Stuart Hamilton, Richard Musgrave, Edward Newnham, Vesey Colclough, Frederick Flood, John Blacquiere, Boyle Roche.

Chapter XVII

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 - 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 for both solids and fluids - much wit, more humor, 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 these intervals, a very entertaining addition to the company.

Sir Edward Newnham, member for Dublin County, afforded a whimsical variety of the 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.

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 custodiams, elegits, and judgments, which never fail to place a gentleman’s acres under the special guardianship of the attorneys. He was father to that excellent man, John Colclough, who was killed at Wexford, and to the present Caesar Colclough, whose fall might probably have afforded rather less cause of regret.

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, 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 money 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) generally involved aphorisms of sound sense, while Sir Frederick’s, on the other hand, possessed the qualification of being 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 anything 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 declaring that “the said magistracy ought to receive some signal mark of the Lord-Lieutenant’s favor,” 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, amid peals of the most uncontrollable laughter.

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 to 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 *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 neighbor 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, while he could get anything 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 a 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 honor, 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!” 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, 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 language (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 Christians, you usurer! you Jew, you!”

Nobody could be more amused at this *denouement *than Blacquiere himself, who told everybody 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 patronized 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! *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 humor. 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 everything above ground.”

“God forbid, your Excellency!” exclaimed the courtier. His Excellency stared, while Sir John continued, sighing heavily, as he spoke; “Yes, God forbid! for I have got *three wives *under.”

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 up a bumper, he very gravely stood up, and, bowing to the Marquis 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-humored 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 Marquis of Waterford, who was the proudest egotist I ever met with. He had a tremendous squint, nor was there anything prepossessing in the residue of his features to atone for that 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 Marquis, “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 honor 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. 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 connection with him.

He was married to the eldest daughter of Sir John Cave, 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 ‘Rise 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 fellow, who ought to have been kicked out of company wherever 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 Cave had given him his *eldest *daughter, afforded Curran an opportunity of replying, “Ay, Sir Boyle, and depend on it, if he 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.

The 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 measure of Government, immediately rose, and in a very 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 *still more *honourable House, why we should put ourselves out of our way to do anything 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 anything 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 *honorable 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 stster.”

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, while he described the probable consequences of an invasion of Ireland by the French republicans; “there, Mr. Speaker! if those Gallician villains should invade us, sir, ‘tis on *that very table, *maybe, these honorable members might see their own destinies lying in heaps a-top of one another! Here perhaps, sir, the murderous *Marshallaw-men *(Marseillais) would break in, cut us to mince-meat 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!”

This baronet having been one of the Irish Parliamentary curiosities before the Union, I have only exemplified his *mode *of blundering, as many ridiculous sayings have been attributed to him. He blundered certainly more than any public speaker in Ireland; but his bulls were rather logical perversions, and had some strong point in most of them.

The English people consider a bull as nothing more than a vulgar, nonsensical expression: but Irish blunders are frequently humorous hyperboles or *oxymorons, *and present very often the most energetic mode of expressing the speaker’s meaning.

On the motion to expel Lord Edward Fitzgerald from the House of Commons, for hasty disrespectful expressions regarding the House and the Lord-Lieutenant, it was observable that the motion was violently supported by the younger men then in Parliament, including the late Marquis of Ormonde. The Marquis was, indeed, one of the strongest supporters of a measure the object of which was to disgrace a young nobleman, his own equal: and it was likewise worthy of remark that the motion was resisted by the steadiest and oldest members of the House.

Sir Boyle Roche labored hard and successfully for Lord Edward, who was eventually required to make an apology; it was not, however, considered sufficiently ample or repentant. Sir Boyle was at his wits’ end, and at length produced a natural syllogism, which, by putting the House in good humor, did more than a host of reasoners could have achieved. “Mr. Speaker,” said the baronet, “I think the noble young man has no business to make any apology. He is a gentleman, and none such should be asked to make an *apology, *because no *gentleman *could *mean *to give offense.”

Never was there a more *sensible blunder *than the following. We recommend it as a motto to gentlemen in the army. “The best way,” said Sir Boyle, “to *avoid *danger is to meet it plump.”

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