My brethren, be chaste till you're tempted;
While sober be grave and discreet;
And humble your bodies with fasting,
As oft as you've nothing to eat.
Yet, in honour of fasting, one lean face
Among you I'll always require,
If the Abbot should please he may wear it—
If not, let it come to the Prior.
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."