This nobleman had built a beautiful house (which he called Neptune) near Dublin, and walled in a deer-park to operate medicinally, by inducing him to use more riding exercise than he otherwise would take. Mr. Magee, printer of the Dublin Evening Post (who was what they call a little cracked, but very acute), one of the men whom his lordship had held to excessive bail, had never forgiven it, and purchased a plot of ground under my lord’s windows, which he called “Fiat-hill:” there he entertained the populace of Dublin, once a week, with various droll exhibitions and sports:—such, for instance, as asses dressed up with wigs and scarlet robes; dancing dogs, in gowns and wigs, as barristers; soaped pigs, &c. These assemblies, although productive of the greatest annoyance to his lordship, were not sufficiently riotous to be termed a public nuisance, being solely confined to Magee’s own field, which his lordship had unfortunately omitted to purchase when he built his house.
The earl, however, expected at length to be clear of his tormentor’s feats—at least for awhile; as Magee was found guilty on a charge of libel, and Lord Clonmel would have no qualms of conscience in giving justice full scope by keeping him under the eye of the marshal, and consequently an absentee from “Fiat-hill,” for a good space of time.
Magee was brought up for judgment, and pleaded himself, in mitigation, that he was ignorant of the publication, not having been in Dublin when the libel appeared; which fact, he added, Lord Clonmel well knew. He had been, indeed, entertaining the citizens under the earl’s windows, and saw his lordship peeping out from the side of one of them the whole of that day; and the next morning he had overtaken his lordship riding into town. “And by the same token,” continued Magee, “your lordship was riding cheek by jowl with your own brother, Matthias Scott, the tallow-chandler,[[72]] from Waterford, and audibly discussing the price of fat, at the very moment I passed you.”
[72]. Lord Clonmel and Matthias Scott vied with each other which had the largest and most hanging pair of cheeks—vulgarly called jowls. His lordship’s chin was a treble one, whilst Matthias’s was but doubled;—but then it was broader and hung deeper than his brother’s.
There was no standing this:—a general laugh was inevitable; and his lordship, with that address for which he was so remarkable, (affecting to commune a moment with his brother judges) said,—“it was obvious, from the poor man’s manner, that he was not just then in a state to receive definitive judgment; that the paroxysm should be permitted to subside before any sentence could be properly pronounced. For the present, therefore, he should only be given into the care of the marshal, till it was ascertained how far the state of his intellect should regulate the court in pronouncing its judgment.” The marshal saw the crisis, and hurried away Magee before he had further opportunity of incensing the chief justice.
Theophilus Swift, who, though an Irishman, practised at the English bar, gave rise to one of the most curious libel cases that ever occurred in Ireland, and which involved a point of very great interest and importance.
Theophilus had two sons. In point of figure, temper, disposition, and propensities, no two brothers in the whole kingdom were so dissimilar. Dean Swift, the elder, was tall, thin, and gentlemanly, but withal an unqualified reformer and revolutionist: the second, Edmond, was broad, squat, rough, and as fanatical an ultra-royalist as the king’s dominions afforded. Both were clever men in their way.
The father was a free-thinker in every respect;—fond of his sons, although materially different from either, but agreeing with the younger in being a professed and extravagant loyalist. He was bald-headed, pale, slender, and active—with gray eyes, and a considerable squint: an excellent classic scholar, and versed likewise in modern literature and belles lettres. In short, Theophilus Swift laid claim to the title of a sincere, kind-hearted man; but was, at the same time, the most visionary of created beings. He saw every thing whimsically—many things erroneously—and nothing like another person. Eternally in motion,—either talking, writing, fighting, or whatever occupation came uppermost, he never remained idle one second while awake, and I really believe was busily employed even in his slumbers.