Personal Sketches of His Own Times, Vol. 3 (of 3)

He was the greatest punster of his profession, and piqued himself on that qualification, in which he often succeeded admirably.42 He had, in short, that sort of partial popularity with his bar contemporaries as rendered them always glad to have him in their society; but it was seldom any one inquired what had become of him when he was out of it. He had an ample store of individual courage; feared not single combat, and fought several duels intrepidly, though I do not think he ever provoked one. He shot Sir Harding Giffard, late Chief Justice of Ceylon, and obtained a very droll name through that achievement, which never forsook him during his lifetime.

Harvey was a person of the best fortune in his quarter of the county; of a Protestant family; and, being charitable and benevolent to his tenantry, was much beloved by them. Nobody in fact could dislike him: though he was flippant, he did not want sense; and presented an excellent example of those contradictory qualities so often discoverable in the same individual. He was considered by the heads of the United Irishmen to be well adapted – as a man of fortune and local influence in the most disaffected portion of their strongest county – to forward their objects: and he suffered his vanity so far to overcome his judgment, as, without the slightest experience, to assume the command of a great army – for which purpose there were few men in Ireland so utterly unfit.

In his martial office, his head became totally bewildered; the sphere of action was too great – the object struggled for, too comprehensive. Nor did even his personal courage follow him to the field. His bravery, as against a single man, was neutralised in a tumult; and a mind naturally intrepid became bewildered, puzzled, and impotent. Amidst the roar of cannon, and the hurly-burly of the tumultuous and sanguinary battle of Ross, his presence of mind wholly forsook him, and he lost the day by want of tact and absence of spirit. His men fought hand to hand in the streets of Ross with the regular troops, of whom they slew a considerable number, including the Earl of Mountjoy; nor did they at last retire until they had not a single officer left to continue the engagement or lead them on to a renewed attack – which in all probability would have been effectual. Never did human beings show more decided bravery than the Irish peasantry in that bloody engagement. Thrice the town was theirs, and was finally lost by their inebriety and want of proper officers. Had Harvey captured New Ross, all Munster would have risen in his cause; and then indeed no royalist could have anticipated without dread the consequences. Officers and arms would have made the whole country inevitably theirs. When Wexford was retaken, Harvey concealed himself on an island, but was discovered, brought to that town, and without much ceremony hanged next day upon the bridge, toward the erection of which he had largely subscribed.

I could not but feel extreme regret at the sad fate which befell my old friend and school-fellow, who did not meet his destiny quite so firmly as his original manly bearing had inclined people to expect: – poor fellow! he idly strove by entreaty to avert, or at least retard it; and its infliction was aggravated by every species of indignity. In every thing except his politics, Harvey’s character was unimpeachable.

I never knew two persons much more dissimilar than were the commander-in-chief of the insurgents and the rebel governor of Wexford, Captain Keogh. The latter was a retired captain of the British service, who had fought in America, and, like many others, had there received a lesson on civil liberty which never escaped his memory. He was married to an aunt of Lady Barrington; and, for many years, when I went the circuit, I lived at his house, and had conceived the greatest friendship for him. He was a very clever man. His housekeeping was characterised by neatness, regularity, and cheerfulness. Every thing was good of its kind; and in that plentiful country, even luxuries were abundant. Calm, determined, moderate, and gentlemanly, Captain Keogh combined good sense with firmness and spirit. But, most unfortunately, ill-treatment sustained from Lord Chancellor Clare perverted half his good qualities, and metamorphosed him into a partizan, which was far from being his natural tendency.

He had a fine soldier-like person, above the middle size; his countenance was excellent; his features regular and engaging; his hair, rather scanty, receded from his forehead; his eyes were penetrating and expressive; and his complexion exhibited that partial ruddiness which we so frequently see in fine men approaching threescore. He was appointed rebel governor of Wexford, but among those savages soon lost his popularity; and had the insurgents continued much longer masters of the place, he would surely have been assassinated. He did what he durst on the side of humanity, and had supposed that his orders would be obeyed: but he was deceived; blood, and blood in torrents, was the object of both parties during that horrid summer. On the surrender of the town, Keogh was immediately convicted under martial law. He pleaded for himself; and I learn that on that occasion every body was affected. He knew his situation to be irretrievable, and his life forfeit; and he conducted himself at his execution with the utmost firmness, as became a gentleman and a soldier. He was hanged and beheaded on the bridge of which he also was a proprietor; and his head, as mentioned in a former volume (Vol. i.), was exhibited on a spike over the court-house door.

A singular circumstance occurred in Keogh’s house while the rebels were in possession of Wexford. His brother, a retired major in the British army, had also served in America, and lived with the captain in Wexford, but was a most enthusiastic royalist. Upon the rebels taking the place, he endeavoured to dissuade his brother from accepting the office of governor, but failing in the attempt, he retired to his own room and immediately blew his brains out!

The next of my friends and connexions who suffered by the hands of the executioner, was Mr. Cornelius Grogan of Johnstown Castle, a gentleman of large fortune, and great local interest and connexion. He had been twice high-sheriff and representative in Parliament for the county. He resided three miles from Wexford at his castle, where he had a deer-park of one thousand acres of good ground, besides a fine demesne. He lived as a quiet, though hospitable country gentleman. At this unfortunate period he had passed his seventieth year, and was such a martyr to the gout that his hands were wrapped up in flannel; and half carried, half hobbling upon crutches, he proceeded to the place of execution.

Mr. Grogan was in person short and dark-complexioned. His countenance, however, was not disagreeable, and he had in every respect the address and manners of a man of rank. His two brothers commanded yeomanry corps. One of them was killed at the head of his corps (the Castletown cavalry) at the battle of Arklaw; the other was wounded at the head of his troop (the Healtford cavalry) during Major Maxwell’s retreat from Wexford.

The form of a trial was thought necessary by General Lake for a gentleman of so much importance in his county. His case was afterward brought before Parliament, and argued for three successive days and nearly nights. His crime consisted in having been surrounded by a rebel army, which placed him under the surveillance of numerous ruffians. They forced him one day into the town on horseback; – a rebel of the appropriate name of Savage always attending him with a blunderbuss, and orders to shoot him if he refused their commands. They one day nominated him a commissary, knowing that his numerous tenantry would be more willing in consequence to supply them. He used no weapon of any sort; – indeed, was too feeble even to hold one. A lady of the name of Seagriff gave evidence that her family were in want of food, and that she got Mr. Grogan to give her an order for some bread, which order was obeyed by the insurgents. She procured some loaves, and supplied her children; and for that bread (which saved a family from starvation) Mr. Grogan was, on the lady’s evidence, sentenced to die as a felon – and actually hanged, when already almost lifeless from pain, imprisonment, age, and brutal treatment! The court-martial which tried him was not sworn, and only mustered seven in number. His witness was shot while on the way to give evidence of his innocence; and while General Lake was making merry with his staff, one of the first gentlemen in the county (in every point his superior) was done to death almost before his windows!

From my intimate knowledge of Mr. Grogan for several years, I can venture to assert most unequivocally (and it is but justice to his memory) that, though a person of independent mind and conduct as well as fortune, and an opposition member of parliament, he was no more a rebel than his brothers, who signalised themselves in battle as loyalists; and the survivor of whom was rewarded by a posthumous bill of attainder against the unfortunate gentleman in question, by virtue of which estates of many thousands per annum were confiscated to the king. (The survivor’s admitted loyal brother had been killed in battle only a few days before the other was executed.) This attainder was one of the most flagitious acts ever promoted by any government: – but after ten thousand pounds costs to crown officers, &c. had been extracted from the property, the estates were restored. I spent the summer of 1799 at Johnstown Castle, where I derived much private information as to the most interesting events of that unfortunate era.

It is, of course, most painful to me to recollect those persons whose lives were taken – some fairly – some, as I think, unfairly – at a time when military law had no restraint, and enormities were daily committed through it not much inferior to those practised by the rebels.

Sir Edward Crosby, a baronet with whom I was intimately acquainted, and who also lived tranquilly, as a country gentleman, upon a moderate fortune, near Carlow, was another person who always struck me to have been murdered by martial law. There was not even a rational pretence for his execution. His trial, with all its attending documents, has been published, and his innocence, in fact, made manifest. The president of the martial court was one Major Dennis, who some time after quitted the service – I shall not mention why. The sentence on Sir Edward was confirmed by Sir Charles Asgill, I must suppose through gross misrepresentation, as Sir Charles had himself known enough about hanging (though personally innocent) in America, to have rendered him more merciful, or at least more cautious in executing the first baronet of Ireland.

The entire innocence of Sir Edward Crosby has since, as I just now mentioned, been acknowledged by all parties. His manners were mild and well-bred: he was tall and genteel in appearance; and upward of fifty years of age. He had a wife who loved him; and was every way a happy man till he was borne to execution without the slightest cause. He was the elder brother of my old college friend, Balloon Crosby, whom I have heretofore mentioned in relating my rencontre with Mr. Daly. (See Vol. ii.) He did not die with the courage of Keogh, but hoped for mercy to the last minute, relying on the interference of his old friend Judge Downes, who, however, proved but a broken reed.

REMINISCENCES OF WIT

Wit distinguished from ribaldry – Chief Baron Yelverton and Mr. Curran – Chief Justice Clonmell – Lord Norbury’s comprehensive powers – Sir Hercules Langreish, and his digressions in claret-drinking – Gervoise Parker Bushe, Chief Baron Burgh, &c. – Peculiar traits of Irish convivial society in the author’s day – Jeremiah Keller – Lord Clare’s funeral – A scanty fee – The Pope and Pretender – Counsellor Norcott’s talent of mimickry – Ballinlaw ferry – Cæsar Colclough, of Duffry Hall, and Julius Cæsar.

There is no intellectual faculty so difficult to define, or of which there are so many degrees and gradations, as wit. Humour may be termed a sort of table d’hôte, whereat wit and ribaldry sometimes mingle. Certain eminent countrymen of mine possessed these various conversational qualities in great perfection, and often called them into action at the same sitting. Among them, Mr. Curran and Chief Baron Yelverton were most conspicuous; but the flow of their bonhomie was subject to many contingencies. It is worthy notice, that all the Irish judges of those days who could conjure up a single joke, affected wit. Lord Clonmell, chief justice, was but clumsy at repartee, though an efficient humourist. He seldom rose above anecdotes, but these he acted whilst he told them. He had the peculiar advantage of knowing mankind well, and suiting his speech to the ears of his company. Lord Norbury had witticisms, puns, jeux-d’esprit– in short, jokes of all kinds, constantly at hand. His impromptus were sometimes excellent, but occasionally failed; – he made, however, more hits than any one of his contemporaries. Nobody, it is true, minded much what he said: – if it was good, they laughed heartily; if bad, it was only a Norbury; – and so, by an indefatigable practice of squibbing, it is not wonderful that, during a life of eighty years, he should have uttered many good things– though, oddly enough, few of them are preserved.

Lord Norbury sang extremely well. – On my first circuit as counsel, in 1787, he went as judge, and I have often heard him warble “Black-eyed Susan” and “Admiral Benbow,” as well as parts in divers glees and catches, most agreeably. – Requiescat in pace!

Sir Hercules Langreish, a commissioner of revenue, and one of the most popular courtiers of our society, had an abundance of slow, kind-hearted, though methodistically pronounced, repartee. (A living friend of mine in high rank has much more wit than Sir Hercules; but there is less philanthropy about it). I have heretofore mentioned his retort courteous to Mr. Dundas, and will now give another specimen: – He was surprised one evening at his house in Stephen’s Green, by Sir John Parnell, Duigenan, and myself, who went to him on an immaterial matter of revenue business. We found him in his study alone, poring over the national accounts, with two claret bottles empty before him and a third bottle on the wane; it was about eight o’clock in the evening, and the butler, according to general orders when gentlemen came in, brought a bottle of claret to each of us. “Why,” said Parnell, “Sir Heck, you have emptied two bottles already.” “True,” said Sir Hercules. “And had you nobody to help you?” “O yes, I had that bottle of port there, and I assure you he afforded me very great assistance!”

Gervoise Parker Bushe could boast of wit enough for a member of parliament, and more than enough for a commissioner of the revenue. An eminent relative of his, now living, possesses the finest specimen I know at present of the smooth, classical species.

I never knew two distinguished individuals approach each other so nearly in many respects as the late Chief Baron Hussy Burgh and the personage who now presides over the first law court of Ireland. In some points, it is true, they differed: – the former was proud, the latter affable. The eloquence of the former was more highly polished, more classical and effective; that of the latter, more simple, more familiar, yet decided. When very young, I was fascinated by the eloquence of the silver-tongued orator (as he was then called), and sought every possible opportunity of hearing him both at the bar and in the House of Commons. His was the purest declamation I have ever listened to; and when he made an instrument of his wit, it was pointed and acute. He was a miscellaneous poet, and wrote epigrams (several upon Lord Aldborough), which were extremely severe, but at the same time extremely humorous.

It would be almost impossible to enumerate the wits and humourists of Ireland in my early days. Wit was then regularly cultivated as an accomplishment, and was, in a greater or less degree, to be found in every society. Those whom nature had not blessed with that faculty (if a blessing it is) still did their very best – as a foreigner sports his broken English.

The convivial circles of the higher orders of Irish society, in fact, down to the year 1800, in point of wit, pleasantry, good temper, and friendly feeling, were pre-eminent; while the plentiful luxuries of the table, and rich furniture of the wine-cellar, were never surpassed, if equalled, among the gentry of any country. But every thing is now changed; that class of society is no more; neither men nor manners are the same; and even the looking back at those times affords a man who participated in their pleasures higher gratification than do the actual enjoyments of the passing era.

People may say this change is in myself: perhaps so: yet I think that if it were possible for an old man still to preserve unimpaired all the sensations of youth, he would, were he a gentleman, be of my way of thinking. As for those of my contemporaries who survive, and who lived in the same circles with myself, I have no doubt they are unanimously of my opinion. I had very lately an opportunity of seeing this powerfully exemplified by a noble lord at my house. Good fortune had attended him throughout life; always respected and beloved, he had at length become wealthy. When we talked over the days we had spent in our own country, his eyes filled, and he confessed to me his bitter repentance as to the Union.

The members of the Irish bar were then collectively the best home-educated persons in Ireland, the elder sons of respectable families being almost uniformly called to that profession. Among them, nevertheless, were some of humbler origin. Jeremiah Keller was such; – but his talent sufficed to elevate him. He had the rare faculty of dressing up the severest satire in the garb of pleasantry – a faculty, by the bye, which makes no friends, and often deepens and fixes animosity.

Keller was a good man, generally liked, and popular with a considerable portion of his profession. But though not rich, he occasionally exercised an independence of mind and manners which gave great distaste to the pride and arrogance of some of the leading authorities. Lord Clare could not endure him, and never missed an opportunity of showing or affecting to show his contempt for Jerry.

Lord Clare having died of the Union and the Duke of Bedford, it was proposed by his led captains and partizans, that the bar, in a body, should attend his funeral procession. But as his Lordship had made so many inveterate foes at the bar, by taking pains to prove himself their foe, it was thought necessary to canvass the profession individually, and ascertain who among them would object to attend. Very few did; – not that they cherished any personal respect for Lord Clare, but wished to compliment the remains of the first Irish chancellor. As Keller was known to be obstinate as well as virulent, it was held desirable to conciliate him if possible – though they anticipated the certainty of a direct refusal.

The deputation accordingly called on him: “You know, my dear fellow,” said Arthur Chichester M‘Courtney, who had been deputed as spokesman (beating about the bush), “that Lord Clare is to be buried to-morrow?”

“’Tis generally the last thing done with dead chancellors,” said Keller coolly.

“He’ll be buried in St. Peter’s,” said the spokesman.

“Then he’s going to a friend of the family,” said Keller. “His father was a papist.”43

This created a laugh disconcerting to the deputation; – however, for fear of worse, the grand question was then put. “My dear Keller,” said the spokesman, “the bar mean to go in procession; have you any objection to attend Lord Clare’s funeral?”

“None at all,” said Keller, “none at all! I shall certainly attend his funeral with the greatest pleasure imaginable!”

Examples of Keller’s dry species of wit in fact daily occurred; it was always pungent, and generally well-timed. In the year 1798 flourished Sir Judkin Fitzgerald, Bart., a barrister whose loyal cruelties in the county of Tipperary were made the subject of a post facto indemnity bill by Lord Castlereagh, to save him from punishment. Among other pastimes, he caused cats-o’-nine-tails to be soaked in brine, that the peasantry and every body else at whom he durst have a fling might be better cut, and remember it the longer. Bragging to Keller of his numerous ultra-loyal achievements, this man said, “You must own, Keller, at least, that I preserved the county of Tipperary.”

“Ay, and you pickled it into the bargain!” said Keller: “you promise to make so good a body confectioner, that I dare say the lord-lieutenant will hire you;” and in fact Sir Judkin was soon afterward put in office at the castle.

The unfortunate Counsellor Norcott, heretofore mentioned in these sketches, was a fat, full-faced, portly-looking person. He had a smirking countenance, and a swaggering air; was an excellent bon vivant, a remarkably good mimic, and affected to be witty.

Speaking of the Catholics in the hall of the Four Courts, Keller seemed to insinuate that Norcott was favourable to their emancipation.

“What!” said Norcott, with a great show of pomposity – “what! Pray, Keller, do you see any thing that smacks of the Pope about me?”

“I don’t know,” replied Keller; “but at all events there is a great deal of the Pretender, and I always understood them to travel in company.”

This was a kind of caustic wit which was not much cultivated in the higher convivial societies of that day, the members whereof used a more cordial species. But such sallies were always repeated with great glee when they did not affect the person who repeated them.

Norcott’s mimickry was complete. This is a disagreeable and dangerous, because generally an offensive faculty. The foibles, absurdities, or personal defects of mankind are thus caricatured, and the nearer perfection the mimickry, the more annoying to the mimicked. Done in a man’s presence, it amounts to a personal insult; in his absence, it is dramatic backbiting, – a bad quality in every point of view to cultivate, and such a weapon of ill-nature as every body should assist in blunting.

In a company where the late Lord Chief Baron Avonmore was a guest, Norcott was called on to show his imitative powers. He did so with great effect, taking off particularly well the peculiarities of the judges; and when he had finished, Lord Avonmore said, with point, but good-humour, “Upon my word, Norcott, as you so ably exposed the absurdities of eleven of the judges, I think you did not act fairly by us in not giving also the twelfth of them” (his lordship’s self). – Norcott did not utter a word more during the evening.

It is very singular, that a man with such a surplus of wit as Curran, never could write a good epigram – nor, with such an emporium of language, compose a pamphlet or essay that would pay for the printing; while a very eminent living friend of mine, high in the world – though not Curran’s equal in either qualities – has written some of the most agreeable and classic jeux d’esprits, of the most witty and humorous papers, and most effective pamphlets, that have issued from the pen of any member of his profession during my time. I had collected as many as I could of this gentleman’s productions and sayings (several printed and a few in manuscript); but, unfortunately, the whole was lost in a trunk of mine, (with a great number of my books and private papers and memoranda,) in 1812. I can scarce attempt to recollect any of them, save one or two, which may give some idea, but nothing more, of the agreeable playfulness of this gentleman’s fancy. They have been long recorded by the Irish bar; and some of the English bar, who are not at present celebrated for their own impromptus or witticisms, and are too wise and steady to understand those of Ireland (unless in print and after due consideration), may be amused by reading and unriddling an Irish epigram, sent into the world by an English bookseller.44