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.