Law and Laughter Part 9

Before giving an anecdote of Lord Avonmore it may interest readers, especially English and Scottish, to quote here the charter song of this famous Irish convivial club of the eighteenth century.

THE CHARTER SONG OF THE MONKS OF THE SCREW

When St. Patrick this order establish'd, He called us the "Monks of the Screw"!

Good rules he reveal'd to our Abbot, To guide us in what we should do.

But first he replenish'd our fountain, With liquor the best in the sky; And he swore on the word of a saint That the fountain should never run dry.

Each year when your octaves approach, In full chapter convened let me find you, And when to the convent you come Leave your favourite temptation behind you; And be not a gla.s.s in your convent, Unless on a festival found; And this rule to enforce I ordain it, Our festival all the year round.

My brethren, be chaste till you're tempted; While sober be grave and discreet; And humble your bodies with fasting, As oft as you've nothing to eat.

Yet, in honour of fasting, one lean face Among you I'll always require, If the Abbot should please he may wear it-- If not, let it come to the Prior.

The last two lines. .h.i.t off the appearance of the Abbot, a Mr. Doyle, and of the Prior, J. P. Curran. The former was a big burly man with a fat, jovial face, while Curran was a short and particularly spare man whose "lean face" always attracted attention.

On a Lent Circuit, one of the a.s.size towns happened to be a place, of which one of Lord Avonmore's college contemporaries held a living: at his own request, the Chief Baron's reverend friend preached the a.s.size sermon. The time being the month of March the weather was cold, the judge was chilled, and unhappily the sermon was long, and the preacher tedious. After the discourse was over, the preacher descended from the pulpit and approached the judge, smirking and smiling, looking fully satisfied with his own exertions, and expecting to receive the compliments and congratulations of his quondam chum. "Well, my lord,"

he asked, "and how did you like the sermon?"--"Oh! most wonderfully,"

replied Avonmore. "It was like the peace of G.o.d--it pa.s.sed all understanding; and--like his mercy--I thought it would have endured for ever."

When Plunket was at the Bar his great friend and rival was C. K. Bushe.

The former was Attorney-General at the same time as the latter was Solicitor-General, and it caused him much dissatisfaction when Plunket learned that on a change of Government Solicitor-General Bushe had not followed his example and resigned office. At the time this occurred both barristers happened to be engaged in a case at which, when it was called, Bushe only appeared. On the judge inquiring of Mr. Bushe if he knew the reason of Mr. Plunket's absence his friend jocosely remarked, "I suppose, my lord, he is Cabinet-making." This pleasantry, at his expense, was told to Plunket by a friend, when he arrived in Court, on which, turning to the judge, the ex-Attorney-General proudly said, "I a.s.sure your lordship I am not so well qualified for Cabinet-making as my learned friend. I never was either a _turner_ or a _joiner_."

Two eminent Irish astronomers differed in an argument on the parallax of a lyrae--the one maintaining that it was three seconds, and the other that it was only two seconds. On being told of this discussion, and that the astronomers parted without arriving at an agreement, Plunket quietly remarked: "It must be a very serious quarrel indeed, when even the seconds cannot agree."

Once applying the common expression to accommodation bills of exchange, that they were _mere kites_, the judge, an English Chancellor, said "he never heard that expression applied before to any but the kites of boys."--"Oh," replied Plunket, "that's the difference between kites in England and in Ireland. In England the wind raises the kite, but in Ireland the kite raises the wind."

Everybody (says Phillips) knew how acutely Plunket felt his forced resignation of the chancellorship, and his being superseded by Lord Campbell. A violent storm arose on the day of Campbell's expected arrival, and a friend remarking to Plunket how sick of his promotion the pa.s.sage must have made the new Chancellor: "Yes," said the former, ruefully, "but it won't make him throw up the seals."

Mr. Frankfort Moore, in his _Journalist's Notebook_, relates how Justice Lawson summed up in the case of a man who was charged with stealing a pig. The evidence of the theft was quite conclusive, and, in fact, was not combated; but the prisoner called the priests and neighbours to attest to his good character. "Gentlemen of the jury," said the judge, "I think that the only conclusion you can arrive at is, that the pig was stolen by the prisoner, and that he is the most amiable man in the country."

CHAPTER FOUR

THE BARRISTERS OF IRELAND

"'Men that hire out their words and anger'; that are more or less pa.s.sionate according as they are paid for it, and allow their client a quant.i.ty of wrath proportionable to the fee which they receive from him."

ADDISON: _The Spectator_.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE BARRISTERS OF IRELAND

The Irish counsel like the occupants of the Bench were, in early times, eminent for their jolly carousing. Once, about 1687, a heavy argument coming on before Lord Chancellor Fitton, Mr. Nagle, the solicitor, retained Sir Toby Butler as counsel, who entered into a bargain that he would not drink a drop of wine while the case was at hearing. This bargain reached the ears of the Chancellor, who asked Sir Toby if it was true that such a compact had been made. The counsel said it was true, and the bargain had been rigidly kept; but on further inquiry he admitted that as he had only promised not to _drink_ a _drop_ of wine, he felt he must have some stimulant. So he got a basin, into which he poured two bottles of claret, and then got two hot rolls of bread, sopped them in the claret and ate them. "I see," replied the Chancellor; "in truth, Sir Toby, you deserve to be master of the rolls!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: JOHN P. CURRAN, MASTER OF ROLLS.]

One naturally turns to Curran for a selection of the witty sayings of the Irish Bar, and abundantly he supplies them, although in these days many of his jests may be considered as in somewhat doubtful taste.

Phillips tells us he remembered Curran once--in an action for breach of promise of marriage, in which he was counsel for the defendant, a young clergyman--thus appealing to the jury: "Gentlemen, I entreat you not to ruin this young man by a vindictive verdict; for _though_ he has talents, and is in the Church, _he may rise_!"

After his college career Curran went to London to study for the Bar. His circ.u.mstances were often straitened, and at times so much so that he had to pa.s.s the day without dinner. But under such depressing circ.u.mstances his high spirits never forsook him. One day he was sitting in St. James's Park merrily whistling a tune when a gentleman pa.s.sed, who, struck by the youth's melancholy appearance while, at the same time, he whistled a lively air, asked how he "came to be sitting there whistling while other people were at dinner." Curran replied, "I would have been at dinner too, but a trifling circ.u.mstance--delay in remittances--obliges me to dine on an Irish tune." The result was that Curran was invited to dine with the stranger, and years afterwards, when he had become famous, he recalled the incident to his entertainer--Macklin, the celebrated actor--with the a.s.surance, "You never acted better in your life."

From Phillips again we have Curran's retort upon an Irish judge, who was quite as remarkable for his good humour and raillery as for his legal researches. Curran was addressing a jury on one of the State trials in 1803 with his usual animation. The judge, whose political bias, if any judge can have one, was certainly supposed not to be favourable to the prisoner, shook his head in doubt or denial of one of the advocate's arguments. "I see, gentlemen," said Curran, "I see the motion of his lordship's head; common observers might imagine that implied a difference of opinion, but they would be mistaken; it is merely accidental. Believe me, gentlemen, if you remain here many days, you will yourselves perceive that when his lordship shakes his head, there's _nothing in it_!"

Curran was one day engaged in a case in which he had for a junior a remarkably tall and slender gentleman, who had been originally intended to take orders. The judge observing that the case under discussion involved a question of ecclesiastical law, Curran interposed with: "I refer your lordship to a high authority behind me, who was once intended for the Church, though in my opinion he was fitter for the steeple."

He was one day walking with a friend, who, hearing a person say "curosity" for "curiosity," exclaimed: "How that man murders the English language!"--"Not so bad as that," replied Curran. "He has only knocked an 'i' out."

Curran never joined the hunt, except once, not far from Dublin. His horse joined very keenly in the sport, but the horseman was inwardly hoping all the while that the dogs would not find. In the midst of his career, the hounds broke into a potato field of a wealthy land-agent, who happened to have been severely cross-examined by Curran some days before. The fellow came up patronisingly and said, "Oh sure, you are Counsellor Curran, the great lawyer. Now then, Mr. Lawyer, can you tell me by what law you are trespa.s.sing on my ground?"--"By what law, did you ask, Mr. Maloney?" replied Curran. "It must be the _Lex Tally-ho-nis_, to be sure."

During one of the Circuits, Curran was dining with a brother advocate at a small inn kept by a worthy woman known by the Christian name of Honoria, or, as it is generally called, Honor. The gentlemen were so pleased with their entertainment that they summoned Honor to receive their compliments and drink a gla.s.s of wine with them. She attended at once, and Curran after a brief eulogium on the dinner filled a gla.s.s, and handing it to the landlady proposed as a toast "Honor and Honesty,"

to which the lady with an arch smile added, "Our absent friends," drank off her amended toast and withdrew.

He happened one day to have for his companion in a stage-coach a very vulgar and revolting old woman, who seemed to have been encrusted with a prejudice against Ireland and all its inhabitants. Curran sat chafing in silence in his corner. At last, suddenly, a number of cows, with their tails and heads in the air, kept rushing up and down the road in alarming proximity to the coach windows. The old woman manifestly was but ill at ease. At last, unable to restrain her terror, she faltered out, "Oh dear; oh dear, sir! what can the cows mean?"--"Faith, my good woman," replied Curran, "as there's an Irishman in the coach, I shouldn't wonder if they were on the outlook for _a bull_!"

Curran was once asked what an Irish gentleman, just arrived in England, could mean by perpetually putting out his tongue. "I suppose," replied the wit, "he's trying _to catch the English accent_."

During the temporary separation of Lord Avonmore and Curran, Egan espoused the judge's imaginary quarrel so bitterly that a duel was the consequence. The parties met, and on the ground Egan complained that the disparity in their sizes gave his antagonist a manifest advantage. "I might as well fire at a razor's edge as at him," said Egan, "and he may hit me as easily as a turf-stack."--"I'll tell you what, Mr. Egan,"

replied Curran; "I wish to take no advantage of you--let my _size_ be _chalked_ out upon your side, and I am quite content that every shot which hits outside that mark should _go for nothing_." And in another duel, in which his opponent was a major who had taken offence at some remark the eminent counsel had made about him in Court, the major asked Curran to fire first. "No," replied Curran, "I am here on your invitation, so you must _open the ball_."

Sir Thomas Furton, who was a respectable speaker, but certainly nothing more, affected once to discuss the subject of eloquence with Curran, a.s.suming an equality by no means palatable to the latter. Curran happening to mention, as a peculiarity of his, that he could not speak above a quarter of an hour without requiring something to moisten his lips, Sir Thomas, pursuing his comparisons, declared _he_ had the advantage in that respect. "I spoke," said he, "the other night in the Commons for five hours on the Nabob of Oude, and never felt in the least thirsty."--"It is very remarkable, indeed," replied Curran, "for everyone agrees that was the _driest_ speech of the session."

Lord Clare (says Mr. Hayward) had a favourite dog which was permitted to follow him to the Bench. One day, during an argument of Curran's, the Chancellor turned aside and began to fondle the dog, with the obvious view of intimating inattention or disregard. The counsel stopped; the judge looked up: "I beg your pardon," continued Curran, "I thought your lordship had been in consultation."

Curran often raised a laugh at Lord Norbury's expense. The laws, at that period, made capital punishment so general that nearly all crimes were punishable with death by the rope. It was remarked Lord Norbury never hesitated to condemn the convicted prisoner to the gallows. Dining in company with Curran, who was carving some corned beef, Lord Norbury inquired, "Is that hung beef, Mr. Curran?"--"Not yet, my lord," was the reply; "you have not _tried_ it."

"A doldrum, Mr. Curran! What does the witness mean by saying you put him in a doldrum?" asked Lord Avonmore. "Oh, my lord, it is a very common complaint with persons of this description; it's merely a confusion of the head arising from a corruption of the heart."

Angered one day in debate, he put his hand on his heart, saying, "I am the trusty guardian of my own honour."--"Then," replied Sir Boyle Roche, "I congratulate my honourable friend in the snug little sinecure to which he has appointed himself."

But on one occasion he met his match in a pert, jolly, keen-eyed son of Erin, who was up as a witness in a case of dispute in the matter of a horse deal. Curran was anxious to break down the credibility of this witness, and thought to do it by making the man contradict himself--by tangling him up in a network of adroitly framed questions--but to no avail. The ostler's good common sense, and his equanimity and good nature, were not to be upset. Presently, Curran, in a towering rage, thundered forth, as no other counsel would have dared to do in the presence of the Court: "Sir, you are incorrigible! The truth is not to be got from you, for it is not in you. I see the villain in your face!"--"Faith, yer honour," replied the witness, with the utmost simplicity of truth and honesty, "my face must be moighty clane and shinin' indade, if it can reflect like that." For once in his life the great barrister was floored by a simple witness. He could not recover from that repartee, and the case went against him.

When Curran heard that there was a likelihood of trouble for the part he took in 1798, and that in all probability he would be deprived of the rank of Q.C., he remarked: "They may take away the _silk_, but they leave the _stuff_ behind."