This is a digression: but having been accustomed, for near forty years, to express my regard for that gentleman, and as this is probably the last time I shall ever have an opportunity of doing so, I was determined in my “last speech” not to be forgetful of my old, and, I really believe, sincere friend.
And now, reader! (I have in my preface stated my objections to the epithet gentle) we will go back to Theophilus Swift, and the college, and the King’s Bench. The trial at length came on, and there were decidedly more parsons present than I believe ever appeared in any court of justice of the same dimensions. The court set out full gallop against us: nevertheless, we worked on—twice twelve judges could not have stopped us! I cross-examined the most learned man of the whole university, Dr. Barret, a little, greasy, shabby, croaking, round-faced vice-provost: he knew of nothing on earth, save books and guineas—seldom went out, held but little intercourse with men, and none at all with women. I worked at him unsuccessfully for more than an hour; not one decisive sentence could I get him to pronounce: at length, he grew quite tired of me, and I thought to conciliate him by telling him that his father had christened me. “Indeed!” exclaimed he: “Oh!—I did not know you were a Christian!” At this unexpected repartee, the laugh was so strong against me, that I found myself silenced. My colleagues worked as hard as I: but a seventy-horse power could not have moved the court. It was, however, universally admitted that there was but one little point against us out of a hundred which the other side had urged: that point too had only three letters in it: yet it upset all our arguments: that talismanic word “law” was more powerful than two speeches of three hours each;—and, by the unanimous concurrence of the court and jury, Theophilus Swift, Esq., was found guilty of writing, publishing, (and undoubtedly proving,) that certain parsons, fellows of Dublin University, had been living (conjugally) with certain persons of an entirely different sex: and, in consequence, he was sentenced to twelve months’ imprisonment in his Majesty’s close, called the “gaol of Newgate,” where he took up his residence with nearly two hundred and forty felons and handy pickpockets—exclusive of burglars, murderers, and United Irishmen, who were daily added to that select society.
My poor visionary friend was in a sad state of depression: but Heaven had a banquet in store for him which more than counterbalanced all his discomfitures:—an incident that I really think even the oracle of Delphos never would have thought of predicting.
The Rev. Doctor Burrows was, of all the parsons, the most inveterate enemy and active prosecutor of my friend Theophilus: he was one of those who, in despite of Queen Elizabeth, and the rules of the Holy Trinity, had fallen in love, and indulged his concupiscence by uniting his fortunes and person with the object of it in the holy bands, without a dispensation—and by that incontinent omission got within the circle of Swift’s anti-moralists. This reverend person determined to make the public hate Theophilus, if possible, as much as he did himself; and forgetting, in his zeal, the doctrine of libel, and the precedent which he had himself just helped to establish, set about to slay the slayer, and write a quietus for Theophilus Swift (as he supposed) during the rest of his days! Thus, hugging himself in all the luxury of complete revenge on a fallen foe, Dr. Burrows produced a libel nearly as unjustifiable against the prisoner, as the prisoner had promulged against him: and having printed, published, and circulated the same, his reverence and madam conceived they had executed full justice on the enemy of marriage and the clergy. But, alas! they reckoned without their host: no sooner had I received a copy of this redoubtable pamphlet, than I hastened to my friend Theophilus, whom, from a state of despondency and unhappiness, I had the pleasure, in half an hour, of seeing at least as happy and more pleased than any king in Europe. It is unnecessary to say more than that I recommended an immediate prosecution of the Rev. Doctor Burrows, for a false, gross, and malicious libel against Theophilus Swift, Esq. Never was any prosecution better founded, or more clearly and effectually supported; and it took complete effect. The reverend prosecutor, now culprit in his turn, was sentenced to one-half of Swift’s term of imprisonment, and sent off to the same close and same company as Theophilus.
The learned fellows were astounded; the university so far disgraced; and the triumphant Swift immediately published both trials, with observations, and notes critical and historical, &c.
But, alas! the mortification of the reverend fellow did not end here. On arriving at his Majesty’s gaol of Newgate, (as the governor informed me,) the doctor desired a room as high up as could be had, that he might not be disturbed whilst remaining in that mansion. The governor informed him, with pungent regret, that he had not a pigeon-hole unoccupied at the time, there being upward of two hundred and forty prisoners, chiefly pickpockets, many of whom were waiting to be transported; and that, till these were got rid of, he had no room, nay, not even a cell, that would answer his reverence: but there was a very neat little chamber in which were only two beds—one occupied by a respectable and polite gentleman; and if the doctor could manage in this way meanwhile, his reverence might depend on a preference the moment there should be a vacancy, by the removal of the pickpockets.
Necessity has no law; and the doctor, forced to acquiesce, desired, though with a heavy heart, to be shown to the chamber. On entering, the gentleman and he exchanged bows; but in a moment both started and stared involuntarily at sight of each other. On one was to be seen the smile of triumph, on the other the grin of mortification. But Swift (naturally the pink of politeness) gave no reason for an increase of the doctor’s chagrin. On the contrary, after several obeisances, (looking steadily at his own nose with one eye, and fixing the other on the parson,) my friend Theophilus commenced a rapid and learned dissertation upon the Greek and Latin classics, natural philosophy, Locke on the Human Understanding, &c. &c. running on without stop or stay, until he perceived an incipient relaxation in the muscles of his reverence’s face.
In fine, his good humour and good manners had their full operation on the incarcerated Trinitarian. As the sunbeams put out a fire, so did a sense of his own folly flash so strong upon the doctor’s reason, that it extinguished the blaze of his anger; and the governor having left them, in a short time an éclaircissement took place between these two fellow-lodgers in a room fourteen feet by twelve! I afterward learned that they jogged on very well together till the expiration of their sentences, and I never heard of any libel published by either the doctor or Theophilus from that day forth.
PULPIT, BAR, AND PARLIAMENTARY ELOQUENCE.
Biographical and characteristic sketch of Dean Kirwan—His extraordinary eloquence—The peculiar powers of Sheridan, Curran, and Grattan contrasted—Observations on pulpit, bar, and parliamentary oratory.