On the elevation of Mr. John Fitzgibbon to the seals Mr. Wolfe succeeded him as attorney-general; the parliamentary duties of which office were, however, far beyond the reach of his oratory, and altogether too important for his proportion of intellect; and hence he had to encounter difficulties which he was unable, on some occasions, successfully to surmount. The most gifted members of his own profession were, in fact, then linked with the first-rate political talents of the Irish nation, to bear down those measures which it had become Mr. Wolfe’s imperative official duty to originate or support.
In the singular character of Mr. Wolfe there were strange diversities of manner and of disposition. On first acquaintance, he seldom failed to make an unfavourable impression: but his arrogance was only superficial—his pride innoxious—his haughtiness theoretical. In society, he so whimsically mixed and mingled solemn ostentation with playful frivolity, that the man and the boy, the judge and the jester, were generally alternate.
Still Kilwarden’s heart was right and his judgment sufficing. In feeling he was quick—in apprehension slow. The union of these qualities engendered a sort of spurious sensibility, which constantly led him to apprehend offence where none was ever intended. He had a constant dread of being thought petulant; and the excitement produced by this dread became itself the author of that tetchy irritation which he so much deprecated. Thus, like certain humorous characters on the stage, he frequently worked himself into silly anger by endeavouring to show that he was perfectly good-tempered.
Lord Kilwarden, not perceiving the true distinction between pride and dignity, thought he was supporting the appearance of the one, when, in fact, he was only practising the formality of the other; and, after a long intercourse with the world, he every day evinced that he knew any one’s else character better than his own. As attorney-general during a most trying era, his humanity, moderation, justice, and discretion, were no less evident than was his strict adherence to official duties; and the peculiarities of his manner were merged in the excellence of his sterling qualities.
In the celebrated cause of the King against Heavy (in the King’s Bench), Mr. Curran and I were Heavy’s counsel; and afterwards moved to set aside the verdict on grounds which we considered to form a most important point, upon legal principles.
Curran had concluded his speech, and I was stating what I considered to be the law of the case, when Lord Kilwarden, impatient and fidgety, interrupted me:—“God forbid, Mr. Barrington,” said he, “that should be the law!”
“God forbid, my lord,” answered I, “that it should not be the law!”
“You are rough, sir!” exclaimed he.
“More than one of us have the same infirmity, my lord.”
“I was right, sir,” said he, colouring.