Irish Wit and Humor Part 11

"One of the best things he ever said was in an a.s.size-town on the Munster circuit. The attorney of the side opposite to that on which O'Connell was retained, was a gentleman remarkable for his combative qualities; delighted in being in a fight, and was foremost in many of the political scenes of excitement in his native town. His person was indicative of his disposition. His face was bold, menacing, and scornful in its expression. He had stamped on him the defiance and resolution of a pugilist. Upon either temple there stood erect a lock of hair, which no brush could smooth down. These locks looked like horns, and added to the combative expression of his countenance. He was fiery in his nature, excessively spirited, and e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, rather than spoke to an audience; his speeches consisting of a series of short, hissing, spluttering sentences, by no means devoid of talent of a certain kind. Add to all this, that the gentleman was an Irish Attorney, and an Orangeman, and the reader may easily suppose that he was 'a character!'

"Upon the occasion referred to, this gentleman gave repeated annoyance to O'Connell--by interrupting him in the progress of the cause--by speaking to the witnesses--and by interfering in a manner altogether improper, and unwarranted by legal custom. But it was no easy matter to make the combative attorney hold his peace--he, too, was an agitator in his own fas.h.i.+on. In vain did the counsel engaged with O'Connell in the cause sternly rebuke him; in vain did the judge admonish him to remain quiet; up he would jump, interrupting the proceedings, hissing out his angry remarks and vociferations with vehemence. While O'Connell was in the act of pressing a most important question he jumped up again, undismayed, solely for the purpose of interruption. O'Connell, losing all patience, suddenly turned round, and, scowling at the disturber, shouted in a voice of thunder--'Sit down, you audacious, snarling, pugnacious ram-cat.' Scarcely had the words fallen from his lips, when roars of laughter rang through the court. The judge himself laughed outright at the happy and humorous description of the combative attorney, who, pale with pa.s.sion, gasped in inarticulate rage. The name of _ram-cat_ struck to him through all his life."

HIS ENCOUNTER WITH BIDDY MORIARTY.

One of the drollest scenes of vituperation that O'Connell ever figured in took place in the early part of his life. Not long after he was called to the bar, his character and peculiar talents received rapid recognition from all who were even casually acquainted with him. His talent for vituperative language was perceived, and by some he was, even in those days, considered matchless as a scold.

There was, however, at that time in Dublin, a certain woman, Biddy Moriarty, who had a huckster's stall on one of the quays nearly opposite the Four Courts. She was a virago of the first order, very able with her fist, and still more formidable with her tongue. From one end of Dublin to the other she was notorious for her powers of abuse, and even in the provinces Mrs. Moriarty's language had pa.s.sed into currency. The dictionary of Dublin slang had been considerably enlarged by her, and her voluble impudence had almost become proverbial. Some of O'Connell's friends, however, thought that he could beat her at the use of her own weapons. Of this, however, he had some doubts himself, when he had listened once or twice to some minor specimens of her Billingsgate. It was mooted once, whether the young Kerry barrister could encounter her, and some one of the company (in O'Connell's presence) rather too freely ridiculed the idea of his being able to meet the famous Madam Moriarty.

O'Connell never liked the idea of being put down, and he professed his readiness to encounter her, and even backed himself for the match. Bets were offered and taken--it was decided that the match should come off at once.

The party adjourned to the huckster's stall, and there was the owner herself, superintending the sale of her small wares--a few loungers and ragged idlers were hanging round her stall--for Biddy was 'a character,'

and, in her way, was one of the sights of Dublin.

O'Connell was very confident of success. He had laid an ingenious plan for overcoming her, and, with all the anxiety of an ardent experimentalist, waited to put it into practice. He resolved to open the attack. At this time O'Connell's own party, and the loungers about the place, formed an audience quite sufficient to rouse Mrs. Moriarty, on public provocation, to a due exhibition of her powers. O'Connell commenced the attack:--

"What's the price of this walking-stick, Mrs. What's-your-Name?"

"Moriarty, sir, is my name, and a good one it is; and what have you to say agen it? and one-and-sixpence's the price of the stick. Troth, it's chape as dirt--so it is."

"One-and-sixpence for a walking-stick? whew! why, you are know no better than an impostor, to ask eighteen pence for what cost you twopence."

"Twopence, your grandmother!" replied Mrs. Biddy: "do you mane to say that it's chating the people I am?--impostor, indeed!"

"Aye, impostor; and it's that I call you to your teeth," rejoined O'Connell.

"Come cut your stick, you cantankerous jackanapes."

"Keep a civil tongue in your head, you old _diagonal_," cried O'Connell, calmly.

"Stop your jaw, you pug-nosed badger, or by this and that," cried Mrs.

Moriarty, "I'll make you go quicker nor you came."

"Don't be in a pa.s.sion, my old _radius_--anger will only wrinkle your beauty."

"By the hokey, if you say another word of impudence I'll tan your dirty hide, you bastely common scrub; and sorry I'd be to soil my fists upon your carcase."

"Whew! boys, what a pa.s.sion old Biddy is in; I protest, as I'm a gentleman----"

"Jintleman! jintleman! the likes of you a jintleman! Wisha, by gor, that bangs Banagher. Why, you potato-faced pippin-sneezer, when did a Madagascar monkey like you pick enough of common Christian dacency to hide your Kerry brogue?"

"Easy, now--easy, now," cried O'Connell, with imperturbable good humor, "don't choke yourself with fine language, you old whiskey-drinking _parallelogram_."

"What's that you call me, you murderin' villian?" roared Mrs. Moriarty, stung to fury.

"I call you," answered O'Connell, "a parallelogram; and a Dublin judge and jury will say that it's no libel to call you so!"

"Oh, tare-an-ouns! oh, holy Biddy! that on honest woman like me should be called a parrybellygrum to her face. I'm none of your parrybellygrums, you rascally gallowsbird; you cowardly, sneaking, plate-lickin' bliggard!"

"Oh, not you, indeed!" retorted O'Connell; "why, I suppose you'll deny that you keep a _hypothenuse_ in your house."

"It's a lie for you, you dirty robber, I never had such a thing in my house, you swindling thief."

"Why, sure your neighbors all know very well that you keep not only a hypothenuse, but that you have two _diameters_ locked up in your garret, and that you go out to walk with them every Sunday, you heartless old _heptagon_."

"Oh, hear that, ye saints in glory! Oh, there's bad language from a fellow that wants to pa.s.s for a jintleman. May the divil fly away with you, you micher from Munster, and make celery-sauce of your rotten limbs, you mealy-mouthed tub of guts."

"Ah, you can't deny the charge, you miserable _submultiple_ of a _duplicate ratio_."

"Go, rinse your mouth in the Liffey, you nasty tickle pitcher; after all the bad words you speak, it ought to be filthier than your face, you dirty chicken of Beelzebub."

"Rinse your own mouth, you wicked-minded old _polygon_--to the deuce I pitch you, you bl.u.s.tering intersection of a stinking _superficies_!"

"You saucy tinker's apprentice, if you don't cease your jaw, I'll----"

But here she gasped for breath, unable to hawk up any more words, for the last volley of O'Connell had nearly knocked the wind out of her.

"While I have a tongue I'll abuse you, you most inimitable _periphery_.

Look at her, boys! there she stands--a convicted _perpendicular_ in petticoats. There's contamination in her _circ.u.mference_, and she trembles with guilt down to the extremities of her _corollaries_. Ah!

you're found out, you _rectilineal antecedent_, and _equiangular_ old hag! 'Tis with you the devil will fly away, you porter-swiping _similitude_ of the _bisection of a vortex_!"

Overwhelmed with this torrent of language, Mrs. Moriarty was silenced.

Catching up a saucepan, she was aiming at O'Connell's head, when he very prudently made a timely retreat.

"You have won the wager, O'Connell--here's your bet," cried the gentleman who proposed the contest.

O'Connell knew well the use of sound in the vituperation, and having to deal with an ignorant scold, determined to overcome her in volubility, by using all the _sesquipedalia verba_ which occur in Euclid. With these, and a few significant epithets, and a scoffing, impudent demeanor, he had for once imposed silence on Biddy Moriarty.

O'CONNELL AND A BILKING CLIENT.

He used to lodge, when at Cork, at a stationer's of the name of O'Hara, in Patrick-street, one of the princ.i.p.al thoroughfares of the city.

There, during the a.s.sizes, there was always a crowd before his door, lounging under his windows, anxious to get a peep at the Counsellor.

Whenever he made his appearance there was always a hearty cheer. On one occasion, an old friend of his, who had once belonged to the bar, Mr.

K----, a member of a most respectable family, called on O'Connell during the a.s.sizes, to pay him a friendly visit. He found O'Connell engaged with a shrewd-looking farmer, who was consulting him on a knotty case.

Heartily glad to see his old friend, O'Connell sprang forward, saying, "My dear K----, I'm delighted to see you." The farmer, seeing the visitor come in, cunningly took the opportunity of sneaking away. He had got what he wanted--the opinion; but O'Connell had not got what _he_ wanted--the fee. O'Connell at once followed the farmer, who had got the start by a flight of stairs. The rustic quickened his pace when he found that the counsellor was in chase. O'Connell saw that he could not catch the runaway client, who was now on the flight leading into the hall. He leant over the bannister, and made a grasp at the farmer's collar, but, instead of the collar, he caught the rustic's wig, which came away in his hand. O'Connell gave a shout of laughter, and, quick as thought, jumped in high spirits back to his room. "Hurrah! see, K----, I've got the rascal's wig." Up went the window--

"Three cheers for the counsellor!--Long life to your honor. Arrah! isn't he the man of the people."

"Ah! boys," said O'Connell, with glee, "look here what I've got for you!

Here's the wig of a rascal that has just bilked me of a fee."

Shouts of laughter rent the air, as the wig was pitched out, to undergo a rapid process of radical reform at the hands of the mob. As the wigless farmer made his appearance, he was received with groans of derision, and was glad enough to escape with unbroken bones.

SOW-WEST AND THE WIGS.

The following humorous scene took place in the Court-house, Green-street, Dublin:

The city of Dublin was often contested by Mr. John B. West--a conservative barrister of no ordinary talents, whose early end caused much regret. That gentleman was very heavy and clumsy in appearance, and moved very awkwardly. Lord Plunket humorously called him _Sow_-West, a name that adhered to him most tenaciously. O'Connell was opposed to West on three or four different occasions. It is remarkable that the opening scenes at the Dublin elections are conducted with far more decorum than similar scenes in other parts of Ireland. All the ma.s.ses are not admitted indiscriminately to the Court where the hustings are placed--the people are admitted by tickets, half of which are allotted to each rival party. It is the interest of both parties to keep order, and the candidates and their friends are therefore heard with tolerable fairness. On the first day of a Dublin election, the most eloquent members of either party come forward to uphold their favorite principles.