'What else can you expect, ma'am, when a quick-witted race is governed by an intensely stupid one?'
Lord Morris told many stories, but for a change, here is one told of him.
A Belfast tourist was riding past Spiddal, and asked a countryman who lived there.
'One Judge Morris, your honour; but he lives the best part of his time in Dublin.'
'Oh yes,' says the other, 'that's Lord Chief Justice Morris.'
'The very dead spit of him, your honour; and I was told he draws a thousand a year salary.'
'He has five thousand five hundred a year.'
'Ah, your honour, it's very hard to make me believe that.'
'Why don't you believe it?'
'Because when he's down here he passes my gate five days in the week, and I never saw the sign of liquor on him.'