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

A placard having been posted in the courts of law in Dublin by a bookseller for the sale of Bibles, the gentleman I allude to wrote instantly under it with his pencil —

How clear is the case,He’s mistaken the place,His books of devotion to sell:He should learn, once for all,That he’ll never get callFor the sale of his Bibles in hell.

Had the above jeu d’esprit been the impromptu of a beaten client, he would have got great credit for it; and in truth, I think, after a year or two of litigation in a court of justice, most clients would freely subscribe their names to the concluding epithet.

Another jeu d’esprit I remember, and so no doubt do all the bar of my standing who have any recollection left, – of whom, however, there is, I fancy, no great number.

There is a very broad and boisterous ferry between the counties of Wicklow and Wexford, called Ballinlaw, which the Leinster bar, on circuit, were obliged to cross in a bad boat. At times the wind was extremely violent between the hills, the waters high, and the passage dangerous; – yet the briefs were at the other side; and many a nervous barrister, who on a simple journey would have rode a high-trotting horse fifty miles round-about rather than cross Ballinlaw when the waves were in an angry humour, yet, being sure that there was a golden mine, and a phalanx of attorneys brandishing their white briefs on the opposite shore – commending himself to Divine Providence, and flinging his saddle-bags into the boat – has stepped in after them; and if he had any prayers or curses by heart, now and then pronounced a fragment of such in rotation as were most familiar to him, on launching into an element which he never drank and had a rooted aversion to be upset in.

The curious colloquy of a boatman, on one of those boisterous passages, with Counsellor Cæsar Colclough, once amused such of the passengers as had not the fear of death before their eyes.

Cæsar Colclough of Duffry Hall, a very eccentric, quiet character, not overwise, (he was afterward Chief Justice of Newfoundland,) was in the boat during a storm. Getting nervous, he could not restrain his piety, and began to lisp out, “O Lord! – O Lord!” breathing an ardent prayer that he might once more see his own house, Duffry Hall, in safety, and taste a sweet barn-door fowl or duck, of which he had fine breeds.

“Arrah! Counsellor,” said the boatman, “don’t be going on praying that side, if you plase; sure it’s the other lad you ought to be praying to.”

“What lad do you mean?” said Colclough with alarm.

“What lad! why, Counsellor, the old people always say, that the devil takes care of his own; and if you don’t vex him by praying the other way, I really think, Counsellor, we have a pretty safe cargo aboard at this present passage.”

The friend I alluded to, whose wit and pencil were always ready, immediately placed Cæsar in a much more classical point of view. Though he made him a downright idolater, yet he put him on a level with a mighty hero, or emperor – writing upon the back of a letter thus:

While meaner souls the tempest kept in awe,Intrepid Colclough, crossing Ballinlaw,Cried to the sailors (shivering in their rags)You carry Cæsar and his saddle-bags!

Little did Julius Cæsar foresee before the birth of Christ that the first man at the Irish bar would, near two thousand years afterward, call to mind his exploits in Gaul on the waves of Ballinlaw, in the roaring of a hurricane. Should I meet him hereafter, I shall certainly tell him the anecdote.

COUNSELLOR LYSIGHT

Edward Lysight, Esq., barrister-at-law – His peculiar talents – A song of his contrasted with one of Moore’s on the same subject —Ounagh and Mary– Pastoral poetry – “The Devil in the Lantern” – A love story – “We’re a’ noddin” – Sketch of Mr. Solomon Salmon and his daughter – Mr. Lysight’s nuptials with the latter – Sociality at Somers’ Town – A morning call – All is not gold that glitters – Death of the counsellor and his lady.

Among the eccentric characters formerly abounding at the Irish bar, was one whose species of talent is nearly extinct, but whose singularities are still recollected by such of his professional contemporaries as have had the good fortune to survive him.

Edward Lysight, a gentleman by birth, was left, as to fortune, little else than his brains and his pedigree. The latter, however, was of no sort of use to him, and he seldom employed the former to any lucrative purpose. He considered law as his trade, and conviviality (to the cultivation whereof no man could apply more sedulously) as his profession. Full of point and repartee, every humourist and bon vivant was his patron. He had a full proportion of animal courage; and even the fire-eaters of Tipperary never courted his animosity. Songs, epigrams, and lampoons, which from other pens would have terminated in mortal combat, being considered inherent in his nature, were universally tolerated.

Some of Lysight’s sonnets had great merit, and many of his national stanzas were singularly characteristic. His “Sprig of shillelah and shamrock so green” is admirably and truly descriptive of the low Irish character, and never was that class so well depicted in so few words: but, to my taste, his sketch of a May morning is not to be exceeded in that cheerful colouring and natural simplicity which constitute the very essence and spirit of genuine pastoral. The beginning of the copy of verses called “Ounagh” offers an illustration of this; and it is much to be lamented that, with strange inconsistency, the man did not write another line of it adapted for publication. The first verse is, however, in my mind, worthy of being recorded, and I give it as a sample either of my bad or good taste. All I am sure of is, that I admire it.

’Twas on a fine May morning,When violets were springing O,Dew-drops the fields adorning,The birds melodious singing O:The green treesEach soft breezeWas gently waving up and down:The primroseThat sweet blowsAdorned Nature’s verdant gown:The purling rillStole down the hill,And softly murmur’d thro’ the grove,This was the time Ounagh stole out, to meet her barefoot love.45

Lysight was, perhaps, not a poet in the strict acceptation of the term; – but he wrote a great number of miscellaneous verses – some of them, in general estimation, excellent; some delicate, some gross. I scarce ever saw two of these productions of the same metre, and very few were of the same character. Several of the best poetical trifles in M‘Nally’s “Sherwood Forest” were penned by Lysight.

Having no fixed politics, or in truth decided principles respecting any thing, he was one day a patriot, the next a courtier, and wrote squibs both for government and against it. The stanzas relatively commencing,

Green were the fields that our forefathers dwelt on, &c.

Where the loud cannons rattle, to battle we’ll go, &c.

and

Some few years ago, though now she says no, &c.

were three of the best of his patriotic effusions; they were certainly very exciting, and he sang them with great effect. He ended his literary career by a periodical paper in 1800, written principally against me, and called “The Lantern,” for which and similar squibs, he received four hundred pounds from Lord Castlereagh. I sincerely wished him joy of the acquisition, and told him “if he found me a good chopping-block, he was heartily welcome to hack away as long as he could get any thing by his butchery.” He shook me heartily by the hand, swore I was a “d – d good fellow,” and the next day took me at my word by lampooning me very sufficingly in a copy of verses entitled “The Devil in the Lantern!” But I loved abuse, when it was incurred for opposing the Union; and we never had a moment’s coolness upon that or any other subject. Indeed, I really regarded him.

He attempted to practise at the English bar; but after a short time, told me he found he had not law enough for the King’s Bench, was not dull enough for the Court of Chancery, and that before he could make way at the Old Bailey he must shoot Garrow, which would be extremely disagreeable to him. He therefore recurred to the periodicals; and though an indifferent prose writer, wielded his goose-quill with no small success. He showed me a tariff of his pieces in verse: it was a most pleasant document, and I greatly regret I did not keep a copy of it: he burned it, he told me, to light his candle with. So indifferent was he of the main chance throughout life, that he never adhered long to any pursuit after he found it was really likely to be productive.

In the year 1785, when I was at Temple, he called on me one morning at the Grecian Coffee-house, where I then lodged, and said, with much seeming importance —

“Barrington, put on your hat, and come along with me this moment. I want to show you a lady who has fallen in love with me.”

“In love with you, Ned?” said I.

“Ay, to insanity!” replied he.

“It must indeed be to insanity.”

“Oh!” resumed he, gaily, “she is, I assure you, only considering what death she shall inflict on herself if I do not marry her. Now, you know, I am as poor as a rat, though a gentleman, and her father is as rich as Crœsus, though a blackguard: so we shall be well matched. The blood and the fat duly mixed, as Hogarth says, makes a right sort of pudding. So the thing is settled, and I’ll have the twelve tribes of Israel at my beck in the course of Monday morning.”

I thought he was distracted, and raving; but, however, immediately set out with him upon this singular expedition; and on our way to the Strand, where the papa resided, he disclosed to me all the circumstances of his amour.

“Barrington,” said he, “the lady herself is not, to be sure, the most palatable morsel one might see in a circle of females; yet she is obviously of the human species; has the usual features in her face (such as they are), four fingers and a thumb on each hand, and two distinct feet with a proper number (I suppose) of toes upon each, – and what more need I expect, seeing she has plenty of the shiners?”

“True,” said I: “as for beauty, those English girls, who are handsome, are too frolicksome: she’ll stick the closer to you, because she has none.”

“And what advantage will that be?” muttered Lysight, with a half-suppressed imprecation. “Her father pretends,” continued he, “to be a Christian, and affects to keep a shop in the Strand, under the name of ‘Salmon, watchmaker:’ but in reality he is a d – d Jew, and only pretends to be a Christian that he may transact affairs for certain Israelites of the city, who give him the devil’s own rate of commission! – I hope to be a partner ere long!”

“Suppose he receives stolen goods, Ned?” said I. “You’d cut but a queer figure at the tail of a cart with a cat-o’-nine-tails flourished over you.”

“Father of Israel!” exclaimed Lysight, already half a Jew, “you mistake the matter totally. No, no! the maid-servant, whom I bribed with the price of my last squib in the Chronicle, told me every thing about Solomon Salmon – his dealings, his daughter, and his great iron chest with eleven locks to it: but as to goods, he never has fifty pounds’ worth of trinkets or watches in his shop – only a few in the window, to look like trade. He deals in the lending and borrowing way only – all cash transactions, depend on it.”

“For Heaven’s sake, Ned,” said I, “how did you introduce yourself into the family of a Hebrew?”

“I met the girl three months ago,” he replied, “at a dancing-school at Somers’ Town, set up by an old Irish acquaintance, Terry M‘Namara, with whom I dine sometimes: he told me she was a rich Jewess; so when I heard of her papa, I determined to know something more about his daughter, and stole frequently to Somers’ Town, where Mr. Solomon Salmon has a pretty cit cottage. There I hid behind a dead wall just in front, and when she came to the window, I nodded, and she ran away, as if offended. I knew this was a good sign with a woman. She soon returned to the window. I nodded again. Away went she a second time; but I heard a loud laugh, and considered that a capital sign: and in fact, she came a third time. Then I was sure, and nodded twice, whereupon she returned the salutation. Having carried on the nodding system sufficiently, I now ventured to speak to her on my fingers – an art which I had seen her dexterously practise at the dancing-school. ‘My love!’ fingered I; at which she turned her back, but soon turned her face again. ‘My love!’ I repeated, still on my fingers. Off she scampered, but soon came back in company with the maid-servant (whom I therefore bribed next day). I now ventured to suggest an interview the following evening. The Jewess flushed at this proposal; but on my repetition of it, held up seven of her fingers.

“Of course I was punctual at the time appointed, was admitted, and we swore eternal fidelity on the Old Testament. The maid betrayed us as soon as I ran short of hush-money, but repented afterward, when I gave her a fresh supply, and told me that her master, Mr. Solomon Salmon, had locked his daughter up. She had then attempted to throw herself out of a two-pair window for my sake; but the old Jew having caught her in the very act, she peremptorily told him she was determined to fall into a decay or consumption of the lungs, if he did not consent to her marrying the Christian counsellor.

“This he was in the sequel forced to agree to, or sacrifice his own virgin daughter, (like the king in the Bible,) besides whom he luckily has no other child to inherit his fortune, and the mother is at least twenty years past childbearing.

“At length all was settled, and we are to be actually married as Christians on Monday next. Little Egar of Hare Court has drawn up the marriage articles, and I am to have ten thousand now – that is, the interest of it during the Jew’s life, payable quarterly: then twenty more, and all the rest on the mother’s death: and in the mean time, half his commission on money dealings (to commence after a few months’ instruction), together with the house in Somers’ Town, where I shall reside and transact business.”

All this Lysight told me with great glee and admirable humour.

“Egad, it’s no bad hit, Ned,” said I; “many a high-headed grand-juror on the Munster circuit would marry Solomon Salmon himself upon the same terms.”

“You’ll dine with me,” said Lysight, “on Wednesday, at Somers’ Town, at five o’clock? I’ll give you a good turkey, and such a bottle of old black-strap as neither the Grecian nor the Oxford ever had in their cellars for any money.”

“I’ll surely attend a new scene, Ned,” answered I.

I was accordingly most punctual. All appeared to be just as he had described. It was a small house, well furnished. Miss’s visage, to be sure, though not frightful, was less ornamental than any article on the premises. The maid-servant was really a fine girl; the cook no bad artiste; the dinner good, and the wine capital. Two other Templars were of the party, and every thing went on well. About eight at night the old Jew came in. He appeared a civil, smug, dapper, clean, intelligent little fellow, with a bob-wig. He made us all welcome, and soon retired to rest, leaving us to a parting bottle.

The affair proceeded prosperously; and I often dined with my friend in the same cheerful manner. Ned, in fact, became absolutely domestic. By degrees he got into the trade; accepted all the bills at the Jew’s request, to save him trouble, as old Salmon kept his own books; and a large fortune was accumulating every day, as was apparent by the great quantities of miscellaneous property which was sent in and as quickly disappeared; when one morning, Ned was surprised at three ugly-looking fellows entering his house rather unceremoniously and without stating their business. Ned immediately seized the poker, when his arm was arrested gently by a fourth visitor, who said:

“Easy, easy, Counsellor Lysight, we mean you no harm or rudeness; we only do our duty. We are the commissioners’ messengers, that’s all. Gentlemen,” said the attorney, as he proved to be, to the three ruffians, “do your duty without the slightest inconvenience to the counsellor.”

They then proceeded to seal up all the doors, leaving Ned, wife, & Co. a bed-room only, to console themselves in. Mr. Solomon Salmon, in truth, turned out both a Christian and a bankrupt, and had several thousands to pay out of the sale of about twoscore of silver watches and a few trinkets – which constituted the entire of the splendid property he had so liberally settled on Mr. Edward Lysight as a portion with his lady daughter.

Ned now found himself completely taken in, – reduced, as he told me, to ten shillings and sixpence in gold, and four shillings in silver, but acceptor of bills of exchange for Salmon & Co. for more than he could pay should he live a hundred years longer than the course of nature would permit him. As he had signed no partnership deed, and had no funds, they could not make him a bankrupt; and as the bills had not arrived at mercantile maturity, he had some days of grace during which to consider himself at liberty: – so he thought absence and fresh air better than hunger and imprisonment, and therefore retreat the wisest course to be taken. He was right; for in some time, the creditors having ascertained that they could get nothing of a cat but its skin, (even could they catch it,) suffered him to remain unmolested on his own promise – and a very safe one – that if ever he was able, he would pay them.

He afterward went over to Dublin to the Irish bar, where he made nearly as many friends as acquaintances, but not much money; and at length died, – his widow soon following his example, and leaving two daughters, who, I believe, as teachers of music in Dublin, were much patronised and regarded.

Several years subsequently, being surprised that the creditors had let Lysight off so easily, I inquired particulars from a solicitor who had been concerned in the affairs of Salmon & Co., and he informed me that all the parties, except one, had ceased to proceed on the commission; and that he found the true reason why the alleged creditors had agreed to let Lysight alone was, that they had been all engaged in a piece of complicated machinery to deceive the unwary, and dreaded lest matters should come out, in the course of a strict examination, which might place them in a more dangerous situation than either the bankrupt or his son-in-law. In fact, the creditors were a knot; the bankrupt an instrument; and Lysight a tool.

Felix qui facit aliena periculum comtum.

FATALITIES OF MARRIAGE

Speculations of the author on free-agency and predestination – A novel theory – The matrimonial ladder – Advice to young lovers – A ball in Dublin – Unexpected arrival of Lord G – His doom expressed – Marries the author’s niece – Remarks on his lordship’s character.

In a previous part of this volume, I promised my fair readers that I would endeavour to select some little anecdotes of tender interest, more particularly calculated for their perusal; and I now proceed to redeem that promise, so far as I can.

Fatality in marriages has been ever a favourite theme with young ladies who have promptly determined to resign their liberty to a stranger, rather than preserve it with a parent. I am myself no unqualified fatalist; but have struck out a notion of my own on that subject, which is, I believe, different from all others; – and when I venture to broach it in conversation, I am generally assured by the most didactic of the company, that (so far as it is comprehensible) it excludes both sense and morality. Nevertheless it is, like my faith in supernaturals, a grounded and honest opinion: and in all matters connected with such shadowy things as spirits, fates, chances, &c. a man is surely warranted in forming his own theories – a species of construction, at any rate, equally harmless and rational with that castle-building in the air so prevalent among his wiser acquaintances.

It is not my intention here to plunge deep into my tenets. I only mean indeed to touch on them so far as they bear upon matrimony: and may the glance induce fair damsels, when first nourishing a tender passion, to consider in time what may be fated as the consequences of their free-agency!

The matrimonial ladder (if I may be allowed such a simile) has generally eight steps: viz. 1. Attentions; 2. Flirtation; 3. Courtship; 4. Breaking the ice; 5. Popping the question; 6. The negotiation; 7. The ceremony; 8. The repentance.

The grand basis of my doctrine is, that free-agency and predestination are neither (as commonly held) inconsistent nor incompatible; but, on the contrary, intimately connected, and generally copartners in producing human events. Every important occurrence in the life of man or woman (and matrimony is no bagatelle) partakes of the nature of both. Great events may ever be traced to trivial causes, or to voluntary actions; and that which is voluntary cannot, it should seem, be predestined: but when these acts of free-will are once performed, they lead irresistibly to ulterior things. Our free-agency then becomes expended; our spontaneous actions cannot be retraced; and then, and not before, the march of fate commences.

The medical doctrine of remote and proximate causes of disease in the human body is not altogether inappropriate to my dogma – since disorders which are predestined to send ladies and gentlemen on their travels to the other world, entirely against their inclinations, may frequently be traced to acts which were as entirely within their own option.

I have already professed my intention of going but superficially into this subject just now; and though I could find it in my heart considerably to prolong the inquiry, I will only give one or two marked illustrations of my doctrine, merely to set casuists conjecturing. There are comparatively few important acts of a person’s life which may not be avoided. For example: – if any man chooses voluntarily to take a voyage to Nova Scotia, he gives predestination a fair opportunity of drowning him at sea, if it think proper; but if he determines never to go into a ship, he may be perfectly certain of his safety in that way. Again: – if a general chooses to go into a battle, it is his free-agency which enables predestination to despatch him there; but if, on the other hand, he keeps clear out of it (as some generals do), he may set fatality at defiance on that point, and perhaps return with as much glory as many of his comrades had acquired by leaving their brains upon the field. Cromwell told his soldiers the night before the battle of Worcester, (to encourage them,) that, “Every bullet carried its own billet.” – “Why then, by my sowl,” said an Irish recruit, “that’s the very rason I’ll desert before morning!” Marriage, likewise, is an act of free-agency; but, as I said before, being once contracted, predestination comes into play, often despatching one or other of the parties, either by grief, murder, or suicide, who might have been safe and sound from all those fatalities, had he or she never voluntarily purchased or worn a plain gold ring.

Of the eight steps attached to the ladder of matrimony already specified, seven (all lovers will be pleased to remark) imply “free-agency;” but the latter of these being mounted, progress to the eighth is too frequently inevitable. I therefore recommend to all candidates for the ascent, thorough deliberation, and a brief pause at each successive step: – for, according to my way of thinking, the knot tied at the seventh interval should be considered, in every respect, perfectly indissoluble.

The principle of these few examples might extend to most of the events that chequer our passage through life; and a little unprejudiced reflection seems alone requisite to demonstrate that “free-agency” may readily keep fate under her thumb on most important occasions.