The incessant play of wit and drollery then animating the Irish capital has perhaps never had a parallel in any society. The House and the bar were both overflowing with it. When the dull, matter-of-fact Lord Redesdale first came over to take the position of lord chancellor, he felt some curiosity as to the reputation of the latter for these qualities which had reached his ears in England. At one of his first dinners to the judges and higher law-officers he found himself unable to see any wit, or perhaps any meaning, in Toler's jests, and turning to another barrister, Mr. Garrat O'Farrell, he said that he believed his name and family were very numerous and reputable in the county of Wicklow, as he had met several of them in his late tour there. "Yes, my lord," said O'Farrell, "we _were_ very numerous, but so many of us have been lately hanged for sheepstealing that the name is getting rather scarce in that county." This reply reduced his lordship to silence, and it was probably some time before he made up his mind as to whether he had really been associating with law-breakers of so disreputable a class. Mr. Plunket afterward puzzled Lord Redesdale still more when arguing a cause in chancery. The question was about "flying kites" (fictitious bills). His lordship took the word literally, and declared he did not understand the matter. "It is not to be expected that you should, my lord," said Plunket, "for in England the wind raises the kite, but in Ireland the kite raises the wind." The lord chancellor was no wiser than before, and the counsel was obliged to have recourse to a less metaphorical explanation.