In the days of Queen Anne corruption was rife among Irish judges, as it was also among members of the Scottish Bench at an earlier period, and it was not uncommon to find the former concurring in Privy Council reports issued contrary to evidence. Within the area of the Munster Circuit in the early years of the eighteenth century a petition was signed and presented to Parliament by clergy, resident gentry, and others in the district, because Lord Chancellor Phipps refused to be influenced in his decision of cases coming before him, and had thereby incurred the displeasure of a certain section of the Irish Parliament. Even a Lord Chief Justice was not above taking a gift; and in this connection O'Flanagan in The Munster Circuit tells a story of Chief Justice Pyne, who was a great cattle-breeder and owner of valuable stock. One day before starting for Cork Assizes to try a case in which a Mr. Weller and a Mr. Nangle were concerned, he received a visit from the former's steward, who had been sent with a herd of twenty-five splendid heifers for his lordship. The judge was highly pleased, and returned by the steward a gracious message of thanks to his master. On the way to Cork the Chief Justice's coach was stopped by a drove of valuable shorthorns on the road. Looking out, his lordship demanded of the drover, "Whose beasts are these, my man?"—"They belong, please your honour, to a great gentleman of these parts, Judge Pyne, your honour," replied the man. "Indeed," cried the Chief Justice in much surprise, "and where are you taking them now?"—"They are grazing in my master Mr. Nangle's farm, your honour; and as the Assizes are coming on at Cork my master thought the judge might like to see that he took good care of them, so I'm taking them to Waterpark (his lordship's estate) to show to the judge." The judge felt the delicacy of Mr. Nangle's mode of giving his present, and putting a guinea in the drover's hand said, "As your master has taken such good care of my cattle, I will take care of him." When the case came on it appeared at first that the judge favoured the plaintiff, Mr. Weller, but as it proceeded he changed his views and finally decided for the defendant, Mr. Nangle. On arriving home the judge's first question was, "Are the cattle all safe?"—"Perfectly, my lord."—"Where are the beasts I received on leaving for the Cork Assizes?"—"They are where you left them, my lord."—"Where I left them—that is impossible," exclaimed the judge. "I left them on the road." The steward looked puzzled. "I'll have a look at them myself," said Chief Justice Pyne. The steward led the way, and pointed out the twenty-five fine heifers presented by Mr. Weller, the plaintiff. "But where are the shorthorns that came after I left home?"—"Bedad, the long and the short of it is, them's all the cattle on the land, except what we have bred ourselves, my lord." And so it was. Mr. Nangle, the defendant, had so arranged his gift to meet the judge on the road, but as soon as his lordship's coach was out of sight the cattle were driven back to their familiar fields. The Chief Justice had been outwitted and had no power of showing resentment.

In the manners and customs of the legal profession of Ireland in the latter part of the eighteenth century, there is also a strong similarity between the members of the Scottish Bench and their Irish brethren, in that they were heavy port drinkers; and did not hesitate to indulge in it while sitting on the Bench. It is reported of one Irish judge that he had a specially constructed metal tube like a penholder, through which he sucked his favourite liquor, from what appeared to the audience to be a metal inkstand. Another judge on being asked if, at a social gathering, he had seen a learned brother dance, "Yes," he replied, "I saw him in a reel"; while Curran referring to a third judge, who had condemned a prisoner to death, said, "He did not weep, but he had a drop in his eye."

Unblushing effrontery and a bronzed visage gained for John Scott (Lord Clonmel) while at the Bar the sobriquet of "Copper-faced Jack." He took the popular side in politics, which ordinarily would not have led to promotion in his profession; but his outstanding ability attracted the attention of Lord Chancellor Lifford, and through his influence Scott was offered a place under the Government. On accepting it at the hands of Lord Townshend, he said, "My lord, you have spoiled a good patriot." Some time after he met Flood, a co-patriot, and addressed him: "Well, I suppose you will be abusing me as usual." To which Flood replied: "When I began to abuse you, you were a briefless barrister; by abuse I made you counsel to the revenue, by abuse I got you a silk gown, by abuse I made you Solicitor-General, by abuse I may make you Chief Justice. No, Scott, I'll praise you."

When Lord Clonmel was Lord Chief Justice he upheld the undignified practice of demanding a shilling for administering an oath, and used to be well satisfied, provided the coin was a good one. In his time the Birmingham shilling was current, and he used the following extraordinary precautions to avoid being imposed upon by taking a bad one. "You shall true answer make to such questions as shall be demanded of you touching this affidavit, so help you God! Is this a good shilling? Are the contents of this affidavit true? Is this your name and handwriting?"

The family of Henn belonging to Clare have been, generation after generation, since the first of the name became Chief Baron in 1679, connected with the Irish Bench and Bar. William Henn, a descendant of the Chief Baron, was made a Judge of the King's Bench in 1767, and when on Circuit at Wexford in 1789 two young barristers contended before him with great zeal and pertinacity, each flatly contradicting the other as to the law of the case; and both at each turn of the argument again and again referred with exemplary confidence to the learned judge, as so well knowing that what was said by him (the speaker) was right. The judge said, "Well, gentlemen, can I settle this matter between you? You, sir, say positively the law is one way; and you, sir (turning to the opponent), as unequivocally say it is the other way. I wish to God, Billy Harris (leaning over and addressing the registrar who sat beneath him), I knew what the law really was!"—"My lord," replied Billy Harris, rising, and turning round with great gravity and respect, "if I possessed that knowledge, I assure your lordship that I would tell your lordship with great pleasure!"—"Then," exclaimed the judge, "we'll save the point, Billy Harris!"

Although more appropriate in the following chapter, we may here introduce a story of the younger son of the Judge Henn of the previous story. Jonathan, who was more distinguished than his elder brother—another Judge Henn—did not attain to the Bench. In early years he was indifferent whether briefs were given him or not, and indeed on one occasion he is said to have sent a message to the Attorney-General, who had called to engage him in a case, to keep "his d—d brief and to take himself to the d—l." But later he became very industrious, and his natural ability soon brought him into a large and lucrative practice. He was counsel for the Government at the trial of John Mitchell, and at its close the wags of the Court declared that "Judge Moore spoke to the evidence, but Jonathan Henn charged the jury."

Chief Justice Carleton was a most lugubrious judge, and was always complaining of something or other, but chiefly about the state of his health, so that Curran remarked that it was strange the old judge was plaintive in every case tried before him.

One day his lordship came into Court very late, looking very woeful. He apologised to the Bar for being obliged to adjourn the Court at once and dismiss the jury for that day. "Though," his lordship added, "I am aware that an important issue stands for trial. But, the fact is, gentlemen (addressing the Bar in a low tone of voice and somewhat confidentially), I have met with a domestic misfortune, which has altogether deranged my nerves. Poor Lady Carleton has, most unfortunately, miscarried, and—." "Oh, then, my lord," exclaimed Curran, "I am sure we are all quite satisfied your lordship has done right in deciding there is no issue to try to-day." His lordship smiled a ghastly smile, and, retiring, thanked the Bar for their sympathy.

Judge Foster was trying five prisoners for murder, and misunderstood the drift of the evidence. Four of the prisoners seem to have assisted, but a witness said as to the fifth, Denis Halligan, that it was he who gave the fatal blow: "My lord, I saw Denis Halligan (that's in the dock there) take a vacancy (Irish word for 'aim' at an unguarded part) at the poor soul that's kilt, and give him a wipe with a clehalpin (Irish word for 'bludgeon'), and lay him down as quiet as a child." They were found guilty. The judge, sentencing the first four, gave them seven years' imprisonment. But when he came to Halligan, who really killed the deceased, the judge said, "Denis Halligan, I have purposely reserved the consideration of your case to the last. Your crime is doubtless of a grievous nature, yet I cannot avoid taking into consideration the mitigating circumstances that attend it. By the evidence of the witness it clearly appears that you were the only one of the party who showed any mercy to the unfortunate deceased. You took him to a vacant seat, and wiped him with a clean napkin, and you laid him down with the gentleness one shows to a little child. In consideration of these extenuating circumstances, which reflect some credit upon you, I shall inflict upon you three weeks' imprisonment." So Denis Halligan got off by the judge mistaking a vacancy for a vacant seat, and a clehalpin for a clean napkin.

John Toler (Lord Norbury) was Chief Justice of the Common Pleas in Ireland. His humour was broad, and his absolute indifference to propriety often saved the situation by converting a serious matter into a wholly ludicrous one. His Court was in constant uproar, owing to his noisy jesting, and like a noted old Scottish judge he would have his joke when the life of a human being was hanging in the balance. Even on his own deathbed he could not resist the impulse. On hearing that his friend Lord Erne was also nearing his end at the same time, he called for his valet: "James," said Lord Norbury, "run round to Lord Erne and tell him with my compliments that it will be a dead-heat between us."

The best illustration of the almost daily condition of things when Lord Norbury presided at Nisi Prius is given by himself in his reply to the answer of a witness. "What is your business?" asked the judge. "I keep a racquet-court, my lord."—"So do I, so do I," immediately exclaimed the judge. Nor did he reserve his bon mots for Court merriment. Passing the Quay on his way to the Four Courts one morning, he noticed a crowd and inquired of a bystander the cause of it. On being told that a tailor had just been rescued from attempted suicide by drowning, his lordship exclaimed, "What a fool to leave his hot goose for a cold duck." The boastful statement of a gentleman in his company that he had shot seventy hares before breakfast drew from the Chief Justice the sarcastic remark, "I suppose, sir, you fired at a wig."

A son of a peer having been accused of arson, of which offence he was generally believed guilty, but acquitted on a point of insufficiency of evidence to sustain the indictment, was tried before Lord Norbury. The young gentleman met the judge next at the Lord-Lieutenant's levee in the Castle. Instead of avoiding the Chief Justice, the scion of nobility boldly said, "I have recently married, and have come here to enable me to present my bride at the Drawing-Room."—"Quite right to mind the Scripture. Better marry than burn," retorted Lord Norbury.

A barrister once pressed him to non-suit the plaintiff in a case; but his lordship decided to let it go to a jury trial. "I do believe," said the disappointed advocate, "your lordship has not the courage to non-suit."—"You say, sir," replied the irate judge, "you don't believe I'd have the courage to non-suit. I tell you I have courage to shoot and to non-shoot, but I'll not non-suit for you." This same counsel was once horsewhipped by an army officer at Nelson's Pillar in Sackville Street, and applied for a Criminal Information against his assailant. "Certainly he shall have it," said the witty judge. "The Court is bound to give protection to any one who has bled under the gallant Nelson."

On a motion before this judge, a sheriff's officer, who had the hardihood to serve a process in Connemara, where the king's writ did not run, swore that the natives made him eat and swallow both copy and original. Norbury, affecting great disgust, exclaimed: "Jackson, Jackson, I hope it's not made returnable into this Court."

While giving a judgment on a writ of right, Lord Norbury observed that it was not sufficient for a demandant to say he "claimed by descent." "Such an answer," he continued, "would be a shrewd one for a sweep, who got into your house by coming down the chimney; and it would be an easy, as well as a sweeping, way of getting in."

His lordship was attacked by a fit of gout when on Circuit, and sent to the Solicitor-General requesting the loan of a pair of large slippers. "Take them," said the Solicitor to the servant, "with my respects, and I hope soon to be in his lordship's shoes."

At the instigation of O'Connell, Lord Norbury was finally removed from the Bench. A flagrant case of partiality was brought to Lord Brougham's notice which exasperated Lord Norbury, and he is reported to have said, "I'll resign to demand satisfaction. That Scottish Broom wants to be made acquainted with an Irish stick."

Two notorious highwaymen were charged before Chief Baron O'Grady with robbery, and to the surprise of all the jury returned a verdict of not guilty. "Mr. Murphy," said the judge to the gaoler, "you will greatly ease my mind by keeping these two respectable gentlemen in custody until seven o'clock. I leave for Dublin at five, and I should like to have at least two hours' start of them." There is also the story of a barrister who made an eloquent speech and got his client off, but he was very anxious to know whether the prisoner was guilty or not. "Well, sir," said the man when applied to, "to tell the truth I thought I was guilty until I heard you speak, and then I didn't see how I could be." This at once recalls an old story. "Prisoner, I understand you confess your guilt," said the judge. "No, I don't," said the prisoner. "My counsel has convinced me of my innocence."

On hearing that some spendthrift barristers, friends of his, were appointed to be Commissioners of Insolvent Debtors the Chief Baron remarked, "At all events, the insolvents can't complain of not being tried by their peers." It was the same judge who caustically observed, after a long and dull legal argument: "I agree with my brother J——, for the reasons given by my brother M——." A prisoner once was given a practical specimen of his lordship's wit, and must have been rather distressed by it. He was passing sentence upon a pickpocket, and ordering a punishment common at that time. "You will be whipped from North Gate to South Gate," said the judge. "Bad luck to you, you old blackguard," said the prisoner. "—And back again," said the Chief Baron, as if he had been interrupted in the delivery of the sentence.

A cause of much celebrity was tried at a county Assize, at which Chief Baron O'Grady presided. Bushe, then a K.C., who held a brief for the defence, was pleading the cause of his client with much eloquence, when a donkey in the courtyard outside set up a loud bray. "One at a time, brother Bushe!" called out his lordship. Peals of laughter filled the Court. The counsel bore the interruption as best he could. The judge was proceeding to sum up with his usual ability: the donkey again began to bray. "I beg your lordship's pardon," said Bushe, putting his hand to his ear; "but there is such an echo in the Court that I can't hear a word you say."

In his charges to juries, O'Grady frequently made some quaint remarks. There was a Kerry case in which a number of men were indicted for riot and assault. Several of them bore the familiar names of O'Donoghue, Moriarty, Duggan, &c., while among the jurymen these names were also found. Well knowing that consanguinity was prevalent in the district, the judge began his address to the jury with the significant remark: "Of course, gentlemen, you will acquit your own relatives." In another case of larceny of pantaloons which was clearly proved, but in which the thief got a good character for honesty, he began: "Gentlemen, the prisoner was an honest boy, but he stole the pantaloons."

"I merely wish to address your lordship on the form of the indictment, if your lordship pleases," said a young barrister to the Chief Baron. "Oh, certainly, I will hear you with mighty great pleasure, sir; but I'll be after taking the verdict of the jury first," was the sarcastic reply.

The brother of Chief Baron O'Grady once caught a boy stealing turnips from one of his fields and asked his lordship if the culprit could be prosecuted under the Timber Acts. "No," said the Chief Baron, "unless you can prove that your turnips are sticky."

Yelverton, first Baron Avonmore, possessed remarkable rhetorical ability and a highly cultivated mind. He rose rapidly at the Bar, until he became Chief Baron of Exchequer. He was the founder of the convivial order of St. Patrick, called "The Monks of the Screw," of which Curran, who wrote its charter song, was Prior. Avonmore was a man of warm and benevolent feelings, which he gave vent to in an equal degree in private life, in the senate, and on the Bench.

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 last two lines hit 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 Assize 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 Assize 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 God—it passed 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 assure 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 lyrÆ—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 passage 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."