The Black Humour of 1798

In any human disaster it is human nature to try and see the funny side of things for a whole complex of individual and community psychological reasons, the 1798 period was no exception as the following humorous pieces confirm. They are reasonably contemporary having been published in 1811; italics, blanks and spelling are as in the original. A note on the source follows with a further sample of other popular contemporary types of humour. It is an essential source for a psychological history of the Rebellion.

1. In the late Irish rebellion, J. C. Beresford, Esq. a banker, and member for Dublin, rendered himself so obnoxious to the rebels, in consequence of his vigilance in bringing them to punishment; that whenever they found any of his bank-notes in plundering a house, the general cry was: “By Jasus, we’ll ruin the rascal! We’ll destroy every note of his we can find” and they actually destroyed, it is supposed, upwards of 20,000l of his notes during the rebellion
2. During the rebellion of 1798, while the regiment of Ancient Britons were gallantly carrying the terrors of fire and sword through the Wicklow and Wexford mountains, under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Wardle, their commander in Chief, Sir W. W. Wyne, was detained at Dublin, by a slight wound to the hand, which, however, did not prevent him from walking the streets daily, with his arm in a crape sling; while his iron shod boots, and his trailing scymeter, raised such a clatter on the pavement, as could not fail to impress the rabble with the terrors of his warlike presence.
   
   Passing one day by Black Dick’s laboratory, the artist’s deputy says to his master, “I believe dat’s de man dey call Sit Watkin Win, of the Welch horse”’ “Well, and what of that?” answered Dick. “Noting” answered the deputy, “only dey say he’s a great hero; but I don’t tink he looks much like one”. “Your soul to the gallice!” rejoined Dick, “Do you want a goose look like an eagle?”
3. Previous to the breaking out of the Irish rebellion, Lord Clare, who took a marked and leading part, both in legislative and ministerial measures for pulling down the popular spirit, which he followed up till the consummation of the Union, used frequently to declare, speaking of the leaders and advocates of the popular factions, “that he make those fellows as tame as gelt-cats;” and obtained amongst the multitude the nick-name of the Cat-gelder. A few years after the noble lord died in Ireland, in consequence of a dreadful accident he sustained while riding in Rotten Row, St. James’s Park, His remains were interred in the church-yard of St. Peter’s Dublin. His funeral had, indeed, a most popular attendance; and just after the body was deposited in the grave, and the Minister had pronounced these words of the burial service, “Earth to Earth! Ashes to Ashes! Dust to Dust!” a sudden yell from the surrounding multitude rent the air, like the squall of a thousand cats, and the dead bodies of above a dozen tabby mousers, which the bearers had brought beneath their great coats, were tossed aloft, and fell into the grave upon the coffin, as an hecatomb to the memory of the departed statesman. His mourning relations, who surrounded the sarcophagus, were highly shocked and exasperated at this insult to the memory of the Patriot Peer, but it was impossible to discover any of the offenders
4. The asperity of Lord Clare’s politics during the disturbances of 1797 and 98, rendered him peculiarly obnoxious to the mass of the people, and so conscious was he of this, that he generally walked the streets with pistols in his pockets and accompanied by his two nephews armed in like manner. Passing a bookseller’s shop one day, on his way to the House of Lords, his tailor, who was talking politics in this temple of knowledge, observed him pass, and dryly observed, “Well, there you go, my Lord Clare, and sweet bad luck to you; for I’m sure God Almighty is sorry he ever made you”. 
5. During the disturbances of Ireland in the year 1798, Mr. Claudius Beresford, of humane eminence, commanded a corps of Volunteer Cavalry, entirely composed of revenue officers, and of whose discipline he was very proud. Boasting one day in the presence of Counsellor Lysaght, on the excellence of his regiment, the witty barrister said, “I don’t doubt it gallant Captain, for they are all seizers (Caesars) to a man”.
6. In the reign of terror, which at that time was the order of the day in Dublin, The Riding House of Mr. Beresford’s corps was organized under certain auspices as one of the flagellating tribunals, and the instrumental and vocal music produced by the cats of the drummers and the cries of the victim were generally heard for about six hours per day by the surrounding neighborhood. A wag passing by this tribunal wrote with a piece of chalk in large letters upon the gate, Mangling done here by Claudy and Co.
7. An unlikely mistake occurred at this time with respect to an old man, an honest manufacturer of coffins and packing cases, in whose timber-yard about a mile from his residence, a small coffin filled with pike-heads was discovered. In the summary justice of the times, there was no difficulty in identifying by analogy the coffin-maker himself with this deposit of rebellious arms. He was therefore marched without trial or ceremony to the triangles and complimented with a dose of 500 lashes. The man’s innocence was proved beyond all question in the course of a few days, and he had the consolation of being informed by the Executive Directory of the Riding-House, that he was flogged in a mistake.”
8. At the same time an officer high in the service of the Government, viz. The Castle Sweep-Chimney, named Hoarish, was accused by the secret information of some mischievous wag with a plot to blow up the Castle, murder Lord Camden, and marry the Lord Mayoress. Ridiculous as this imputation was, this sooty conspirator, who was an honest and industrious fellow, was dismissed from his office, hurried before the Tribunal of the Department, and was almost flogged to death. His innocence also was proved in a little time, and he was restored to his fuligonous dignities, but whether he obtained indemnity for the past, or security for the future, was an arcanum imperii which never transpired.
9. During the discussions in Ireland upon the Union the minds of all classes were exasperated on the subject, and the people considered it then as they do now, a most unwarrantable injury and ruinous insult to their country. The Viceroy, Lord Cornwallis, was adored for the benevolent contrast of his character to that of his predecessor; but he suffered his share of obloquy as the instrument of that odious and irreconcilable measure.
10. On St. Patrick’s Day, the national festival, the veteran viceroy taking a morning ride on the north side of Dublin, accompanied by two of his aids-de-camps, he was met by a squadron of cockle-women who had been collecting their commodities on the neighbouring strand, and were returning to Dublin to sell them. They opened to the right and left to give passage to his Excellency, but did not fail to salute him with this compliment, “The devil’s back to you, blind Corny! You are come amongst us to take St. Patrick’s day, the joy of Ireland, home to your own bl---dy county.”
11. Written during the late Rebellion, by Sir --------, an Irish Member of Parliament, to his friend in London.

    My dear Sir,
    
    Having now a little peace and quietness, I sit down to inform you of the dreadful bustle and confusion we are in from these blood-thirsty rebels, most of whom are, however, thank God, killed and dispersed.
    
    We are in a pretty mess – can get nothing to eat, nor any wine to drink, except whiskey; and when we sit down to dinner, we are obliged to keep both hands armed; whilst I write this letter, I hold a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other. I concluded from the beginning that this would be the end of it; and I see I was right, for it is not half over yet. At present, there are such goings on, that every thing is at a stand.
    
    I should have answered your letter a fortnight ago, but I only received it this morning. Indeed, hardly a mail arrived safe, without being robbed. No longer ago than yesterday, the coach, with the mails from Dublin, was robbed near this town; the bags having been judiciously left behind, for fear of accidents, and, by good luck, there was nobody in the coach, but two outside passengers, who had nothing for the thieves to take.
    
    Last Thursday notice was given that a gang of rebels were advancing hither, under the French standard, but they had no colours, nor any drums, except bagpipes. Immediately every man in the place, including women and boys, ran out to meet them. We soon found our force much too little, and they were far too near to us to think of retreating; death was in every face; but to it we went, and by the time half our little party was killed, we began to be all alive. Fortunately the rebels had no guns, but pistols, cutlasses and pikes; and as we had plenty of muskets and ammunition, we put them all to the sword; not a soul of them escaped, except some that were drowned in an adjoining bog; and in a very short time, nothing was to be heard but silence. Their uniforms were all of different colours, but mostly green. After the action we went to rummage a sort of camp they had left behind; all we found was a few pikes without heads, a parcel of empty bottles full of water, an a bundle of blank French commissions, filled up with Irishmen’s names. Troops are now stationed every where round the country, which exactly squares with my ideas.
    
    I have only leisure to add, that I am in great haste.
    
    Your’s,
    
    P.S. If you do not receive this in course, it must have miscarried; therefore, I beg you will immediately write to let me know

12. When the Irish Union was effected, sir John Parnel’s health was frequently drunk in genteel companies. Being one day, in a convivial party he observed jocularly, that by the union he had lost his bread and butter. “Ah! My dear sir”, replied the gentleman, “never mind, for it is amply made up to you in toasts. 
13. During the time that martial law was in force in Ireland, and the people were prohibited from having fire-arms in their possession, some mischievous varlets gave information that a Mr. Scanlon, of Dublin, had three mortars in his house. A magistrate, with a party of dragoons in his train, surrounded the house, and demanded in the king’s name, that the mortars should be delivered to him. Mr. Scanlon, a respectable apothecary, immediately produced them, adding, that as they were useless without the pestles, these were also at his majesty’s service.
14. During the recent unpleasant situation of affairs in Ireland, a watch-word was required of every passenger after a certain hour, with liberty for the centinel to interrogate at will. A poor harmless Irishman, traveling from Kilmainey to Kilmore, being asked concerning his place of departure, and place of destination, answered, to the astonishment of the enquirer, “I have been to kill-many, and am going to kill-more.” “That you shall not,” said the centinel, and immediately ran him through with his bayonet.
15. In one of the late revolutionary battles in Ireland, a rebel hairdresser ran up to the muzzle of a cannon, to which an artilleryman was just applying the match, and thrusting his head into its mouth, exclaimed, the moment before he was blown to atoms: “By Jasus, I have stopped your mouth, my honey, for this time.”
16. Some differences lately occurred between a corps of volunteers and their commandant. The regiment was ordered to appear before the inspector general, and the colonel, of course, gave the word of command, “Attention – Shoulder Arms.” Not a muscle, not a musket moved. The command was repeated in a louder voice, the corps was still motionless. The general surprised, beckoned to a serjeant, and asked why the corps refused to act? “An’t plasse your honour,” says Pat, making his due obeisance, “it is bekays the colonel and regiment are not on spaking terms.”
 

Note on the source and commentary.

Most humour depends on context so many of the above are obscure to modern perspectives. However what comes through is the attitude with which it is easy to identify with.

The book is entitled the Spirit of Irish Wit, or to give its full title, Spirit of Irish Wit or Post-Chaise Companion: being an Eccentric Miscellany of Hibernian Wit, Fun, and Humour much the greater part never before in print, with a selection of such that may have appeared; calculated for the Meridian of the United Kingdoms; and consisting of Bon-Mots, Repartees, Smart Puns, High Jokes, Queer Hoakes, Humorous Anecdotes, Laughable Bulls, Devlish Good Things, and various other articles of Intellectual Confectionary, adapted to the risible Muscles, and designed to dispel Care, Purge Melancholy, Cure the Spleen, and Raise the Drooping Spirits in these Gloomy Times.

It was printed in London and states ‘Printed for Thomas Tegg, 111, Cheapside, and R. Griffin & Co. Glasgow’. In the author’s edition a hand written note has ‘(1811)’. The editor was Momus Broadgrin, an obvious alias. The proclamation prefacing the book expands on the title/advertisement and is worth given in full.

“Whereas it has been credibly represented to us, and we have, moreover, strong reasons to believe, that during the rancour, spleen, party dullness, and mutual distrust, which for some time prevailed in this once good-humoured and convivial realm, very considerable quantities of current and sterling wit and pleasantry of the land had been withdrawn from circulation; and that humorous anecdotes, bon mots, good jokes, epigrams, bulls, and divers other devlish things, to the amount of some millions, were concealed or hoarded in memories, brain-boxes, pocket-diaries, common-place-books, and other repositories of once chearful, but since dull, splenetic and gloomy persons, who have passed over to this realm, and have for some time withdrawn themselves from social intercourse, and do now obstinately withhold from conversation the said wit, humour and pleasantry, both in coin and bullion, to the great injury and detriment of colloquial pleasure and national humour, and in the propagation of dullness, the spleen and the blue devils.

Now in order that such invaluable treasures of wit, pleasantry and good-humour, may no longer remain locked up in the said brain-boxes, memories, pocket-books, and other repositories of such glumpish, churlish, and refractory persons aforesaid, and thereby run the risk of being lost to all cheerful society, or of dying with their avaricious and monopolizing possessors. We do hereby charge, command, invite, and implore all wits, humourists, social fellows, droll dogs, comical fellows, fun-lovers, curiosos, odd fishes, pickled dogs, queer devils, and all other votaries of wit, humour and pleasantry, as they tender the common interests of laughter and chearfulness, that they do, with all possible expedition, after this issue of this our proclamation, bring forward or transmit, to the Editor of this our Book, all such bon-mots, pleasant anecdotes, epigrams, characters, witticisms, and all other such good things as they have been so hoarded and concealed, whether they be in coin or rough bullion, as aforesaid, to the end that the same may be forthwith stampt with our imprimature into general circulation, for the advantage of public pleasantry, and the promotion of social harmony and good-humour within our dominions.

Given at out Council Chamber, No. 111, Cheapside, this 1st of May, 1811.

By order of the Lord Chief Joker, Momus Broadgrin, Controller of the Comicals”

Obviously the population of Ireland was a gloomy lot in the first decade after the rebellion. This is hardly surprising, as the bloody and violent events, particularly in its suppression, had badly disrupted their way of life. The whole process of social harmony had received a major battering and had to be rebuilt though it would take several generations for the emotive shock to be dissipated. Trust within the community had to be re-learnt but some suspicions never left. Furthermore the Union had not lived up to Catholic political and religious expectations nor had any economic miracle materialized, in fact the island went into a sustained period of economic stagnation compared to the industrial revolution that was happening in England on the brink of being a world player with a major colonial empire. This was, of course, in the future and the early 18th century saw major conflicts with the French Empire and people seemed to very pessimistic about this too judging by the poetry written at the time, imbued with melancholy.

The editor, evidently thought Ireland needed cheering up and that he could make some money from publishing what is probably the first Irish joke book. Whether this was a Good Thing is doubtful given his legacy of the plethora of joke books dedicated to the Irish and other stereotypes published today. The quality is probably very similar. This book is very much a cut and paste job with pieces being culled by various collectors, many from the Irish community in London, and typeset in batches. There has been little editorial control with duplication and one section dedicated to parliamentary journalists of the House of Commons, London, with no Irish relevance.

There is a political trend of being sympathetic to Irish complaints about the Union and by and large there is little anti-Irish feelings or prejudice. While of course there are jokes where the Irishman or woman is the butt, there are as many where the Irish top the English trying to pull a fast one. Others are ambiguous and have no obvious target. The editor, probably English, has used material that harks back to excellent relations and social intercourse of the pre-rebellion period with some nostalgia but it therefore should not be seen as some kind of golden age as any brief look at poverty, life expectancy, infant mortality, plague and famine would show. The main target of scurrilous satire were the politicians, particularly if they were aristocratic, an attitude that is refreshingly modern, though not, perhaps, if one is a politician.

The publication questions some modern Irish stereotypes about English attitudes to the Irish. It is commonly held that the general view of the Irish was one of negative condemnation, as exemplified by Punch. While this may be true in the later 19th century Victorian England there is little evidence of this in the book, which can be taken to be representative of attitudes several generations earlier. What we, perhaps, see is cultural shifts in how people defined themselves as Irish at the turn of the century but is buried and obscured by later cultural shifts that took place particularly after the Famine (1845-7), the 1916 rebellion and accession to the European Union in 1972, and Globalization since; a continuous process at least 2,000 years old. England, too, went through its own cultural shifts so the relationship between the two islands has varied in time and was never static. It did not conform to any one stereotype as implied by many modern Irish cultural historians. The academic habit of chopping time into discreet bits as specific disciplines within history can often obscure long-term trends and changes in how the island population perceived itself, with all its variety, and how they related to neighbouring communities. Certainly there was no angst about what it meant to be Irish. However Irishness varied among the different strata of society, the worldview of the actor, chancer, cleric, docker, doctor, farmer, innkeeper, gentry, labourer, lawyer, lovers, noble, prostitute, seaman, servant, shoeshine, soldier, teacher, tailor, washerwoman, weaver, wit, etc. The Dubliner, for instance, probably had more in common with urban classes in England than with rural classes in the West.

On a more general level a common cliché is that ‘victors write history’, however it can be seen from the above that this is not necessarily the case for 1798 where from contemporary and modern perspectives there are alternative opinions and the freedom to express them. The easy availability of mass printing has allowed the survival of a plethora of opinions from all classes of literate society. To misquote a medieval phrase general literacy resulted in a ‘Victor’s History with Opposition’.

The book was aimed at the tourist, mostly gentry and new rich, as the title suggests with the use of the phrase ‘Post-Chaise Companion’. It was, no doubt, a useful companion while traveling from Ballygobackwards to Ballymecrazy in a storm of driving sleet, rain and snow while bouncing around the many muddy potholes. Many pieces were later recycled and are found in traveler’s books particularly in the 19th century when plagiarism was extremely common. A few have since found their way into serious historical studies whose authors would be miffed and mortified to find out that their primary source is a mere joke book; the academic technical term is ‘Unreliable’ (said with a supercilious snort for emphasis).

Other examples of humour:

The late Councellor Coldbeck, of the Irish Bar, who drudged in his profession till he was nearly 60, being a king’s counsel, frequently went on circuit as judge of assize when any of the twelve judges was prevented by illness. On one of those occasions a fellow was convicted before him at Wexford for bigamy; and when the learned counsel came to pass sentence, after lecturing pretty roundly upon the nature of his uxorious crime, added, “The only punishment which the law authorizes me to inflict is, that you be transported to parts beyond the seas for the term of seven years; but if I had my will, you should not escape with so mild a punishment, for I would sentence you for the term of your natural life – to live in the same house with both your wives.”

A gentleman of the name of Frost lately told another that he wished to have his genealogy made out. “Wait,” said his friend, “till the next fall of snow, and than you may trace it.”

The celebrated Mrs. Barry who for many years reigned Queen of the Drama in Ireland and participated the public favour with the once elegant Sprainger her husband. Some years after his demise, when she was certainly above fifty, she thought proper to espouse a tall strapping Hibernian barrister, whose name was Crawford, and who in virtue of his marriage, became proprietor and manager of Crow Street Theatre. Under his auspices, a system of economy and unpunctuality were introduced rarely equaled in the history of the stage. In all the drinking and supper scenes upon the stage, small beer was substituted for wine, and the viands were furnished by the property man. The pies were of pasteboard and the roast fowls were carved from wood and painted in the culinary style. The wax tapers were changed for mutton lights and the musicians were all dismissed or had dismissed themselves as being unable to obtain payment of their salaries. The pay of the actors, who had not written agreements, were reduced, and many of the poorer Thespians, who often looked forward to supper scene to allay their hunger after a day’s fasting, found themselves reduced to the alternative of a wooden repast or of going to bed supperless. One night when the farce of High Life Below Stairs was performed, my Lord Duke in leading Mrs. Kitty out to move to the mock minuet very gallantly assured her that this was the first time he had the honour of being as a ‘Ball without music’ and for the supper scene, Sir Harry told Lady Betty, he was afraid that ‘deal ducks and oak pheasant’ were too hard for her teeth; but pressed her to take part of the ‘pasteboard pie’, which he hoped was more manageable. Philip the butler in recommending the wines ‘from humble Port to Imperial Tokay’ observed that he believed his master did not pay his wine merchant, for the Tokay was no better than small beer, and the Champaine tasted confoundedly strong of the water. The Gods in the gallery, highly diverted at the ludicrous finesse of the actors, roared out lustily for music, when Sir Harry came forward and assured them that the whole band were ‘indisposed with a violent vacuum in their pockets’ upon which one of the galleries cried out, ‘clear the stage and we will perform the concert’. The performers took the hint; and instantly, the stage was covered with a tremendous shower of benches, broken chandeliers, glass bottles, orange peels and all other missiles within reach of the exasperated audience. The company in the boxes fled in trepidation and such was the devastation committed upon all the furniture, that the Theatre was closed for a fortnight and the managers obliged to make an apology and restore the ancient usage of the house.

An Irish gentleman, whose lady produced a fine boy six months after marriage, applied to a physician to account for it. “Make your self easy,” answered the doctor, “make your self easy; this very often happens in the case of the first child, but never afterwards.”

An Irish officer had the misfortune to be severely wounded, in an engagement in the American War. As he lay on the field, an unfortunate near him, who was also badly wounded, gave vent to his agony in dreadful howls, which so irritated the officer, who had born his in silence, that he exclaimed, “D—n your eyes, what do make such a noise for? Do you think nobody is killed but yourself?”

Dean Swift was one day in company, when the conversation fell upon the antiquity of her family. The lady of the house expatiated a little too freely on her descent, observing that her ancestor’s name began with De, and, of course, of ancient French extraction. When she had finished:- “And now”, said the dean, “you will be so kind as to help me to a piece of that D’umpling”.

An English labourer in Cheshire, attempting to drown himself, an Irish reaper, who saw him go into the water, leaped after him, and brought him safe to shore. The fellow attempting it a second time, the reaper a second time got him out; but the labourer being determined to destroy himself, watched an opportunity and hanged himself behind the barn door. The Irishman observed him, but never offered to cut him down; when several hours afterwards, the master of the farm-yard asked him, upon what ground he suffered the poor fellow to hang there? “Faith,” replied Patrick, “I don’t know what you mean by ground: I know I was so good to him that I fetched him out of the water two times – and I know, too, he was wet through every rag, and I thought, he hung himself up to dry, and you know, I could have no right to prevent him.”

An Irish footman having carried a basket of his game to a friend, waited for a considerable time for the customary fee, but not finding it likely to appear, scratched his head, and said, “Sir – if my master should say ‘Paddy, what did the gentleman give you?’ what would your honour have me tell him?”

“I will save you a thousand pound,” says an Irishman to an old gentleman, “if you don’t stand in your own light.” “How?” “You have a daughter, and you intend to give her ten thousand as a marriage portion.” “I do.” “Sir, I will take her for nine thousand.”

An Irish horse-dealer sold a mare as sound wind and limb, and without fault. It afterwards appeared that the poor beast could not see with one eye, and was almost blind in the other. The purchaser finding this, made heavy complaints to the dealer, and reminded him, that he engaged the mare to be ‘without fault.’ “To be sure,” replied the other, “to be sure I did; but then, my dear honey, the poor crater’s blindness is not her fault, but her misfortune.”

An Irish country schoolmaster being asked what was meant by the word ‘fortification’, instantly answered, with the utmost confidence, “Two twentifications make a fortification.”

The Gallery wit of Dublin theatres have long been celebrated; for, perhaps the mob of the city are the wittiest blackguards in Europe; and the deities of the upper galleries never fail to mark their approbation or hatred for all public characters who happen to catch their eyes, by plaudits or groans: even the Viceroy, if present, comes in for his share in these attentions, just as he happens to be popular or unpopular; and some of those august personages unable to bear this kind of attack have uniformly absented themselves from the Theatre. The late amiable Manners, Duke of Rutland, and his beautiful duchess, appeared one night in the vice regal box, when a celebrated abbess named Peg Plunkett, with a few of her nymphs appeared in the side boxes. The upper gallery wits immediately began upon the Papphian Priestess with “Ha! Peg! Who slept with you last night, Peg?” To which she immediately answered in a tone of reproof “Manners you blackguards.” This was so palpable a hit at the representative of the royalty, who was a frequent visitant at her Nunnery, that it threw the House into a roar of laughter, and the noble Duke retired under much embarrassment.

Sir John Stuart Hamilton, the witty baronet, lounging one day in Dalby’s Chocolate-house, when, after a long draught, there fell a torrent of rain: a country gentleman in the room observed, “This is a most delightful rain; I hope it will bring up every thing out of the ground.” “By G---, Sir,” said Sir John, “I hope not; for I have sowed three wives in it, and I should be d---d sorry to see them come up again.

Blind Peter, a shoe black, or, to use his own phrase a genteel japanner, was one day summoned as a witness in a case of murder, before the Criminal Court, and was, as usual, primed with whisky. One of his companions had mortally wounded a carman with a spud, or scraping knife, and Peter attended as a witness for the prisoner. After a description of the circumstances which led to the catastrophe, in a style of phraseology perfectly unintelligible to the Court, Baron Dawson observed, “This witness is quite beyond my understanding – Pray, fellow, be more explicit, and tell us what you mean.” Peter answered, “Blur an ounds, My Lord, sure I’m not obliged to find your evidence and understanding too, and if your Lardship doesn’t know de languages, dat’s not my fault.”

The learned judge, finding the best way to manage the witness was to bid him tell his own story, in the plainest way he could, and Peter proceeded:-

“Well den, please your Lordship, my Gossup at the bar was challenged by de carman to sky de coppers for a pint of de stuff; and so dey pulled out their louse traps, and tossed up for the best in tree. Music, says de carman, massards, says my Gossup, and he won. You flushed dem, by de hokey, says de carman. - You lie, by G--, said my Gossup. So wid dat, my Lord, dey agreed to edge de make at a motty; but dere de carman had no change, for my Gossup, touched de spud so tight every pitch, dat if it was butter he’d ha’ stuck in it. So upon dat, your honour, de carman miffed and began to be snotty. ‘Your soul to the gallice says my Gossup, what d’ye mean by dat. If you have a mind for a row, peel yourself, and we’ll see it out in a gentel way.’ My Gossup is as tight a bit of flesh, my Lord, as ever nipp’ed de weed. And so upon dat the carman didn’t do de decent ting; for while my Gossup was blanching his bacon, and just taking off his flesh bag, what does de carman do, my Lord, but he gave him a dub with his daddle, upon de snotter-box, and brought about Claret about his mug. ‘Blue blazes to your soul, you bloody tief,’ said I, ‘dat’s not fair:- you stuck de man in his own shop:’ (for my Goosup had his foot in de basket all de while). So wid dat, my Lord, he struck him again; and so my Gossup up wid his chir, and swore he would give him guts for garters; but I dun’na how it happened dat de Gossup fell agen him, and somehow or other, my Gossup greased the chir in his tripes.”

The judge, who was not the mildest man in the world, said to the witness, “get down you ruffian, there is no understanding your jargon.” Peter, with great gravity, replied, “Oh, by J----s, since dat’s de case I’m off, but I’ll call to-morrow when you’re sober, may be you’d be civiler den.”

Editor’s Glossary [ed. abbreviated]: To sky de coopers means to toss up halfpence, Louse traps means combs used in tossing, Music signifies harps (the impression on Irish halfpence), Mazzards are heads, Edging de makes at a motty means pitching halfpence at a particular stone and that he that pitched nearest was the winner, Stuff means whiskey, Miffed means got angry, Snotty means saucy, Nipping de weed implies chewing tobacco, Peeling or Blanching de bacon means stripping naked, Dub with his daddle on his snotter-box and bringing claret about his mug means a stroke of his fist that produced a bloody nose, and Chir is the short scraping knife used by the shoe-hacks. With these illustrations the testimony of Peter may, perhaps, be somewhat more intelligible to the English reader [ed. Gallice means a gallows]

The late Father O’Leary, of witty celebrity, had once a pamphleteering war of Polemics with the Protestant Bishop of Cloyne, in which the prelate inveighed with great acrimony against the superstitions of Popery and particularly against the doctrine of purgatory. Father O’Leary, in his reply, slyly observed, that much as the Bishop disliked purgatory, he might possibly go much further, and fare worse.” [ed. The point of this joke is also found, in a different setting in Latin, in a quote from a cleric on hearing the news of the death of Bishop Felix O’Ruadhan (Bishop of Tuam) in the 1220s.]

The late John Monk Mason, an Irish Privy Counsellor, and Lord of the Treasury, when a junior barrister, derived his first official rise from an almost briefless bag, to a commissionership of revenue, through the influence of the celebrated Peg Weffington; and being some time afterwards in the pit of the theatre, a famous priestess of Pamona, named Monica Gaul, eminent in her wit, came in between the acts, and was striding over the seats, proclaiming her fine China oranges and Belvedere grapes, and stepping, in her way, across the bench where Mr. Mason sat, he, in a spirit of gallantry, thrust his hand under her lower garments. Monica, in a loud play-house whisper said, “Oh! By J----s, Mr. Commissioner, you are upon a wrong scent; you’ll find no run goods there, for every thing has been fairly entered.”

A beggar in Dublin had been a long time besieging an old gouty, testy, limping gentleman, who refused his mite with such irritability; on which the mendicant said “Ah, please your honour’s honour, I wish your heart were as tender as your toes.”

An Irish batchelor objected to a surcharge of his taxes; but on being told that it arose from his celibacy, the objection was immediately withdrawn. He said, “Every man should pay for his luxuries.”

Dean Swift’s definition of an angler is, ‘A stick and a string, with a worm at one end, and a fool at the other.’

An Irishman came to his patron to complain of the usage he had met from a gentleman to whom he had applied for employment. “He told me,” said Paddy, “to go to the devil, and so I have come straight to your honour.”

An Irishman meeting an acquaintance thus accosted him: “Ah, my dear, who do you think I have just been talking to? Your old friend Patrick; fait, and he is grown so thin, I hardly knew him; to be sure, you are thin, and I am thin, but he is thinner than both of us put together.”

An Irishman being on board a ship in a storm, the captain ordered that the most cumbersome things should be thrown overboard to ease the vessel, whereupon Teague took his wife, and was going to throw her into the sea. The captain asked him the reason of it, he answered, “I have nothing more heavy or cumbersome to me than my wife.”

A county regiment marching through a village in the south of Ireland, had a Scottish surgeon attached to the corps; and there being no medical person resident in the village, nor within twelve miles of it, a poor woman came to implore the aid of this gentleman for her husband, who was dangerously afflicted with an obstruction in his bowels for some days. The surgeon accompanied her, and having learned that there was no apothecary in the whole district, nor any means of producing the effects he wished, asked the poor man certain questions about his evacuations fore and aft, and being informed that he had none for four days, he saw there was no time to be lost, and desired the patient ‘To clop the meddle fenger of his right hand to the knuckle in his mouth.’ ‘Twas done. “Weel, di ye feel inclined to vomet noow?” “Oh no, long life to your honour,” said the poor man. “Weel then,” said he, “keep tour fenger tight, and clop the meddle fenger o’ tother hond in you’re a---. ‘Twas done. “Weel, di ye feel inclined to vomet now?” “Oh no, your honour” “Weel, weel, then,” said he, “change fengers.” ‘Twas done, and this prescription instantly produced the desired effect, and the poor man’s disease was speedily relieved, to the great admiration of the doctor’s skill throughout the village. A Viceroy of Ireland asked one of his guests at a great dinner given in the castle, why there were no toads in Ireland, to which he replied. “Because, please your excellency, there are so many toad eaters”.

A gentleman having had his boots blacked on the street in Dublin, paid his shoe-black with a considerable degree of haughtiness, on which the little fellow, when the other had got a short way from the stall, said, “ By my should, all the polish you have is on your boots, and I gave it to you”.

A nobleman, of the thick blood of the Irish nation, paid his addresses to the daughter of a friend, who valued money more than ancestry: the old gentleman hinted to his lordship, that he supposed his fortune was equivalent to his daughter’s? “Why, no sir,” replied his lordship, “I cannot say ‘tis altogether so considerable? But then you know, sir, there is my blood.” “O, damn, your blood,” returns the gentleman; “if you squander my daughter’s fortune away, she must not depend on your blood for a subsistence; a hog’s blood would be of more service then, and would make better puddings.”

An Irish wench coming to confession, confessed abundance of sins, but the chief was lying with men. “Well,” says the confessor, “whoredom is a thing does much displease God.” “I’m sorry for that,” says she, “for I’m sure it pleaseth me.”

The Hon. Mr. F----, upon seeing hung at a lady’s watch the picture of her deceased husband, who, it is believed, had hastened his end by intemperance in connubial joys, said, “It is barbarous in her to hang him in chains so near the place of execution.”

A blacksmith of a village in Ireland murdered a man, and was condemned to be hanged. The chief peasants of the place joined together, and begged that the blacksmith might not suffer, because he was necessary to the place, which could not do without a blacksmith, to shoe horses, mend wheels, &c. But the judge said, “How then can I fulfill justice?” A labourer answered, “Sir, there are two weavers in the village, and for so small a place one is enough, hang the other.”

Captain Mac, who had a wooden leg booted over, had it shattered to pieces by a cannon ball, his soldiers crying out “A surgeon, a surgeon for the captain.” “No, no,” says he, “a carpenter will do better.”

Lady W---- is celebrated in Ireland for wit and beauty. Happening to be at an assembly in Dublin, a young gentleman, the son of his majesty’s printer, who had the patent for publishing bibles, made his appearance, dressed in green and gold. Being a new face, and extremely elegant, he attracted the attention of the whole company. A general murmur prevailed in the room, to learn who he was; Lady W---- instantly made answer, loud enough to be heard, “Oh! Don’t you know him? It is young bible, bound in calf and gilt, but not lettered.”

To the Commissioners of the Excise. The humble petition of Patrick O’Connor, Blarney O’Brien, and Carney Macquire, to be appointed inspectors and overlookers (vulgarly called Excisemen) for the port of Cork, in the kingdom of Ireland.

And whereas we your aforesaid Petitioners, will both by night and day, and all night and all day, and we will come and go, and walk and ride, and take and bring, and send and fetch and carry, and we will see all, seize all, and more than all, and everything and nothing at all, of such goods and commodities as may be, can be, and cannot be liable to duty.

And we your aforesaid Petitioners will, at all times, and no time, and time present and absent, and be backwards and forwards, and behind and before, and be no where and every where, and here and there, and no where at all.

And we your aforesaid Petitioners, will come and inform, and give information, and notice, duly and truly, wisely and honestly, according to the matters we know and don’t know, and we will not rob or cheat the king any more than is now lawfully practiced.

And we your aforesaid Petitioners, all of us are protestants and gentlemen of reputation, and we love the king, and value him, and we will fight for him and against him, and we will run for him and from him, to serve him or any of his family and acquaintances, as far and as much farther as lies in our power, dead or alive, as long as we live.

Witness our several and separate hands in conjunction, and one and all three of us both together. Patrick O’Connor, Blarney O’Brien, Carney Macquire

It is a superstition with some surgeons who beg the bodies of condemned malefactors, to go to the goal, and bargain for the carcass with the criminal himself. A good honest Teague did so last sessions, and was admitted to the condemned men on the morning wherein they died. The surgeon communicated his business, and fell into a discourse with a little fellow who refused twelve shillings, and insisted on fifteen for his body. The fellow who killed the officer of Newgate, very forwardly, and like a man who was willing to deal, said, “Look you, Mr. Surgeon, that dry little fellow, who has been half starved all his life, and is now half dead with fear, cannot answer your purpose. I have ever lived highly and freely, my veins are full, I have not pined in imprisonment; you see my crest swells to your knife, and after Jack Catch has done, upon my honour you’ll find me as sound as e’er a bullock in any of the markets. Come, for twenty shillings I am your man.” Says the surgeon, “Done, there’s a guinea.” The witty rogue took the money, and as soon as he had it in his fist, cries, “Bite, I’m to be hanged in chains.”

Written many years ago, on seeing the front of Trinity College, Dublin, beautified.
Our Alma, like a common wh—e,
Worn out with guilt and sin,
Paints and adorns herself the more –
The more she rots within

An Irishman and an Englishman falling out, the Hibernia told him, if he did not hold his tongue, he would break his impenetrable head, and let the brains out of his empty skull.

A sketch of the law, by an Irishman. Law! Law! Law! Is like a woman’s temper, a very difficult study. Law is like a book of surgery, a great many terrible cases in it. Law is like fire and water; very good servants, but very bad when they get the upper hand of us; it is like a homely genteel women, very well to follow, it is also like a scolding wife, very bad when it follows us. And again, it is like bad weather, most people choose to keep out of it. In law there are four parts:- the quidlibate, the quodlibate, the quid-pro-quo, and the sinaquanon. Imprimis, the quadlibate, or who began first? Because, in all actions of assault, the law is clear, that probes jukes is absolutis maris, fine jokis; which being elegantly and classically rendered into English, is, that who ever gave the first stroke, it is absolutely ill, and without a joke. Secondly, the quodlibate, or the damages; but that the law has nothing to do with, only to state them; for whatever damages ensue they are all the client’s perquisites, according to that ancient Norman motto; if he is cast, or castandum, he is ‘Semper idem ruinandum.’ Thirdly, quid-quo-pro, feeing council, giving words for money, or having money for words, according to that ancient Norman motto, ‘Sicurat lex,’ or ‘We live to perplex’. Fourthly, the sinequanon; or, without something, what would any thing be good for? Without a large wig, what would be the out lines of the law?

Some years ago, at Bartholomew Fair, a showman, who was an Irishman, being turned of by his employer, and being driven to great extremities for want of money, hit on an expedient to raise a temporary supply, which, from its ingenuity, might certainly claim excuse. He hired a large room, and hung out a board thus inscribed, ‘To be seen here, A Worser’. As the name promised novelty, his room was crowded very soon after he had published his exhibition, and he had, of course, received a tolerable supply of money. Nothing remained but to gratify the curiosity of the ‘gaping crowd,’ who sat in silent expectation of some wonderful appearance; but the Hibernian, with the greatest coolness, brought in a lean miserable-looking pig, and asked one of the company, with the utmost concern, if it was not a very bad one; on being answered in the affirmative, he opened a closet door, and displaying a poor animal, little better than a skeleton, exclaimed, “Here is indeed a most wretched pig, but there, ladies and gentlemen, is A Worser.”

An Irishman loaded with faggots, cried loudly, as he passed along, “Make way! Make way!” that people may beware in time, as is usual. A coxcomb, who thought it beneath him to take the fellow’s counsel, pushed by him, and had his coat, which was silk, considerably torn. He flew into a violent passion, and had the man taken before a magistrate, pleading for payment of the damage. The Irishman was interrogated, but he merely opened his mouth without speaking. “Are you dumb? my friend.” Said the magistrate. “No,” interrupted the plaintiff, “mere malice, because he cannot defend himself; he appears dumb now, but when we met this morning, he bawled ‘Make way! Make way! like the very devil; you could have heard him a mile.” “And why then,” said the magistrate, “did you not make way.”

A low Irishman bragging that he had been spoken to by the King, was asked, what his Majesty had said to him? He replied, “He bade me to stand out of the way.”

An Irishman called an oculist, to consult him about his eyes, which of late had become very weak, He found him sitting at table with his bottle of wine. “Would you be entirely cured,” says the oculist, “you must quite abstain from wine.” I will,” replied the man, “but it seems to me, your eyes are full as bad as mine, and yet you drink pretty freely.” “True,” said the other, “because I prefer wine to good eyes.” A philosopher and wit were crossing the Irish Channel, when a high gale arising, the philosopher seemed under great apprehension lest he should go to the bottom. “Why,” said his friend, “that will suit your genius to a tittle; as for my part, I am only for skimming the surface of things.” Talking on the subject of a metempsychosis, a silly young Irishman once observed, “He remembered having been the golden calf.” “Very likely,” replied a lady, “as you have lost nothing but the gilding.”

A certain country squire asked an Irish merry Andrew, “Why he played the fool?” “For the same reason that you do, for want. You do it for want of wit, - and I for want of money”.

An Irish schoolmaster being interrogated by one of his pupils with respect to the etymology of the word Syntax, replied after some consideration, that it received its meaning from the circumstance of the ancients having had a tax on sin.

An Irish jockey once selling a nag to a gentleman, frequently observed, with emphatic earnestness, that he was an honest horse. After the purchase the gentleman asked him what he meant by an honest horse. “Why, sir,” replied the seller, “whenever I rode him he always threatened to throw me, and he certainly never deceived me.”

An Irishman having being put to great shifts to get money to support his credit, some of his creditors at length sent him word that they would give him trouble. “Faith,” said he, “I have had trouble enough to borrow the money, and had not need to be troubled to pay it again.”

A foolish young Irishman bragging in company of his traveling abroad, and having never sent to his parents for any remittances, was asked by one present how he made his way? “By my wits.” Replied the other. “Indeed,” says he “then I’m sure you must have traveled very cheaply.”

Mr. Burke, author of the ‘Sublime and Beautiful’, going to a bookcase, and finding it locked, said, “This is Locke on the Human Understanding.” A rich upstart collector of the revenue, once asked a poor but witty Irishman, if he had any idea of the advantages, arising from riches. “I believe,” replied the wit, “they often give a rogue an advantage over an honest man.”

A counsellor in Ireland had fallen asleep upon the bench. The president, who was gathering the votes, asked the counsellor for his; who answered, rubbing his eyes, “Hang him, hang him.” But being told the point in question was a meadow: “Well, then,” said he, “let it be mowed.”

Lord M---, of the kingdom of Ireland, with no very large portion of wit or wisdom, had a very exalted opinion of his own powers. When once in a large company, and expatiating about himself, he made the foolish pointed remark, “When I happen to say a foolish thing, I always burst out a laughing!” “I envy you your happiness, my Lord, then,” said Charles Townsend, “for you must certainly live the merriest life of any man in Europe. A woman having fallen into a river in Ireland, her husband went to look for her, proceeding up the stream from the place where she fell in. The by-standers asked him if he was mad? She could not have gone against the stream. The man answered “She was obstinate and contrary in her life, and supposed for certain she was the same at her death”.