[43]. Old Counsellor Fitzgibbon, Lord Clare’s father, was born a Roman Catholic, and educated for a priest. His good sense, however, opened his eyes to his own intellectual abilities; and he determined to get, if possible, to the bar—that sure source of promotion for reasoning talent. But when or where (if ever) he renounced the Romish church, I am ignorant. He acquired great and just eminence as a barrister, and made a large fortune. Lord Clare was born his second son. Mrs. Jeffries (his sister) I knew well, and I cannot pass her by here without saying, that whatever faults she had, her female correctness was unquestioned; and throughout my life I have never met a kinder-hearted being than Mrs. Jeffries, or a fairer though a decided enemy. Old Mr. Fitzgibbon loved to make money, and in his day it was not the habit for lawyers to spend it. They used to tell a story of him respecting a certain client who brought his own brief and fee, that he might personally apologise for the smallness of the latter. Fitzgibbon, on receiving the fee, looked rather discontented. “I assure you, Counsellor,” said the client (mournfully), “I am ashamed of its smallness; but in fact it is all I have in the world.” “Oh! then,” said Fitzgibbon, “you can do no more:—as it’s ‘all you have in the world,’—why—hem!—I must—take it!”
This created a laugh disconcerting to the deputation;—however, for fear of worse, the grand question was then put. “My dear Keller,” said the spokesman, “the bar mean to go in procession; have you any objection to attend Lord Clare’s funeral?”
“None at all,” said Keller, “none at all! I shall certainly attend his funeral with the greatest pleasure imaginable!”
Examples of Keller’s dry species of wit in fact daily occurred; it was always pungent, and generally well-timed. In the year 1798 flourished Sir Judkin Fitzgerald, Bart., a barrister whose loyal cruelties in the county of Tipperary were made the subject of a post facto indemnity bill by Lord Castlereagh, to save him from punishment. Among other pastimes, he caused cats-o’-nine-tails to be soaked in brine, that the peasantry and every body else at whom he durst have a fling might be better cut, and remember it the longer. Bragging to Keller of his numerous ultra-loyal achievements, this man said, “You must own, Keller, at least, that I preserved the county of Tipperary.”
“Ay, and you pickled it into the bargain!” said Keller: “you promise to make so good a body confectioner, that I dare say the lord-lieutenant will hire you;” and in fact Sir Judkin was soon afterward put in office at the castle.
The unfortunate Counsellor Norcott, heretofore mentioned in these sketches, was a fat, full-faced, portly-looking person. He had a smirking countenance, and a swaggering air; was an excellent bon vivant, a remarkably good mimic, and affected to be witty.
Speaking of the Catholics in the hall of the Four Courts, Keller seemed to insinuate that Norcott was favourable to their emancipation.
“What!” said Norcott, with a great show of pomposity—“what! Pray, Keller, do you see any thing that smacks of the Pope about me?”