The humorists of that day, however, would not consent to any Gallic denomination for these loyal yeomen, whom they rather chose to distinguish by a real Irish title; viz. the Fogies,[[57]]—a term meaning, in Hibernian dialect, “a bottle that has no liquor in it.” This excellent corps, in due time, however, died off without the aid of any enemy, and, I fear, not one of them remains to celebrate the loyalty of the defunct. I therefore have taken upon myself that task, (so far as my book can accomplish it,) for which I shall, doubtless, receive the heartfelt thanks of their sons and grandchildren.
[57]. Few gentlemen in Ireland made more “Fogies” than the good and witty Sir Hercules Langrish, one of that corps, and who was said to have been the godfather of his company.
Sir Hec’s idea of “Fogies” may be collected from an anecdote Sir John Parnell, chancellor of the exchequer, used to tell of him with infinite pleasantry.
Sir John, one evening immediately after dinner, went to Sir Hercules on some official business: he found him in the midst of revenue papers, with two empty bottles and a glass standing immediately before him. “What the deuce, Sir Hec!” said Sir John, “why, have you finished these two already?”—“To be sure I have,” said Sir Hec; “they were only claret.”—“And was nobody helping you?” said Sir John. “Oh, yes, yes!” said Sir Hercules; “see there, a bottle of port came to my assistance; there’s his fogy.”
I shall now proceed to the misfortunes of an attorney, neither deserved nor expected by that loyal yeoman: the anecdote, however, should remain as a caution and warning to all hangmen by profession, and other loyal executioners, down to the latest posterity.
The regiment of attorneys, &c. (or, as the malicious Mr. Murry called them, the “Devil’s own”) was at that time extremely well commanded; the cavalry (or “chargers”) by a very excellent old fox-hunting solicitor, Arthur Dunn; the infantry, (or rifle companies,) by Mr. Kit Abbot, a very good, jovial, popular practitioner.
Both commanders were loyal to the back-bone; they formed unbending buttresses of church and state, and had taken the proper obligation, “to bury themselves under the ruins of the Weavers’ Hall and Skinners’ Alley, sooner than yield one inch of the Dodder River or the Poddle Gutters to any Croppy or democratic papist.”
After the rebellion broke out, some of these true and loyal attorneys, feeling that martial law had totally superseded their own,—and that, having nothing to do in the money-market, their visits to the flesh-market were proportionably curtailed; credit having likewise got totally out of fashion, (as usual during rebellions,)—they bethought themselves of accomplishing some military achievement which might raise their renown, and perhaps at the same time “raise the wind;” and, as good luck would have it, an opportunity soon turned up, not only of their signalising their loyalty, but also (as they imagined without much hazard) of a couple of days’ feasting at free quarters.