Lord Clonmel, chief justice of the Irish Court of King’s Bench—His character—Lady Tyrawly’s false charge against him—Consequent duel between him and Lord Tyrawly—Eclaircissement—Lord Tyrawly and Miss Wewitzer—Lord Clonmel’s hints “How to rule a wife”—Subsequent conversation with his lordship at Sir John Tydd’s.

The first chief judge who favoured me with his intimacy was Lord Clonmel, chief justice of the King’s Bench. His character appears at full length in my “Historical Memoirs of Ireland,” vol. i. p. 38, and a curious but true character it is. I was introduced to his lordship’s notice through Sir John Tydd (the truest friend he had), and received from him many instances of attention; and he gave me, early in life, some of the very best practical maxims. As he was one of the celebrated official “fire-eaters” (whom I shall hereafter mention), and fought several duels, it may be amusing to extract here, from the work in question, a few distinguishing traits of his lordship.—“Mr. Scott never omitted one favourable opportunity of serving himself. His skill was unrivalled, and his success proverbial. He was full of anecdotes, though not the most refined: these in private society he not only told, but acted; and when he perceived that he had made a very good exhibition, he immediately withdrew, that he might leave the most lively impression of his pleasantry behind him. His boldness was his first introduction—his policy, his ultimate preferment.—Courageous, vulgar, humorous, artificial, he knew the world well, and he profited by that knowledge:—he cultivated the powerful; he bullied the timid; he fought the brave; he flattered the vain; he duped the credulous; and he amused the convivial. He frequently, in his prosperity, acknowledged favours he had received when he was obscure, and occasionally requited them. Half-liked, half-reprobated, he was too high to be despised, and too low to be respected. His language was coarse, and his principles arbitrary; but his passions were his slaves, and his cunning was his instrument. In public and in private he was the same character; and, though a most fortunate man and a successful courtier, he had scarcely a sincere friend or a disinterested adherent.”—What regard I had for his lordship was literally so.

His duel with Lord Tyrawly was caused and attended by circumstances which combine to form a curious narrative:—Lady Tyrawly had an utter dislike for her husband (then the Honourable James Cuffe). They had no children, and she made various efforts to induce him to consent to a distinct and total separation. There being no substantial cause for such a measure, Mr. Cuffe looked upon it as ridiculous, and would not consent.—At length, the lady hit upon an excellent mode for carrying her wishes into effect, and ensuring a separate maintenance: but I have never heard of the precedent being followed.

Mr. Cuffe found her one day in tears, a thing not frequent with her ladyship, who had a good deal of the amazon about her. She sobbed—threw herself on her knees—went through the usual evolutions of a repentant female—and, at length, told her husband that she was unworthy of his future protection,—had been faithless to him, and was a lost and guilty woman.

I suppose there is a routine of contrition, explanation, rage, honour, &c. &c. which generally attends developments of this nature; and I take for granted that the same was duly performed by the Honourable Mr. and Mrs. Cuffe. Suffice it to say, that the latter was put into a sedan-chair and ordered out of the house forthwith to private lodgings, until it was the will of her injured lord to send a deed of annuity for her support.

Mr. Cuffe next proceeded to summon a friend, and inform him that his wife had owned “that villain Scott,” the attorney-general, and the pretended friend of his family, to be her seducer!—that not his love, but his honour was so deeply concerned, as to render the death of one or the other necessary;—and, without further ceremony, a message was sent, for mortal combat, to the attorney-general, urging the lady’s confession, his own dishonourable breach of trust, and Mr. Cuffe’s determination to fight him.

Mr. Scott, well knowing that a declaration, or even an oath, of innocence would, by the world, be considered either as honourable perjury on his part, to save Mrs. Cuffe’s reputation, or as a mode of screening himself from her husband’s vengeance (and in no case be believed even by the good-natured part of society); made up his mind for the worst.

The husband and supposed gallant accordingly met: no explanation could be listened to: the ground was duly measured—the flints hammered—the parties bowed to each other (as was then usual), and exchanged shots; and each having heard the bullets humanely whiz past his skull, without indicating a desire of becoming more intimately acquainted therewith, Mr. Scott told his antagonist that he was totally mistaken, and gave his honour that he never had the slightest familiarity with the lady, who, he concluded, must have lost her reason.^[54]

There was no cause for denying credence to this; while, on the other hand, it was but too likely that Mr. Cuffe had been tricked by his lady wife. She was sure of a separation, for he had turned her out: and if he had fallen on the field of honour, she would have had a noble jointure;—so that she was in utrumque parata,—secure under every chance—death or Doctor Duigenan.

On his return, he sent her a most severe reprimand; and announced but a moderate annuity, which she instantly and haughtily refused, positively declaring that she never had made any confession of guilt! that the whole was a scheme of his own vicious jealousy, to get rid of her; and that she had only said, he might just as well suspect the attorney-general, who had never said a civil thing to her, as any body else! She dared him to prove the least impropriety on her part; and yet he had cruelly turned her out of his house, and proclaimed his innocent wife to be a guilty woman.

Mr. Cuffe saw she had been too many for him every way!—he durst not give more publicity to the affair; and therefore agreed to allow her a very large annuity, whereon she lived a happy life, and died not many years since at Bath.

The subsequent connexion of Lord Tyrawly had likewise a singular termination. Miss Wewitzer, sister to the late celebrated violinist of that name, soon filled Mrs. Cuffe’s vacant place; and by her my lord had many children—the eldest being the present Colonel Cuffe, member of Parliament for Mayo; a very good man, honourable and friendly. I never saw two persons live more happily together than Lord Tyrawly and Miss Wewitzer, whom he considered as his wife. She was unexceptionably correct, and he wholly attached to her. She had been remarkably pretty, and celebrated as Rosetta (in Bickerstaff’s opera). I was intimate with Lord Tyrawly, and have entertained a great regard for Colonel Cuffe from his boyhood.

The death of Lady Tyrawly at length gave his lordship the long-expected opportunity of realising his promises and intentions, for the sake of his family; and Lord Tyrawly and Miss Wewitzer being regularly married, she became the real Lady Tyrawly—whom she had so many years represented.

Now, here was a cohabitation of considerably more than twenty years, in happiness and tranquillity, followed up by an honourable and just arrangement, wherefrom it might be rationally supposed an increase of happiness would ensue. But no sooner did the parties become legally man and wife, than Madam Discord introduced herself! It is singular, but true, that (as if Nature originally intended every living thing to remain totally free and independent) the moment any two animals, however fond before, are fastened together by a cord or chain they cannot break, they begin to quarrel without any reason, and tear each other, solely because they can’t get loose again.^[55]

So it was with my Lord and Lady T.; and every hour added fresh fuel to the flame. She had been Lady Tyrawly only in remainder and expectancy; but possession alters matters extremely in the humour of most people. At length (to continue my pretty simile) the chain became red-hot,—neither of them could bear it longer, and the whole affair ended in a voluntary and most uncomfortable separation! However, it was only for a short time: death, always fond of doing mischief in families, very soon brought them together again; and if such a thing can be conceived as possible in the other world, it is no bad conjecture, that at this very moment my Lord T., the two Ladies T., and Lord Clonmel, are, among a group of other ghosts, thinking what fools men are to give themselves so much uneasiness upon subjects which only pass like shadows, instead of turning their minds to what might be much more material—namely, how to get over their sins when the last assizes come round.

I recollect one of Lord Clonmel’s maxims was, “whatever must be done in the course of the week, always do it on Monday morning:” and in truth, whoever practises that rule, will find it in no slight degree convenient. I never did.

Immediately after I was married, I resided next door to Lord Clonmel, in Harcourt-street. He called on me most kindly, and took me to walk over his fine gardens and lawn; and was so humorous and entertaining, that his condescension (as I then felt it) quite delighted me; but I afterward found out that he made a point of discovering every young man likely to succeed in public life, and took the earliest moment possible of being so civil as to ensure a friend, if not a partisan; and no man wanted the latter more than his lordship.

“Barrington,” said he to me, “you are married?”

“No doubt,” said I, laughingly, “as tight as any person on the face of the earth, my lord.”

“All women in the world,” rejoined his lordship, “are fond of having their own way.”

“I am firmly of your opinion, my lord,” said I.

“Now,” pursued he, “the manner in which all wives are spoiled, is by giving them their own way at first; for whatever you accustom them to at the beginning, they will expect ever after: so, mind me! I’ll tell you the secret of ruling a wife, if known in time:—never do any thing for peace-sake: if you do, you’ll never have one hour’s tranquillity but by concession—mind that!”

“I firmly believe it,” exclaimed I.

“Well,” said he, “practise it, Barrington!”

Some time after, I met his lordship at Lamberton, Queen’s county, the seat of Sir John Tydd. He related the above story with much humour, and asked me if I had taken his advice.—“No,” said I.

“No! why not?” inquired his lordship.

“Because,” replied I, “a philosopher has an easier life of it than a soldier.”

I had the laugh against him, and the more particularly as his lordship had married a second wife, Miss Lawless (the present dowager); and I believe no husband in Ireland adhered less to his own maxim than did Lord Clonmel after that union. My own opinion on the subject ever was, that contradicting a woman never pays for the trouble of the operation: if she is a fool, it makes her worse; if a sensible woman, she does not require it; and if of an epicene temper, coaxing will do more in half an hour, than bullyragging (a vulgar but expressive Irish idiom) in a fortnight.