Lord Norbury. House of Commons. Toler.

Chapter XXVIII.

Lord Norbury

**Quarrel between Lord Norbury and the author in the House of Commons - Curran’s *bon-mot - Dinner at Lord Redesdale’s, who attempts being agreeable, but is annoyed by Lord Norbury, then Mr. Toler - Counsellor O’Farrell - Mr. Plunkett, present attorney-general for Ireland, and Lord Redesdale - Lord Norbury and young Burke - his lordship presides at Carlow assizes in the character of Hawthorn. *

Lord** **Norbury, then Mr. Toler, went circuit as judge the first circuit I went as barrister. He continued my friend as warmly as he possibly could be the friend of any one, and I thought he was in earnest. One evening, however, coming hot from Lord Clare’s, at that time my proclaimed enemy, he attacked me with an after-dinner volubility which hurt and roused me very much. I kept indifferent bounds myself; but he was generally so very good-tempered, that I really felt a repugnance to indulging him with as tart a reply as a stranger would have received, and simply observed, that “I should only just give him that character which developed itself by his versatility-namely, that he had a hand for every man, and a heart for nobody!”

• and I believe the sarcasm has stuck to him from that day to this. He returned a very warm answer, gave me a wink, and made his exit - of course I followed.

The sergeant-at-arms was instantly sent by the Speaker to pursue us with his attendants, and to bring both refractory members back to the House. Toler was caught by the skirts of his coat fastening in a door, and they laid hold of him just as the skirts were torn completely off. I was overtaken, whilst running away, in Nassau Street, and as I resisted was brought like a sack on a man’s shoulders, to the admiration of the mob, and thrown down in the body of the House. The Speaker told us we must give our honours forthwith that the matter should proceed no further. Toler got up to defend himself; but as he then had no skirts to his coat, made a most ridiculous figure; and Curran put a finishing stroke to the comicality of the scene by gravely saying, that “it was the most unparalleled insult ever offered to the House! as it appeared that one honourable member had *trimmed *another honourable member’s *jacket *within these walls, and nearly within view of the Speaker!”

A general roar of laughter ensued. I gave my honour, as required, I think with more good-will than Toler, and would willingly have forgotten the affair altogether, which he apparently never did. I only hope that when his memory declines, which time cannot be very far off now, our quarrel will be the first circumstance that slips it. If I could forget *anything, *I should long ago have lost all recollection thereof.

Lord Norbury had more readiness of repartee than any man I ever knew who possessed neither classical wit nor genuine sentiment to make it valuable. But he had a fling at everything, and failing in one attempt, made another - sure of carrying his point before he relinquished his efforts. His extreme good temper was a great advantage. The present Lord Redesdale was much, though unintentionally, annoyed by Mr. Toler at one of the first dinners he gave, as Lord Chancellor of Ireland, to the judges and King’s Counsel. Having heard that the members of the Irish bar, of whom he was then quite ignorant, were considered extremely witty, and being desirous, if possible, to adapt himself to their habits, his lordship had obviously got together some of his best bar-remarks - for of *wit *he was totally guiltless, if not inapprehensive, to repeat to his company, as occasion might offer; and if he could not be humorous, determined at least to be entertaining.

The first of his lordship’s observations after dinner, was the telling us that he had been a Welsh judge, and had found great difficulty in pronouncing the double consonants which occur in the Welsh proper names. “After much trial,” continued his lordship, “I found that the difficulty was mastered by moving the tongue alternately from one dog-tooth to the other.”

Toler seemed quite delighted with this discovery, and requested to know his lordship’s dentist, as he had lost one of his dog-teeth, and would immediately get another in place of it. This went off flatly enough - no laugh being gained on either side.

Lord Redesdale’s next remark was, that when he was a lad, cock-fighting was the fashion, and that both ladies and gentlemen went full dressed to the cock-pit, the ladies being in hoops.

“I see now, my lord,” said Toler, “it was then that the term *cock-a-hoop *was invented.”

A general laugh now burst forth, which rather discomposed the learned Chancellor. He sat for a while silent, until skating became a subject of conversation, when his lordship rallied, and with an air of triumph said, that in his boyhood all danger was avoided, for before they began to skate they always put blown bladders under their arms, and so, if the ice happened to break, they were buoyant and saved.

“Ay, my lord!” said Toter, “that’s what we call blather-am-skate in Ireland.” [An Irish vulgar idiom for “nonsense.”]

His lordship did not understand this sort of thing at all; and though extremely courteous, seemed to wish us all at our respective homes. Having failed with Toler, in order to say a civil thing or two, he addressed himself to Mr. Garrat O’Farrell, a jolly Irish barrister, who always carried a parcel of coarse national humour about with him; a broad, squat, ruddy-faced fellow, with a great aquiline nose and a humorous eye. Independent in mind and property, he generally said whatever came uppermost. “Mr. Garrat O’Farrell,” said the chancellor solemnly, “I believe your name and family were very respectable and numerous in County Wicklow. I think I was introduced to several of them during my late tour there.” *

“Yes, *my lord!” said O’Farrell, “we *were *very numerous; but so many of us have been lately hanged for sheep-stealing, that the name is getting rather scarce in that county.”

His lordship said no more; and so far as respect for a new chancellor admitted, we got into our own line of conversation, without his assistance. His lordship by degrees began to understand some jokes a few minutes after they were uttered. An occasional smile discovered his enlightenment; and at the breaking up I really think his impression was, that we were a pleasant though not very comprehensible race, possessing at a dinner-table much more good-fellowship than special-pleading, and that he would have a good many of his old notions to get rid of before he could completely cotton to so dissimilar a body - but he was extremely polite. Chief Justice Downs, and a few more of our high cold sticklers for “decorum,” were quite uneasy at this skirmishing.

I never met a cold-blooded ostentatious man of office whom I did not feel pleasure in mortifying: an affectation of *sang-froid *is necessary neither to true dignity nor importance, and generally betrays the absence of many amiable qualities.

I never saw Lord Redesdale more puzzled than at one of Plunkett’s best *jeux d’esprits. *A cause was argued in Chancery wherein the plaintiff prayed that the defendant should be restrained from suing him on certain bills of exchange, as they were nothing but *kites *“Kites?” exclaimed Lord Redesdale: “kites, Mr. Plunkett? Kites never could amount to the value of those securities! I don’t understand this statement at all, Mr. Plunkett”

“It is not to be expected that you should, my lord,” answered Plunkett. “In Engand and in Ireland kites are quite different things. In England the *wind *raises the *kites; *but in Ireland the *kites *raise the wind.”

“I do not feel any way better informed yet, Mr. Plunkett,” said the matter-of-fact chancellor.

“Well, my lord, I’ll explain the thing without mentioning those birds of prey,” and therewith he elucidated the difficulty.

Lord Redesdale never could pronounce the name of Mr. Colclough, a suitor in the Chancery court. It was extremely amusing to hear how he laboured to get it off his tongue, but quite in vain! Callcloff was his nearest effort. I often wished I could recommend him to try his dog-teeth.

On the discussion of the Catholic bill, in 1792, Lord Westmoreland, then Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, certainly did not approve of the precipitate measures wished for by his secretary, Major Hobart, afterwards Earl of Buckinghamshire. I had the honour of distinctly knowing the sentiments of both, and dearly saw the shades of difference which existed between them, but which of course I had not the presumption to notice. I felt convinced that both were my friends, and was desirous, if possible, to run counter to neither.

I never had disputed the political right of the Catholics *theoretically; *but I had been bred up amongst Williamites, and had imbibed, without very well understanding their bearing, strong Protestant principles; and hence I deemed it wisest neither to speak nor vote upon the subject at that period.

The Irish Catholics had conceived a wonderful high opinion of Mr. Edmund Burke’s assistance and abilities. Because he was a clever man himself, they conceived his son must needs be so too; and a deputation was sent over to induce young Mr. Burke to come to Ireland, for the purpose of superintending the progress of their bills of Emancipation in the Irish Parliament, and to bear his expenses a sum of £2,000 was voted. Mr. Keogh of Dublin, a very sensible man, who had retired from trade, was extremely active upon this occasion.

The bills were introduced and resisted. A petition had been prepared by Burke, and being considered neither well-timed nor well-worded, certain even of the warmest Catholic supporters declined to present it.

Young Burke, either totally ignorant of parliamentary rules, or supposing that in a disturbed country like Ireland they would be dispensed with, especially in favour of a son of the great Burke, determined he would present the petition himself - not at the bar, but in the body of the House! Accordingly, he descended from the gallery, walked into the House with a long roll of parchment under his arm, and had arrived near the Treasury bench, when a general cry of “Privilege! A stranger in the House!” arose from all quarters, and checked the progress of the intruder; but when the Speaker, in his loud and dignified tone, called out, “Sergeant-at-arms, do your duty!” it seemed to echo like thunder in Burke’s ears; he felt the awkwardness of his situation, and ran towards the bar. Here he was met by the sergeant-at-arms with a drawn sword; retracing his steps he was stopped by the clerk, and the sergeant gaining on him, with a feeling of trepidation he commenced actual *fight. *The doorkeepers at the corridor now joined in pursuit; but at length, after an excellent chase, the members all keeping their seats, he forced through the enemy behind the Speaker’s chair and escaped! no doubt to his great satisfaction.

Strong measures were immediately proposed; messengers despatched in all quarters to arrest him; very few knew who he was, when Lord Norbury, with that vivacious promptness which he always possessed, on its being observed that no such transaction had ever occurred before, exclaimed:- “I found the very same incident some few days back in the cross readings of the columns of a newspaper. ‘Yesterday a petition was presented to the House of Commons, it fortunately missed fire, and the villain ran off”’

It was impossible to withstand this sally, which put the House in a moment into good humour. Burke returned to England unsuccessful, and the matter dropped.

It being observed by some member that the sergeatit-at-arms should have stopped the man at the back door, Sir Boyle Roche very justly asked the honourable gentleman-”How could the sergeant-at-arms stop him in the rear whilst he was catching him in the front? Did he think the sergeant-at-arms could be, like a bird, in two places at once!”

I read some time back in the English newspapers an anecdote of Lord Norbury’s having appeared on the bench in a masquerade dress. As I was myself present at that occurrence, it is only just to his lordship to state the *facts, *whence it will appear that it was totally a mistake - so much so, indeed, that his lordship did not seem to be conscious of his habiliments even whilst every person in court was staring with astonishment.

Some time previously Lady Castlereagh had given a very splendid masquerade, at which I saw the Chief Justice in the dress and character of *Hawthorn, *in Love in Village, and well did he enact that part. The dress was a green tabinet, with mother-of-pearl buttons, striped yellow and black waist-coat, and buff breeches, and was altogether cool and light.

On going the next circuit, the weather being excessively sultry, and his lordship having a great press of sentences to pass on rebels, &c., at Carlow, he put on under his robes the lightest vestments in his lordship’s wardrobe. Now, be it remembered that the use of the said masquerade dress was a *dead secret *except to the robes that covered it, and neither the passing nor future generations would ever have heard a word of the green jacket if the said robes had kept themselves close, as the Chief Justice had carefully provided before the sounding of the trumpet.

The warmth of the day, however, and the variety of appropriate addresses necessary to be framed for so many convicted criminals, might be expected to take away a certain quantity of any man’s precaution, and as a Chief Justice is but a *man, *Lord Norbury fell into the snare! and feeling the heat insufferable, which the twisting his wig sideways did not relieve, he involuntarily first turned up the sleeves of his robe, then loosened the zone round his waist. The robe being now free from all restraint thought it had a right to steal away from the green jacket, and thus the unconscious Chief Justice “stood confessed” to the auditory in the courthouse as the representative of a very different character from that of a judge! But it was an accident that might, without culpability, have happened even to an archbishop! I once saw a bishop myself play the fiddle at one of the public concerts of the first Lady Westmoreland in Dublin Castle.

It is only justice to Lord Norbury to add, that I have repeatedly seen him do things involuntarily, which it would have been totally impossible for him to have done, if conscious at the time of his own actions. Though acute in general, he occasionally thought of so many things at once that he lost all recollection whether of place or circumstance.

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