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SINGULAR CUSTOMS IN THE IRISH PARLIAMENT

Anecdote of Tottenham in his boots– Interesting trial of the Earl of Kingston for murder – Description of the forms used on that occasion.

A very singular custom prevailed in the Irish House of Commons which never was adopted in England, nor have I ever seen it mentioned in print. The description of it may be amusing.

On the day whereon the routine business of the budget was to be opened, for the purpose of voting supplies, the speaker invited the whole of the members to dinner in the House, in his own and the adjoining chambers. Several peers were accustomed to mix in the company; and I believe an equally happy, joyous, and convivial assemblage of legislators never were seen together. All distinctions as to government or opposition parties were totally laid aside; harmony, wit, wine, and good-humour reigning triumphant. The speaker, clerk, chancellor of the exchequer, and a very few veteran financiers, remained in the House till the necessary routine was gone through, and then joined their happy comrades – the party seldom breaking up till midnight.

On the ensuing day the same festivities were repeated; but on the third day, when the report was to be brought in, and the business discussed in detail, the scene totally changed; – the convivialists were now metamorphosed into downright public declamatory enemies, and, ranged on opposite sides of the House, assailed each other without mercy. Every questionable item was debated – every proposition deliberately discussed; and more zealous or assiduous senators could nowhere be found than in the very members who, during two days, had appeared to commit the whole funds of the nation to the management of half a dozen arithmeticians.

But all this was consonant to the national character of the individuals. Set them at table, and no men enjoyed themselves half so much; set them to business, no men ever worked with more earnestness and effect. A steady Irishman will do more in an hour, when fairly engaged upon a matter which he understands, than any other countryman (so far, at least, as my observation has gone) in two. The persons of whom I am more immediately speaking were extraordinarily quick and sharp. I am, however, at the same time, ready to admit that the lower orders of officials – such, for instance, as mere clerks in the public offices, exhibited no claim to a participation in the praise I have given their superiors: they were, on the other hand, frequently confused and incorrect; and amongst that description of persons I believe there were then fewer competent men than in most countries.

Another custom in the House gave rise to a very curious anecdote, which I shall here mention. The members of Parliament formerly attended the House of Commons in full dress – an arrangement first broken through by the following circumstance: —

A very important constitutional question was debating between government and the opposition; a question, by the bye, at which my English readers will probably feel surprised; namely, “as to the application of a sum of 60,000l., then lying unappropriated in the Irish Treasury, being a balance after paying all debts and demands upon the country or its establishments.” The numbers seemed to be nearly poised, – although it had been supposed that the majority would incline to give it to the king, while the opposition would recommend laying it out upon the country; when the serjeant-at-arms reported that a member wanted to force into the House undressed, in dirty boots, and splashed up to his shoulders.

The speaker could not oppose custom to privilege, and was necessitated to admit him. It proved to be Mr. Tottenham, of Ballycurry, County Wexford, covered with mud, and wearing a pair of huge jack-boots! Having heard that the question was likely to come on sooner than he expected, he had (lest he should not be in time) mounted his horse at Ballycurry, set off in the night, ridden nearly sixty miles up to the Parliament-house direct, and rushed in, without washing or cleaning himself, to vote for the country. He arrived just at the critical moment! and critical it was, for the numbers were in truth equal, and his casting vote gave a majority of one to “the country” party.

This anecdote could not die while the Irish Parliament lived; and I recollect “Tottenham in his boots” remaining, down to a very late period, a standing toast at certain patriotic Irish tables.

Being on the topic, (and, I confess, to me it is still an interesting one,) I must remark a singular practical distinction in the rules of the Irish and English Houses of Commons. In England, the House is cleared of strangers for every division, and no person is supposed to see or know in what way the representatives of the people exercise their trust. In Ireland, on the contrary, the divisions were public, and red and black lists were immediately published of the voters on every important occasion. The origin of this distinction I cannot explain, but it must be owned that the Irish was the most constitutional practice.

One interesting scene at which I was present merits especial description, on many accounts. No other instance of the kind has occurred in the British Empire in my time; and as it forms a very important record with relation to the independent political state of Ireland at the period, and has not yet been made the subject of any historical detail or observation, it cannot fail to be interesting in every point of view: – I allude to the trial of a peer of the realm of Ireland for murder, by the House of Lords in Dublin, after the acknowledgment of Irish independence.

The grand and awful solemnity of that trial made a deep impression on my memory; and, coupled with the recollection that it proclaimed indisputably the sovereignty of the Irish nation, its effect on a contemplative mind was of a penetrating nature.

Robert, Earl of Kingston, stood charged with the murder of Colonel Fitzgerald, by shooting him. The relation of the circumstances of that event would be, in every point of view, improper, and would only serve to recall painful recollections long since sunk into oblivion. I therefore abstain from any further allusion to them. The laws of the country required the trial of the accused party at the bar of his peers: – but as no similar case had occurred in Ireland within the memory of man, it was requisite to consult precedents upon the subject, in order to render his lordship’s trial conformable to the Lex Parliamentaria common to both countries. These precedents were accordingly sought by the proper officers; and as his lordship was very popular, and his provocation maddening, – and as all were ignorant of the evidence which was to be brought forward, the whole affair was of a most exciting nature to every man, more especially to those individuals who possessed the noble lord’s acquaintance.

Owing to the great number of attendants, the full muster of peers, and the extensive preparations of every kind necessary in order to adhere to precedent, the House of Lords was supposed not to be sufficiently large for the occasion. – The number of peers, in fact, had been more than doubled since the time it was built.

The Irish House of Peers was considered one of the most beautiful and commodious chambers possible. It combined every appearance of dignity and comfort: the walls were covered with tapestry, representing the battle of the Boyne, and the entire coup-d’œil was grand and interesting; but being, as I have said, considered too small for all the purposes of the trial in question, the House of Commons was made ready in preference.

Whoever had seen the interior of the Irish House of Commons must have admired it as one of the most chaste and classic models of modern architecture. A perfect rotunda, with Ionic pilasters, enclosed a corridor which ran round the interior. The cupola, of immense height, bestowed a magnificence which could rarely be surpassed; whilst a gallery, supported by columns, divided into compartments, and accommodating nearly 700 spectators, commanded an uninterrupted view of the chamber.

This gallery, on every important debate, was filled, not by reporters, but by the superior orders of society – the first rows being generally occupied by ladies of fashion and rank, who diffused a brilliance over, and excited a polite order and chivalrous decorum in that assembly which the British House does not appear very sedulously to cultivate.

This fine chamber was now fitted up in such a way as to give it the most solemn aspect. One compartment of seats in the body of the House was covered with scarlet cloth, and appropriated to the peeresses and their daughters, who ranged themselves according to the table of precedence. The Commons, their families and friends, lined the galleries: the whole house was superbly carpeted, and the speaker’s chair newly adorned for the lord chancellor. – On the whole, it was by far the most impressive and majestic spectacle ever exhibited within the walls of the Irish Parliament.

At length the peers entered, according to their rank, in full dress, and richly robed. Each man took his seat in profound silence; and even the ladies (which was rather extraordinary) were likewise still. The chancellor, bearing a white wand, having taken his chair, the most interesting moment of all was at hand, and its approach really made me shudder.

Sir Chichester Fortescue, king-at-arms, in his party-coloured robe, entered first, carrying the armorial bearings of the accused nobleman emblazoned on his shield: he placed himself on the left of the bar. Next entered Lord Kingston himself, in deep mourning, moving with a slow and melancholy step. His eyes were fixed on the ground; and, walking up to the bar, he was placed next to the king-at-arms, who then held the armorial shield on a level with his lordship’s shoulder.

The supposed executioner then approached, bearing a large hatchet with an immense broad blade. It was painted black except within about two inches of the edge, which was of bright polished steel. Placing himself at the bar on the right of the prisoner, he raised the hatchet about as high as his lordship’s neck, but with the edge averted; and thus he remained during the whole of the trial. The forms, I understood, prescribed that the edge should continue averted until the pronouncing of judgment, when, if it were unfavourable, the blade was instantly to be turned by the executioner toward the prisoner, indicating at once his sentence and his fate. The whole scene was extremely affecting.

I could not reconcile my mind to the thought of such a consummation. I knew the accused party, and had a high regard for him; and hence I felt a very uneasy sensation, inasmuch as I was profoundly ignorant of what would be the termination of the awful scrutiny.

The usual legal ceremonies were now entered on: – the charge was read – the prisoner pleaded not guilty – and the trial proceeded. A proclamation was made (first generally, then name by name,) for the witnesses for the prosecution to come forward. It is not easy to describe the anxiety and suspense excited as each name was called over. The eyes of every body were directed to the bar where the witnesses must enter, and every little movement of the persons who thronged it was held to be intended to make room for some accuser. None, however, appeared – thrice they were called, but in vain: and it was then announced that “no witnesses appearing, to substantiate the charge of murder against Robert, Earl of Kingston, the trial should terminate in the accustomed manner.” The chancellor proceeded to put the question; and every peer, according to his rank, arose and deliberately walking by the chair in which the chancellor was seated, placed his hand as he passed solemnly on his heart, and repeated, “Not guilty, upon my honour!” (The bishops were, very properly, precluded from voting in these criminal cases.) After all had passed, which ceremony occupied an hour, the chancellor rose and declared the opinion of the Peers of Ireland, – “That Robert, Earl of Kingston, was not guilty of the charge against him.” His lordship then broke his wand, descended from his chair, and thus ended the trial – most interesting because it had at once a strong political and constitutional bearing, and affected a nobleman universally beloved. The result was highly satisfactory to every one who had learned the circumstances which led to the fatal event for which the Earl of Kingston was arraigned, – whose conduct, though strictly justifiable neither in law nor morality, might have been adopted by the best of men under similar provocation.

This was the first and last trial by the House of Peers in Ireland after the declaration of Irish independence: and, all other considerations apart, its record remains as a testimonial of the temporary emancipation of Ireland from British trammels.

THE SEVEN BARONETS

Sir John Stuart Hamilton – Sir Richard Musgrave – Sir Edward Newnham – Sir Vesey Colclough – Sir Frederick Flood – Sir John Blacquiere – Sir Boyle Roche, and his curious bulls – Their characters and personal description – Anecdotes and bon-mots – Anecdote of the Marquess of Waterford.

Among those parliamentary gentlemen frequently to be found in the coffee-room of the House, were certain baronets, of very singular character, who, until some division called them to vote, passed the intermediate time in high conviviality. Sir John Stuart Hamilton, a man of small fortune and large stature, possessing a most liberal appetite both for solids and fluids – much wit, more humour, and indefatigable cheerfulness, – might be regarded as their leader.

Sir Richard Musgrave, who (except on the abstract topics of politics, religion, martial law, his wife, the pope, the pretender, the Jesuits, Napper Tandy, and the whipping-post,) was generally in his senses, formed, during those intervals, a very entertaining addition to the company: he was extremely full of anecdote (given in rather a rhapsodical vein) about Martin Luther, Tod Jones, Pope Pius, Sir Judkin Fitzgerald, Doctor Troy, &c.

Sir Edward Newnham, member for Dublin county, afforded a whimsical variety by his affectation of early and exclusive transatlantic intelligence. By repeatedly writing letters of congratulation, he had at length extorted a reply from General Washington, which he exhibited upon every occasion, giving it to be understood, by significant nods, that he knew vastly more than he thought proper to communicate to any body.

Sir Vesey Colclough, member for County Wexford, who understood books and wine better than any of the party, had all his days treated money so extremely ill, that it would continue no longer in his service! and the dross (as he termed it) having entirely forsaken him, he bequeathed an immense landed property, during his life, to the uses of custodiums, elegits, and judgments, which never fail to place a gentleman’s acres under the especial guardianship of the attorneys. He was father to that excellent man, John Colclough, who was killed at Wexford, and to the present Cæsar Colclough, whose fall might have afforded rather less cause of regret than his brother’s.

Sir Vesey added much to the pleasantry of the party by occasionally forcing on them deep subjects of literature, of which few of his companions could make either head or tail: but to avoid the imputation of ignorance, they often gave the most ludicrous proofs of it on literary subjects, geography, history, and astronomy, with which he eternally bored them.

Sir Frederick Flood, also member for County Wexford, whose exhibitions in the Imperial Parliament have made him tolerably well known in England, was very different in his habits from the last-mentioned baronet; – his love of the dross, and spirit of ostentation, never losing their hold throughout every action of his life. He was but a second-rate blunderer in Ireland. The bulls of Sir Boyle Roche (of whom we shall speak hereafter) commonly involved aphorisms of sound sense, while Sir Frederick’s (on the other hand) possessed the qualification of being, in general, pure nonsense.

He was a pretty, dapper man, very good-tempered; and had a droll habit, of which he could never effectually break himself (at least in Ireland): – whenever a person at his back whispered or suggested any thing to him while he was speaking in public, without a moment’s reflection he almost always involuntarily repeated the suggestion literatim.

Sir Frederick was once making a long speech in the Irish Parliament, lauding the transcendent merits of the Wexford magistracy, on a motion for extending the criminal jurisdiction in that county, to keep down the disaffected. As he was closing a most turgid oration, by moving “that the said magistracy ought to receive some signal mark of the lord lieutenant’s favour,” – John Egan, who was rather mellow, and sitting behind him, jocularly whispered, “and be whipped at the cart’s tail:” – “and be whipped at the cart’s tail!” repeated Sir Frederick unconsciously, amidst peals of the most uncontrollable laughter. – Mr. Egan then rose, and seconded the motion: this was irresistible. Sir Frederick’s achievements in the English House of Commons were quite insipid.

Sir John Blacquiere flew at higher game than the other baronets, though he occasionally fell into the trammels of Sir John Hamilton. Sir John Blacquiere was a little deaf of one ear, for which circumstance he gave a very singular reason: – his seat, when secretary, was the outside one on the treasury bench, next to a gangway; and he said that so many members used to come perpetually to whisper him, and the buzz of importunity was so heavy and continuous, – that before one claimant’s words had got out of his ear, the demand of another forced its way in, till the ear-drum, being overcharged, absolutely burst! which, he said, turned out conveniently enough, as he was then obliged to stuff the organ tight, and tell every gentleman that his physician had directed him not to use that ear at all, and the other as little as possible!

Sir John Stuart Hamilton played him one day, in the corridor of the House of Commons, a trick which was a source of great entertainment to all parties. Joseph Hughes, a country farmer and neighbour of Sir John Stuart Hamilton, who knew nothing of great men, and (in common with many remote farmers of that period) had very seldom been in Dublin, was hard pressed to raise some money to pay the fine on a renewal of a bishop’s lease – his only property. – He came directly to Sir John, who, I believe, had himself drunk the farmer’s spring pretty dry, whilst he could get any thing out of it. As they were standing together in one of the corridors of the Parliament-house, Sir John Blacquiere stopped to say something to his brother baronet: – his star, which he frequently wore on rather shabby coats, struck the farmer’s eye, who had never seen such a thing before; and coupling it with the very black visage of the wearer, and his peculiar appearance altogether, our rustic was induced humbly to ask Sir John Hamilton “who that man was with the silver sign on his coat?”

“Don’t you know him?” cried Sir John; “why, that is a famous Jew money-broker.”

“May-be, please your honour, he could do my little business for me,” responded the honest farmer.

“Trial’s all!” said Sir John.

“I’ll pay well,” observed Joseph.

“That’s precisely what he likes,” replied the baronet.

“Pray, Sir John,” continued the farmer, “what’s those words on his sign?” (alluding to the motto on the star.)

“Oh,” answered the other, “they are Latin, ‘Tria juncta in uno.’”

“And may I crave the English thereof?” asked the unsuspecting countryman.

“Three in a bond,” said Sir John.

“Then I can match him, by J – s!” exclaimed Hughes.

“You’ll be hard set,” cried the malicious baronet; “however, you may try.”

Hughes then approaching Blacquiere, who had removed but a very small space, told him with great civility and a significant nod, that he had a little matter to mention, which he trusted would be agreeable to both parties. Blacquiere drew him aside and desired him to proceed. “To come to the point then, at once,” said Hughes, “the money is not to say a great deal, and I can give you three in a bond – myself and two good men as any in Cavan, along with me. I hope that will answer you. Three in a bond! safe good men!”

Sir John Blacquiere, who wanted a supply himself, had the day before sent to a person who had advertised the lending of money; and, on hearing the above harangue, (taking for granted that it resulted from his own application,) he civilly assured Hughes that a bond would be of no use to him! good bills might be negotiated, or securities turned into cash, though at a loss; but bonds would not answer at all.

“I think I can get another man, and that’s one more than your sign requires,” said Hughes.

“I tell you,” repeated Sir John, “bonds will not answer at all, sir! —bills! bills!”

“Then it’s fitter,” retorted the incensed farmer, “for you to be after putting your sign there in your pocket, than wearing it to deceive the Christians, you damn’d usurer! you Jew, you!”

Nobody could be more amused by this dénouement than Blacquiere himself, who told every body he knew, of “Hamilton’s trick upon the countryman.”

Sir Richard Musgrave, although he understood drawing the long bow as well as most people, never patronised it in any other individual. Sir John Hamilton did not spare the exercise of this accomplishment in telling a story, one day, in the presence of Sir Richard, who declared his incredulity rather abruptly, as indeed was his constant manner. Sir John was much nettled at the mode in which the other dissented, more particularly as there were some strangers present. He asseverated the truth on his word: Sir Richard, however, repeating his disbelief, Sir John Hamilton furiously exclaimed – “You say you don’t believe my word?”

“I can’t believe it,” replied Sir Richard.

“Well, then,” said Sir John, “if you won’t believe my word, by G – d I’ll give it you under my hand!” clenching at the same moment his great fist.

The witticism raised a general laugh, in which the parties themselves joined, and in a moment all was good-humour. But the company condemned both the offenders – Sir John for telling a lie, and Sir Richard for not believing it – to the payment of two bottles of hock each.

Whoever the following story may be fathered on, Sir John Hamilton was certainly its parent. The Duke of Rutland, at one of his levees, being at a loss (as probably most kings, princes, and viceroys occasionally are) for something to say to every person he was bound in etiquette to notice, remarked to Sir John Hamilton that there was “a prospect of an excellent crop: – the timely rain,” observed the duke, “will bring every thing above ground.”

“God forbid, your Excellency!” exclaimed the courtier.

His excellency stared, whilst Sir John continued, sighing heavily as he spoke: – “yes, God forbid! for I have got three wives under it!”

At one of those large convivial parties which distinguished the table of Major Hobart, when he was secretary in Ireland, among the usual loyal toasts, “The wooden walls of England” being given, – Sir John Hamilton, in his turn, gave “The wooden walls of Ireland!” This toast being quite new to us all, he was asked for an explanation: upon which, filling a bumper, he very gravely stood up, and bowing to the Marquess of Waterford and several country gentlemen, who commanded county regiments, he said – “My lords and gentlemen! I have the pleasure of giving you ‘The wooden walls of Ireland’ —the colonels of militia!”

So broad but so good-humoured a jeu d’esprit, excited great merriment: the truth was forgotten in the jocularity, but the epithet did not perish. I saw only one grave countenance in the room, and that belonged to the late Marquess of Waterford, who was the proudest egotist I ever met with. He had a tremendous squint – the eyes looking inward, a disposition which Lavater particularly characterises; and as to the marquess, he was perfectly right: nor was there any thing prepossessing in the residue of his features to atone for this deformity. Nothing can better exemplify his lordship’s opinion of himself and others, than an observation I heard him make at Lord Portarlington’s table. Having occasion for a superlative degree of comparison between two persons, he was at a loss for a climax. At length, however, he luckily hit on one. “That man was – (said the marquess) – he was as superior as – as – as – I am to Lord Ranelagh!”

I will now advert to Sir Boyle Roche, who certainly was, without exception, the most celebrated and entertaining anti-grammarian in the Irish Parliament. I knew him intimately. He was of a very respectable Irish family, and, in point of appearance, a fine, bluff, soldier-like old gentleman. He had numerous good qualities; and having been long in the army, his ideas were full of honour and etiquette – of discipline and bravery. He had a claim to the title of Fermoy, which however he never pursued; and was brother to the famous Tiger Roche, who fought some desperate duel abroad, and was near being hanged for it.³⁸ Sir Boyle was perfectly well-bred in all his habits; had been appointed gentleman-usher at the Irish Court, and executed the duties of that office to the day of his death with the utmost satisfaction to himself as well as to every one in connexion with him. He was married to the eldest daughter of Sir John Frankland, Bart.; and his lady, who was a bas bleu, prematurely injured Sir Boyle’s capacity (it was said) by forcing him to read “Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire,” whereat he was so cruelly puzzled without being in the least amused, that, in his cups, he often stigmatised the great historian as a low-bred fellow, who ought to have been kicked out of company whereever he was, for turning people’s thoughts away from their prayers and their politics, to what the devil himself could make neither head nor tail of!

His perpetually bragging that Sir John Frankland had given him his eldest daughter, afforded Curran an opportunity of replying, – “Ay, Sir Boyle, and depend on it, if he had had an older one still, he would have given her to you!” Sir Boyle thought it best to receive the repartee as a compliment, lest it should come to her ladyship’s ears, who, for several years back, had prohibited Sir Boyle from all allusions to chronology.

This baronet had certainly one great advantage over all other bull and blunder makers: he seldom launched a blunder from which some fine aphorism or maxim might not be easily extracted. When a debate arose in the Irish House of Commons on the vote of a grant which was recommended by Sir John Parnell, chancellor of the exchequer, as one not likely to be felt burdensome for many years to come, – it was observed in reply, that the House had no just right to load posterity with a weighty debt for what could in no degree operate to their advantage. Sir Boyle, eager to defend the measures of government, immediately rose, and, in a few words, put forward the most unanswerable argument which human ingenuity could possibly devise. “What, Mr. Speaker!” said he, “and so we are to beggar ourselves for fear of vexing posterity! Now, I would ask the honourable gentleman, and this still more honourable House, why we should put ourselves out of our way to do any thing for posterity: – for what has posterity done for us?”

Sir Boyle, hearing the roar of laughter which of course followed this sensible blunder, but not being conscious that he had said any thing out of the way, was rather puzzled, and conceived that the House had misunderstood him. He therefore begged leave to explain, as he apprehended that gentlemen had entirely mistaken his words: he assured the House “that by posterity he did not at all mean our ancestors, but those who were to come immediately after them!” Upon hearing this explanation, it was impossible to do any serious business for half an hour.

Sir Boyle Roche was induced by government to fight as hard as possible for the Union: – so he did, and I really believe fancied, by degrees, that he was right. On one occasion, a general titter arose at his florid picture of the happiness which must proceed from this event. “Gentlemen (said Sir Boyle) may titther, and titther, and titther, and may think it a bad measure; but their heads at present are hot, and will so remain till they grow cool again; and so they can’t decide right now; but when the day of judgment comes, then honourable gentlemen will be satisfied at this most excellent Union! Sir, there is no Levitical degrees between nations, and on this occasion I can see neither sin nor shame in marrying our own sister!”

He was a determined enemy to the French Revolution, and seldom rose in the House for several years without volunteering some abuse of it.

“Mr. Speaker,” said he, in a mood of this kind, “if we once permitted the villanous French masons to meddle with the buttresses and walls of our ancient constitution, they would never stop nor stay, sir, till they brought the foundation-stones tumbling down about the ears of the nation! There,” continued Sir Boyle, placing his hand earnestly on his heart, his powdered head shaking in unison with his loyal zeal, whilst he described the probable consequences of an invasion of Ireland by the French republicans; – “There, Mr. Speaker! if those Gallican villains should invade us, sir, ’tis on that very table, may-be, these honourable members might see their own destinies lying in heaps a-top of one another! Here perhaps, sir, the murderous marshal-law-men (Marseillois) would break in, cut us into joints, and throw our bleeding heads upon that table, to stare us in the face!”

Sir Boyle, on another occasion, was arguing for the Habeas Corpus Suspension Bill in Ireland: – “It would surely be better, Mr. Speaker,” said he, “to give up not only a part, but, if necessary, even the whole, of our constitution, to preserve the remainder!”