mess of the Western
Circuit, and the chair was filled by no less a person than “Father
Repton.” This able “leader” had determined not to visit the West of
Ireland so long as his friend Martin remained abroad; but a very urgent
entreaty from Scanlan, and a pressing request for his presence, had
induced him to waive that resolve, and come down special to Oughterard
for the Magennis case.
A simple case of ejectment could scarcely have called for that imposing
array of learned counsel who had repaired to this unfrequented spot;
so small a skirmish could never have called for the horse, foot, and
dragoons of law,--the wily conveyancer, the clap-trap orator, the
browbeater of witnesses, and the light sharpshooter at technicalities;
and yet there they were all met, and--with all reverence be it
spoken--very jolly companions they were.
An admirable rule precluded the introduction of, or even an allusion
to, professional subjects, save when the burden of a joke, whose
success might excuse the transgression; and thus these crafty, keen
intelligences argued, disputed, jested, and disported together, in a
vein which less practised talkers would find it hard to rival. To the
practice of these social amenities is doubtless ascribable the absence
of any rancor from the rough contests and collisions of public life, and
thus men of every shade of politics and party, differing even in class
and condition, formed admirable social elements, and cohered together to
perfection.
As the evening wore on, the company insensibly thinned off. Some of the
hard-workers retired early; a few, whose affectation it was to pretend
engagements, followed. The “juniors” repaired in different groups to the
chambers of their friends, where loo and brandy-and-water awaited them;
and at last Repton was left, with only two others, sole occupants of
that spacious apartment. His companions were, like himself, soldiers of
the “Vieille Garde” veterans who remembered Curran and Lawrence Parsons,
John Toler and Saurin, and a host of others, who only needed that the
sphere should have been greater to be themselves among the great of the
nation.
Rawlins was Repton's schoolfellow, and had been his rival at the Bar
for nigh fifty years. Niel, a few years younger than either, was the
greatest orator of his time. Both had been opposed to Repton in the
present suit, and had held heavy retainers for their services.
“Well, Repton,” said Rawlins, as soon as they were left thus to
themselves, “are you pondering over it still? I see that you can't get
it out of your head.”
“It is quite true, I cannot,” said Repton. “To summon us all down
here,--to bring us some fifty miles away from our accustomed beat, for a
trumpery affair like this, is totally beyond me. Had it been an election
time, I should probably have understood it.”
“How so?” cried Niel, in the shrill piercing voice peculiar to him,
and which imparted to him, even in society, an air of querulous
irritability.
“On the principle that Bob Mahon always puts a thoroughbred horse in his
gig when he drives over to a country race. He's always ready for a match
with what he jocularly calls 'the old screw I 'm driving this minute;'
so, Niel, I thought that the retainer for the ejectment might have
turned out to be a special fee for the election.”
“And he 'd have given them a speech, and a rare good one, too, I promise
you,” said Rawlins; “and even if he had not time to speak it, the county
paper would have had it all printed and corrected from his own hand,
with all the appropriate interruption of 'vociferous cheering,' and the
places where the orator was obliged to pause, from the wild tumult of
acclamation that surrounded him.”
“Which all resolves itself into this,” screamed Niel,--“that some men's
after-grass is better than other men's meadows.”
“Mine has fallen to the scythe many a day ago,” said Rawlins,
plaintively; “but I remember glorious times and glorious fellows. It
was, indeed, worth something to say, '_Vixissi cum illis_.'”
“There 's another still better, Rawlins,” cried Repton, joyously, “which
is to have survived them!”
“Very true,” cried Niel. “I 'd always plead a demurrer to any notice to
quit; for, take it all in all, this life has many enjoyments.”
“Such as Attorney-Generalships, Masters of the Rolls, and such like,”
said Repton.
“By the way,” said Rawlins, “who put that squib in the papers about your
having refused the rolls,--eh, Niel?”
“Who but Niel himself?” chimed in Repton. “It was filing a bill of
discovery. He wanted to know the intentions of the Government.”
“I could have had but little doubt of them,” broke in Niel. “It was my
advice, man, cancelled your appointment as Crown Counsel, Repton. I told
Massingbred, 'If you do keep a watch-dog, let it be, at least, one who
'll bite some one beside the family.'”
“He has muzzled you there, Repton,” said Rawlins, laughing. “Eh, that
was a bitter draught!”
“So it was,” said Repton. “It was Curran wine run to the lees! and
very unlike the racy flavor of the true liquor. And to speak in all
seriousness, what has come over us all to be thus degenerate and fallen?
It is not alone that we have not the equals of the first-rate men, but
we really have nothing to compare with O'Grady, and Parsons, and a score
of others.”
“I 'll tell you why,” cried Niel,--“the commodity is n't marketable. The
stupid men, who will always be the majority everywhere, have got up the
cry, that to be agreeable is to be vulgar. We know how large cravats
came into fashion; tiresome people came in with high neckcloths.”
“I wish they 'd go out with hempen ones, then,” muttered Repton.
“I 'd not refuse them the benefit of the clergy,” said Niel, with a
malicious twinkle of the eye, that showed how gladly, when occasion
offered, he flung a pebble at the Church.
“They were very brilliant,--they were very splendid, I own,” said
Rawlins; “but I have certain misgivings that they gave themselves too
much to society.”
“Expended too much of their powder in fireworks,” cried Niel,
sharply,--“so they did; but their rockets showed how high they could
rise to.”
“Ay, Niel, and we only burn our fingers with ours,” said Repton,
sarcastically.
“Depend upon it,” resumed Rawlins, “as the world grows more practical,
you will have less of great convivial display. Agreeability will cease
to be the prerogative of first-rate men, but be left to the smart people
of society, who earn their soup by their sayings.”
“He's right,” cried Niel, in his shrillest tone. “The age of alchemists
is gone; the sleight-of-hand man and the juggler have succeeded him.”
“And were they not alchemists?” exclaimed old Repton, enthusiastically.
“Did they not transmute the veriest dross of the earth, and pour
it forth from the crucible of their minds a stream of liquid
gold?--glorious fellows, who, in the rich abundance of their minds,
brought the learning of their early days to illustrate the wisdom of
their age, and gave the fresh-heartedness of the schoolboy to the ripe
intelligence of manhood.”
“And yet how little have they bequeathed to us!” said Niel.
“Would it were even less,” broke in Repton. “We read the witticism
of brilliant conversera in some diary or journal, often ill recorded,
imperfectly given, always unaccompanied by the accessories of the scene
wherein they occurred. We have not the crash, the tumult, the headlong
flow of social intercourse, where the impromptu fell like a thunderbolt,
and the bon mots rattled like a fire of musketry. To attempt to convey
an impression of these great talkers by a memoir, is like to picture a
battle by reading out a list of the killed and wounded.”
“Repton is right!” exclaimed Niel. “The recorded bon mot is the words of
a song without the music.”
“And often where it was the melody that inspired the verses,” added
Repton, always glad to follow up an illustration.
“After all,” said Rawlins, “the fashion of the day is changed in other
respects as well as in conversational excellence. Nothing is like what
we remember it!--literature, dress, social habits, oratory. There, for
instance, was that young fellow to-day; his speech to the jury,--a very
good and sensible one, no doubt,--but how unlike what it would have been
some five-and-thirty or forty years ago.”
“It was first-rate,” said Repton, with enthusiasm. “I say it frankly,
and 'fas est ab hoste,' for he tripped me up in a point of law, and
I have, therefore, a right to applaud him. To tell you the truth,” he
added slyly, “I knew I was making a revoke, but I thought none of the
players were shrewd enough to detect me.”
“Niel and I are doubtless much complimented by the remark,” said
Rawlins.
“Pooh, pooh!” cried Repton, “what did great guns like you and Niel care
for such 'small deer.' You were only brought down here as a great _corps
de réserve_. It was young Nelligan who fought the battle, and admirably
he did it. While I was listening to him to-day, I could not help saying
to myself, 'It's well for us that there were no fellows of this stamp
in our day.' Ay, Rawlins, you know it well. We were speech-makers; these
fellows are lawyers.”
“Why didn't he dine with us to-day?” asked Niel, sharply.
“Heaven knows. I believe his father lives in the town here; perhaps,
too, he had no fancy for a dress-parade before such drill-sergeants as
you and Rawlins there.”
“You are acquainted with him, I think?” asked Rawlins.
“Yes, slightly; we met strangely enough, at Cro' Martin last year. He
was then on a visit there, a quiet, timid youth, who actually seemed to
feel as though his college successes were embarrassing recollections in
a society who knew nothing of deans or proctors. There was another young
fellow also there at the time,--young Massingbred,--with about a tenth
of this man's knowledge, and a fiftieth of his capacity, who took the
lead of him on every subject, and by the bare force of an admirable
manner and a most unabashed impudence, threw poor Nelligan completely
into the background. It was the same kind of thing I 've often seen Niel
there perform at the Four Courts, where he has actually picked up his
law from a worsted opponent, as a highwayman arms himself with the
pistols of the man he has robbed.”
“I never pillaged _you_, Repton,” said Niel, with a sarcastic smile.
“_You_ had always the privilege the poet ascribes to him who laughs
'before a robber.'”
“Vacuus sed non Inanis,” replied Repton, laughing good-humoredly.
“But tell us more of this man, Nelligan,” said Rawlins. “I 'm curious to
hear about him.”
“And so you are sure to do some of these days, Rawlins. That fellow is
the man to attain high eminence.”
“His religion will stop him!” cried Niel, sharply; for, being himself
a Romanist, he was not sorry to have an opportunity of alluding to the
disqualifying element.
“Say, rather, it will promote him,” chimed in Repton. “Take my word for
it, Niel, there is a spirit of mawkish reparation abroad which affects
to feel that all your coreligionists have a long arrear due to them, and
that all the places and emoluments so long withheld from their ancestors
should be showered down upon the present generation;--pretty much upon
the same principle that you 'd pension a man now because his grandfather
had been hanged for rebellion!”
“And very justly, too, if you discovered that what you once called
rebellion had been very good loyalty!” cried Niel.
“We have not, however, made the discovery you speak of,” said Rep ton;
“we have only commuted a sentence, in the sincere hope that you are
wiser than your forefathers. But to come back. You may trust me when I
say that a day is coming when you 'll not only bless yourself because
you're a Papist, but that you _are_ one! Ay, sir, it is in 'Liffey
Street Chapel' we 'll seek for an attorney-general, and out of the
Church of the Conception, if that be the name of it, we 'll cull our law
advisers of the Crown. For the next five-and-twenty years, at least,”
said he, solemnly, “the fourth-rate Catholic will be preferred to the
first-rate Protestant.”
“I only hope you may be better at Prophecy than you are in Logic,” cried
Niel, as he tossed off his glass; “and so, I 'm sure, does Nelligan!”
“And Nelligan is exactly the man who will never need the preference,
sir. His abilities will raise him, even if there were obstacles to
be surmounted. It is men of a different stamp that the system
will favor,--fellows without industry for the toils of a laborious
profession, or talents for the subtleties of a difficult career; men who
cherish ambition and are yet devoid of capacity, and will plead the old
disabilities of their faith,--pretty much as a man might claim his right
to be thought a good dancer because his father had a club foot.”
“A most lame conclusion!” cried Niel. “Ah, Rawlins,” added he, with much
compassion, “our poor friend here is breaking terribly. Sad signs there
are of decay about him. Even his utterance begins to fail him.”
“No, no,” said Repton, gayly. “I know what you allude to. It is an
old imperfection of mine not to be able to enunciate the letter _r_
correctly, and that was the reason today in court that I called you my
ingenious Bother; but I meant Brother, I assure you.”
They all laughed good-humoredly at the old man's sally; in good truth,
so trained were they to these sort of combats, that they cared little
for the wounds such warfare inflicted. And although the tilt was ever
understood as with “reversed lances,” none ever cherished an evil memory
if an unlucky stroke smote too heavily.
“I have asked young Nelligan to breakfast with me tomorrow,” said
Repton; “will you both come and meet him?”
“We 're off at cock-crow!” cried Kiel. “Tell him, however, from me that
I am delighted with his _débuts_ and that all the best wishes of my
friends and myself are with him.”
And so they parted.
Repton, however, did not retire to bed at once; his mind was still
intent upon the subject which had engaged him during the day, and as
he walked to and fro in his room, he still dwelt upon it. Scanlan's
instructions had led him to believe that the Martins were in this case
to have been “put upon their title;” and the formidable array of counsel
employed by Magennis seemed to favor the impression. Now it was true
that a trifling informality in the service of the writ had quashed the
proceedings for the present; but the question remained, “Was the great
struggle only reserved for a future day?”
It was clear that a man embarrassed as was Magennis could never have
retained that strong bar of eminent lawyers. From what fund, then, came
these resources? Was there a combination at work? And if so, to what
end, and with what object?
The crafty old lawyer pondered long and patiently over these things.
His feelings might not inaptly be compared to those of a commandant of
a garrison, who sees his stronghold menaced by an enemy he had never
suspected. Confident as he is in the resources of his position, he yet
cannot resist the impression that the very threat of attack has been
prompted by some weakness of which he is unaware.
“To put us on our title,” said he, “implies a great war. Let us try and
find out who and what are they who presume to declare it!”