Chapter I: Part 1

Personal Sketches of His Own Times, Vol. I.

_Engraved by J. Heath, from a drawing from life by Commerford._

SIR JONAH BARRINGTON, K.C.

_London. Pub^d by Colburn & Bentley New Burlington Str.^t 1830._
]

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PERSONAL SKETCHES

OF

HIS OWN TIMES,

BY

SIR JONAH BARRINGTON,

JUDGE OF THE HIGH COURT OF ADMIRALTY IN IRELAND,
&c. &c. &c.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. I.

SECOND EDITION,
REVISED AND IMPROVED.

LONDON:
HENRY COLBURN AND RICHARD BENTLEY,
NEW BURLINGTON STREET.

1830.

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PRINTED BY A. J. VALPY, RED LION COURT, FLEET STREET.

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TO

THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

CHARLES KENDAL BUSHE,

CHIEF JUSTICE OF IRELAND,

This trifle, the pastime of a winter’s evening, is presented—to a person of whom I have long held the highest opinion among the circle of my friends and the crowd of my contemporaries, and for whom my regards have been disinterested and undeviating.

The work is too trivial to be of any weight, and I offer it only as a _Souvenir_, which may amuse one who can be constant to friendship at all periods, and knows how to appreciate a gift, not by its value, but by the feelings of the heart which sends it.

JONAH BARRINGTON, K. C.

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INTRODUCTION

TO THE FIRST EDITION.

The compilation by me of a medley of this description may appear rather singular. Indeed, I myself think it so, and had got nearly half-way through it before I could reasonably account for the thing;—more especially as it was by no means commenced for mercenary purposes. The fact is, I had long since engaged my mind and time on a work of real public interest; and so far as that work was circulated, my literary ambition was _more_ than gratified by the approbation it received. But it has so happened, that my publishers, one after another, have been wanting in the qualification of stability; and hence, my “Historic Memoirs of Ireland” have been lying fast asleep, in their own sheets, on the shelves of three successive booksellers or their assignees; and so ingeniously were they scattered about, that I found it impossible for some years to collect them. This was rather provoking, as there were circumstances connected with the work, which (be its merits what they may) would, in my opinion, have ensured it an extensive circulation. However, I have at length finished the Memoirs in question, which I verily believe are now about to be published in reality,[1] and will probably excite sundry differences of opinion and shades of praise or condemnation (both of the book and the author) among His Majesty’s liege subjects.

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Footnote 1:

See the Prospectus, published with the present work.

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For the purpose of completing that work, I had lately re-assumed my habit of writing; and being tired of so serious and responsible a concern as “Memoirs of Ireland and the Union,” I began to consider what species of employment might lightly wear away the long and tedious winter evenings of a demi-invalid; and recollecting that I could neither live for ever nor was _sure_ of being the “last man,” I conceived the idea of looking over and burning a horse-load or two of letters, papers, and fragments of all descriptions, which I had been carrying about in old trunks (not choosing to leave them at any body’s mercy), and to which I had been perpetually adding.

The execution of this _inflammatory_ project I immediately set about with vast assiduity and corresponding success; and doubtless, with very great advantage to the literary reputation of an immense number of my former correspondents as well as my own. After having made considerable progress, I found that some of the fragments amused myself, and I therefore began to consider whether they might not also amuse other people. I was advised to make selections from my store, particularly as I had, for near half a century, kept—not a diary—but a sort of rambling chronicle, wherein I made notes of matters which, from time to time, struck my fancy. Some of these memoranda were illegible; others just sufficient to set my memory working; some were sad, and some were cheerful; some very old, others recent. In fine, I began to _select_: but I soon found that any thing like a _regular_ series was out of the question; so I took a heap indiscriminately, picked out the subjects that amused me most, wrote a list of their several headings, which were very numerous; and, as his Majesty pricks for sheriffs, so did I for subjects, and thereby gathered as many as I conceived would make two or three volumes. My next process was to make up _court-dresses_ for my Sketches and Fragments, such as might facilitate their introduction into respectable company, without observing strict _chronological sequence_, to which I am aware light readers have a rooted aversion.

This laudable occupation served to amuse me and to fill up the blanks of a winter’s evening; and being finished, the residue of the papers re-deposited, and the trunks locked again, I requested the publisher of my “Historic Memoirs” also to set my “Personal Sketches” afloat. This he undertook to do: and they are now sent out to the public—the _world_, as it is called; and the reader (_gentle_ reader is too hackneyed a term, and far too confident an anticipation of good temper) will of course draw from them whatever deductions he pleases, without asking my permission. All I have to say is, that the several matters contained herein are neither fictions nor essays, but relate to real matters of fact, and personages composed of flesh and blood. I have aimed at no display of either fancy or imagination; nor have I set down long dialogues or soliloquies which could not possibly be recorded except when heroes and heroines carried short-hand writers in their pockets, which must have been peculiarly inconvenient. In speaking of _fanciful_ matters, I may as well except my own opinions on certain subjects here and there interspersed, which I freely leave to the mercy of any one who is disposed to esteem them visionary.

However, be it understood, that I by no means intend this disclaimer as an assault on—but on the contrary as a distinguished compliment to—writers and works of pure imagination—of improbability and impossibility!—inasmuch as such works prove an unlimited range of intellect and talent, on the part of the authors, for inventing _matters of fact_ that never could have occurred, and _conversations_ that never could have taken place;[2] a talent which, when duly cultivated and practised for the use of friends and private families, seldom fails to bring an author’s name into most _extensive circulation_; and if perchance he should get himself into any scrape by it, nothing is so likely as the exercise of the same talent of _invention_ to get him out of it again.

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Footnote 2:

I have seen in a new novel a minute recital of a very affecting
_soliloquy_ pronounced with appropriate gesticulation by a fine young
man while he was “pacing about” a large room in a castle; the thunder
meanwhile roaring, and the rain pattering at the casements. In this
castle there was at the time no other living person; and the soliloquy
was so spoken as his dying words immediately before he shot himself.
As there was nobody else in the castle during the catastrophe, his
affecting words were never divulged till this novel made its
appearance—leaving the ingenious reader to infer the many invisible
spies and tell-tales that survey our most secret movements.

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On the other hand, I must own (even against myself) that the writing of mere common-place truths requires no talent whatsoever! it is quite a _humdrum_, straight-forward, dull custom, which any person may attain. Besides, matter of fact is not at all in vogue just now: the disrepute under which truth in general at present labours, in all departments and branches of literature, has put it quite out of fashion even among the _savans_:—so that chemistry and mathematics are almost the only subjects, on the certainty of which the “nobility, gentry, and public at large,” appear to place any very considerable reliance.

Having thus, I hope, proved my candour at my own cost, the deduction is self-evident—namely, that the unfortunate authenticity of these sketches must debar them from any competition with the tales and tattle of unsophisticated invention: when, for instance, _scandal_ is _true_, it is (as some ladies have assured me) considered by the whole sex as scarcely worth listening to, and actually requiring at least very considerable exaggeration to render it at all amusing! I therefore greatly fear I may not, in this instance, experience so much of their favour as I am always anxious to obtain: my only consolation is, that when their desire to indulge an amiable appetite for scandal is very ardent, they may find ample materials in every bookseller’s shop and _haut-ton_ society to gratify the passion.

I feel now necessitated to recur to another point, and I do it at the risk of being accused of egotism. I hope, however, I can advance a good reason for my proceeding; namely, that, on reading over some of the articles whereof this _mélange_ is composed, I freely admit, that if I were not _very_ intimately acquainted with myself, I might be led at least into a puzzle as to the writer’s genuine sentiments on many points of theology and politics. Now, I wish, seriously speaking, to avoid, on these subjects, all ambiguity; and therefore, as responsible for the opinions put forth in the following Sketches, I beg to state, that I consider myself strictly orthodox both in politics and theology: that is to say, I profess to be a sound Protestant, without bigotry; and an hereditary royalist, without ultraism. Liberty I love—Democracy I hate: Fanaticism I denounce! These principles I have ever held and avowed, and they are confirmed by time and observation. I own that I have been what is generally called a _courtier_, and I have been also what is generally called a _patriot_; but I never was either _unqualifiedly_. I always thought, and I think still, that they never should, and never need be (upon fair principles) opposed to each other. I can also see no reason why there may not be patriot kings as well as patriot subjects—a patriot _minister_, indeed, may be more problematical.

In my public life, I have met with but one transaction that even _threatened_ to make my _patriotism_ overbalance my _loyalty_: I allude to the purchase and sale of the Irish Parliament, _called_ a Union, which I ever regarded as one of the most flagrant public acts of corruption on the records of history, and certainly the most mischievous to this empire. I believe very few men sleep the sounder for having supported the measure; though some, it is true, _went to sleep_ a good deal sooner than they expected when they carried it into execution.

* * * * *

I must also observe that, as to the _detail_ of politics, I feel now very considerable apathy. My day for actual service is past; and I shall only further allude, as a simple casuist, to the slang terms in which it has become the fashion to dress up the most important subjects of British statistics—subjects on which certain of these Sketches appear to have a remote bearing, and on which my ideas might possibly be misunderstood.

I wish it therefore to be considered as my humble opinion, that what, in political slang, is termed _Radical Reform_, is, in reality, _proximate revolution_:—_Universal Suffrage, inextinguishable uproar_:—and _Annual Parliaments, periodical bloodshed_.[3] My doubts as a casuist, with these impressions on my mind, must naturally be, how the orderly folks of Great Britain would relish such _pastimes_?—I do not extend the query to the natives of my own country, because, since His Majesty was there, nobody has taken much notice of them: besides, the _poor_ people in Ireland having very little to eat and no amusement at all, the aforesaid entertainments might _divert_ them, or at least their _hunger_, and of course be extremely acceptable to a great body of the population.

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Footnote 3:

I apprehend that there were more persons killed at the late elections
in Ireland than there were members elected at the contested places;
and I have no doubt that annual parliaments would give more employment
to the coroners in Ireland than any species of riot that has yet been
invented for that pugnacious population. In truth, what I have
mentioned in another work as being the proofs of _pleasure_ in
Ireland, were also generally the termination of contested elections:
the gradation was always the same: viz. “an illumination, a bonfire, a
_riot_,” and “_other_ demonstrations of _joy_!”—N.B. Where candles to
illuminate with were not to be had, _burning a house_ was not
unfrequently substituted!

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As I also perceive some articles in these Sketches touching upon matters relative to Popes, Cardinals, Catholics, &c.; lest I may be misconstrued or misrepresented on that head, I beg to observe, that I meddle not at all in the controversy of Catholic Emancipation. The _Doctors_ employed _differ_ so essentially in opinion, that, as it frequently falls out on many other consultations, they may lose their patient while debating on the prescription:—in truth, I don’t see how the Doctors _can_ ever agree, as the prescribers must necessarily take the _assay_; and one half of them verily believe that they should be poisoned thereby!—“Among ye be it, blind harpers!”

I apprehend I have now touched on most of the topics which occurred to me as requiring a word of explanation. I repeat that this book is only to be considered as a desultory _mélange_—the whim of a winter’s evening—a mere chance-selection. I shall therefore make no sort of apology for inaccuracies as to unity of time, for defective connexion, or the like. It amused my leisure hours; and if it fortunately amuses those of other people, I shall receive a great deal of satisfaction.

JONAH BARRINGTON.

May 28th, 1827.

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CONTENTS

OF

THE FIRST VOLUME.

MY FAMILY CONNEXIONS.

Family mansion described—Library—Garden—Anecdotes of my family—State of landlord and tenant in 1760—The gout—Ignorance of the peasantry; extraordinary anomaly in the loyalty and disloyalty of the Irish country gentlemen as to James I., Charles I., Charles II., James II., and William—Ancient toasts—My great-grandfather, Colonel John Barrington, hanged on his own gate; but saved by Edward Doran, trooper of King James—Irish customs, anecdotes, &c. p. 1

ELIZABETH FITZGERALD.

My great-aunt, Elizabeth—Besieged in her castle of Moret—My uncle seized and hanged before the walls—Attempted abduction of Elizabeth, whose forces surprise the castle of Reuben—Severe battle 19

IRISH GENTRY AND THEIR RETAINERS.

Instances of attachment formerly of the lower orders of Irish to the gentry—A field of corn of my father’s reaped in one night without his knowledge—My grandfather’s servants cut a man’s ears off by misinterpretation—My grandfather and grandmother tried for the fact—Acquitted—The colliers of Donane—Their fidelity at my election at Ballynakill, 1790 43

MY EDUCATION.

My godfathers—Lord Maryborough—Personal description and extraordinary character of Mr. Michael Lodge—My early education; at home; at school—My private tutor, Rev. P. Crawley, described—Defects of the University course—Lord Donoughmore’s father—Anecdote of the Vice-Provost—A country sportsman’s education 52

IRISH DISSIPATION IN 1778.

The huntsman’s cottage—Preparations for a seven days’ carousal—A cock-fight—Welsh main—Harmony—A cow and a hogshead of wine consumed by the party—Comparison between former dissipation and that of the present day—A dandy at dinner in Bond-street—Captain Parsons Hoye and his nephew—Character and description of both—The nephew disinherited by his uncle for dandyism—Curious anecdote of Dr. Jenkins piercing Admiral Cosby’s fist 65

MY BROTHER’S HUNTING-LODGE.

Waking the piper—Curious scene at my brother’s hunting-lodge—Joe Kelly’s and Peter Alley’s heads fastened to the wall—Operations practised in extricating them 77

CHOICE OF PROFESSION.

The Army—Irish volunteers described—Their military ardour—The author inoculated therewith—He grows cooler—The Church—The Faculty—The Law—Objections to each—Colonel Barrington removes his establishment to the Irish capital—A country gentleman taking up a city residence 89

MURDER OF CAPTAIN O’FLAHERTY.

Murder of Captain O’Flaherty by Mr. Lanegan, his son’s tutor, and Mrs. O’Flaherty—The latter, after betraying her accomplice, escapes—Trial of Lanegan—He is hanged and quartered at Dublin—Terrific appearance of his supposed ghost to his pupil, David Lauder, and the author, at the Temple in London—Lauder nearly dies of fright—Lanegan’s extraordinary escape; not even suspected in Ireland—He gets off to France, and enters the Monastery of La Trappe—All-Hallow Eve—A church-yard anecdote—My own superstition nearly fatal to me 97

ADOPTION OF THE LAW.

Marriage of my eldest brother—The bridemaid, Miss D. W.—Female attractions not dependent on personal beauty—Mutual attachment—Illustration of the French phrase _je ne sais quoi_—Betrothal of the author, and his departure for London, to study for the Bar 114

A DUBLIN BOARDING-HOUSE.

Sketch of the company and inmates—Lord Mountmorris—Lieut. Gam Johnson, R.N.—Sir John and Lady O’Flaherty—Mrs. Wheeler—Lady and Miss Barry—Memoir and character of Miss Barry, afterward Mrs. Baldwin—Ruinous effects of a dramatic education exemplified—Lord Mountmorris’s duel with the Honourable Francis Hely Hutchinson at Donnybrook—His lordship wounded—Marquis of Ely, his second 121

IRISH BEAUTIES.

Strictures on change of manners—Moral influence of dress—The three beauties—Curious trial respecting Lady M—— —Termination favourable to her ladyship—Interesting and affecting incidents of that lady’s life—Sir R— M——, his character, and cruelty—Lady M—— married against her will—Quits her husband—Returns—Sir R. mistakes her for a rebel in his sleep, and nearly strangles her 132

PATRICIANS AND PLEBEIANS.

The three classes of gentlemen in Ireland described—Irish poets—Mr. Thomas Flinter and D. Henesey—The bard—Peculiarities of the peasants—Their ludicrous misinformation as to distances accounted for—Civility of a waiter—Equivocation of the peasants, and their misdirection of travellers to different places 149

IRISH INNS.

Their general character—Objections commonly made to them—Answer thereto—Sir Charles Vernon’s mimicry—Moll Harding—Accident nearly of a fatal nature to the author 161

FATAL DUEL OF MY BROTHER.

Duel of my brother, William Barrington, with Mr. M‘Kenzie—He is killed by his antagonist’s second, General Gillespie—The general’s character—Tried for murder—Judge Bradstreet’s charge—Extraordinary incidents of the trial—The jury arranged—The high sheriff (Mr. Lyons) challenged by mistake—His hair cut off by Henry French Barrington—Exhibited in the ball-room—The Curl Club formed—The sheriff quits the country, and never returns—Gillespie goes to India—Killed there—Observations on his cenotaph in Westminster Abbey 167

ENTRANCE INTO PARLIAMENT.

My first entrance into the Irish House of Commons—Dinner at Sir John Parnell’s—Commencement of my intimacy with public men of celebrity—Maiden speech—I attack Grattan and Curran—Suicide of Mr. Thoroton—Lord De Blacquiere—His character 182

SINGULAR CUSTOMS IN THE IRISH PARLIAMENT.

Anecdote of Tottenham _in his boots_—Interesting trial of the Earl of Kingston for murder—Description of the forms used on that occasion 195

THE SEVEN BARONETS.

Sir John Stuart Hamilton—Sir Richard Musgrave—Sir Edward Newnham—Sir Vesey Colclough—Sir Frederick Flood—Sir John Blacquiere—Sir Boyle Roche, and his curious bulls—Their characters and personal description—Anecdotes and bon-mots—Anecdote of the Marquess of Waterford 205

ENTRANCE INTO OFFICE.

The author first placed in office by Lord Westmoreland—Made king’s counsel by Lord Clare—Jealousy of the bar—Description of Kilkenny Castle—Trial of the Earl of Ormonde for outrage at Kilkenny—Acquitted—Author’s conduct—Distinguished and liberal present from the Earl of Ormonde to the author, of a gold box, and his subsequent letter 222

DR. ACHMET BORUMBORAD.

Singular anecdotes of Dr. Achmet Borumborad—He proposes to erect baths in Dublin, in the Turkish fashion—Obtains grants from Parliament for that purpose—The baths well executed—The Doctor’s banquet—Ludicrous anecdote of nineteen noblemen and members of Parliament falling into his grand salt-water bath—The accident nearly causes the ruin of the Doctor and his establishment—He falls in love with Miss Hartigan, and marries her—Sudden metamorphosis of the Turk into Mr. Patrick Joyce 233

ALDERMEN OF SKINNERS’ ALLEY.

The institution of Orangemen—United Irishmen—Protestant ascendancy—Dr. Duigenan—Origin, progress, and customs of the aldermen of Skinners’ Alley described—Their revels—Orange toast, never before published—The aldermen throw Mr. M‘Mahon, an apothecary, out of a window for striking the bust of King William—New association—Anecdotes of Sir John Bourke and Sir Francis Gould—The Pope’s bull of absolution to Sir Francis G.—Its delivery suspended till he had taken away his landlady’s daughter—His death 246

PROCESSION OF THE TRADES.

Dublin corporation anecdote—Splendid triennial procession of the Dublin corporation, called _Fringes_ (franchises), described 259

IRISH REBELLION.

Rebellion in Ireland, in 1798—Mr. Waddy’s castle—A priest cut in two by the portcullis, and partly eaten by Waddy—Dinner-party at Lady Colclough’s—Names and characters of the company, including Mr. Bagenal Harvey, Captain Keogh, &c.—Most of them executed soon after—Tour through and state of County Wexford, after the battles and storming of the town—Colonel Walpole killed and his regiment defeated at Gorey—Unaccountable circumstance of Captain Keogh’s head not decaying 267

WOLF TONE.

Counsellor Theobald Wolf Tone—His resemblance to Mr. Croker—He is ordered to be hanged by a military court—General Craig attached in the court of Common Pleas—Tone’s attempt at suicide—Cruel suggestion respecting him 281

DUBLIN ELECTION.

My contest for Dublin city—Supported by Grattan, Ponsonby, Plunkett, and Curran—Singularity of a canvass for Dublin—The election—Curious incidents—Grattan’s famous philippic, never before published—Memoirs of Mr. John Giffard, called the “dog in office”—Horish the chimney-sweeper’s bon-mot 287

ELECTION FOR COUNTY WEXFORD.

Mr. Richard Brinsley Sheridan’s contest for County Wexford, omitted by all his pseudo-biographers—Duel of Mr. Alcock and Mr. Colclough (candidates), on a question respecting Mr. Sheridan’s poll—Colclough killed—A lamentable incident—Mr. Alcock’s trial—He afterward goes mad and dies—His sister, Miss Alcock, also dies lunatic in consequence—Marquess of Ely tried for an outrage at Wexford, and fined 302

WEDDED LIFE.

Lord Clonmel, chief justice of the Irish Court of King’s Bench—His character—Lady Tyrawly’s false charge against him—Consequent duel between him and Lord Tyrawly—Eclaircissement—Lord Tyrawly and Miss Wewitzer—Lord Clonmel’s hints “How to rule a wife”—Subsequent conversation with his lordship at Sir John Tydd’s 313

DUKE OF WELLINGTON AND MARQUESS OF LONDONDERRY.

My first acquaintance with the Duke of Wellington and the late Marquess of Londonderry, at a dinner at my own house—Some memoirs and anecdotes of the former as a public man—My close connexion with government—Lord Clare’s animosity to me suspended—Extraordinary conference between Lord Castlereagh, Mr. Cooke, and me, in August 1798—Singular communication—Offers made to me for succession as solicitor-general—I decline the terms proposed—Lord Castlereagh’s letter to me—Character of Mr. Pelham, now Earl of Chichester 323

LORD NORBURY.

Quarrel between Lord Norbury and the author in the House of Commons—Curran’s bon-mot—Dinner at Lord Redesdale’s, who attempts being agreeable, but is annoyed by Lord Norbury (then Mr. Toler)—Counsellor O’Farrell—Mr. (now Lord) Plunkett and Lord Redesdale—Lord Norbury and young Burke—His lordship presides at Carlow assizes in the character of _Hawthorn_ 337

HENRY GRATTAN.

Mr. Grattan in his sedan-chair—The “point of honour”—Mr. Egan’s gift of second-sight—The guillotine and executioner—Colonel Burr, vice-president of the United States, and Mr. Randolph—Mr. Grattan in masquerade—Death of that illustrious patriot, and strictures on his interment in Westminster Abbey—Letter from the author to his son, Henry Grattan, Esq. 349

HIGH LIFE IN NEWGATE.

Lord Aldborough quizzes the Lord Chancellor—Voted a libeller by the House of Peers—His spirited conduct—Sentenced to imprisonment in Newgate by the Court of King’s Bench—Memoirs of Mr. Knaresborough—His extraordinary trial—Sentenced to death, but transported—Escapes from Botany Bay, returns to England, and is committed to Newgate, where he seduces Lady Aldborough’s attendant—Prizes in the lottery—Miss Barton dies in misery 362

JOHN PHILPOT CURRAN.

Sketch of his character—Personal description—Lodgings at Carlow—Mr. Curran and Mr. Godwin—Scenes in the “Cannon” coffee-house—_Liberality_ of mine host—Miss H * * * in heroics—Precipitate retreat—Lord Clancarty—Mr. Curran’s notion of his own prowess—The disqualifications of a wig—Lord and Lady Carleton—Curran in 1812—An attorney turned cobbler—Curran’s audience of the present king of France—Strictures on his biographers 375

THE LAW OF LIBEL.

Observations on the law of libel, particularly in Ireland—“Hoy’s Mercury”—Messrs. Van Trump and Epaphroditus Dodridge—Former leniency regarding cases of libel contrasted with recent severity—Lord Clonmel and the Irish bar—Mr. Magee, of the “Dublin Evening Post”—Festivities on “Fiat Hill”—Theophilus Swift and his two sons—His duel with the Duke of Richmond—The “Monster!”—Swift libels the Fellows of Dublin University—His curious trial—Contrast between the English and Irish bars—Mr. James Fitzgerald—Swift is found guilty, and sentenced to Newgate—Dr. Burrows, one of the Fellows, afterward libels Mr. Swift, and is convicted—Both confined in the same apartment at Newgate 398

PULPIT, BAR, AND PARLIAMENTARY ELOQUENCE.

Biographical and characteristic sketch of Dean Kirwan—His extraordinary eloquence—The peculiar powers of Sheridan, Curran, and Grattan contrasted—Observations on pulpit, bar, and parliamentary oratory 423

QUEEN CAROLINE.

Reception of the late Queen Caroline (then Princess of Wales) at the drawing-room held after the “delicate investigation”—Her depression and subsequent levity—Queen Charlotte and the Princess compared and contrasted—Reflections on the incidents of that day and evening—The Thames on a Vauxhall night 433

LORD YELVERTON AND THE BAR.

Characteristic and personal sketches of three Irish barristers: Mr. William Fletcher (afterward chief justice of the Court of Common Pleas), Mr. James Egan (afterward judge of Dublin county), and Mr. Bartholomew Hoare, king’s counsel—Lord Yelverton’s dinner party—The author’s parody—Mr. Egan right by _mistake_! 440

MR. NORCOT’S ATTEMPT AT SUICIDE.

The hollowness of interested popularity illustrated in the example of Mr. Norcot—The dilemma of a gamester—The last resource—The “faithful” valet—Mr. Norcot turns Mahometan—His equivocal destiny 445

ANECDOTES OF IRISH JUDGES.

Baron Monckton—Judge Boyd—Judge Henn—Legal blunder of a judge, and Curran’s bon-mot thereon—Baron Power—His suicide—Crosby Morgal’s spirit of emulation—Judge William Johnson—Curious anecdote between him and the author—Judge Kelly—His character and bon-mots—Lord Kilwarden—His character—Murder of him and his nephew the Rev. Mr. Wolfe—Mr. Emmet executed—Memoir of that person—Judge Robert Johnson—Arrested in Ireland, and tried in London, for a libel written on Lord Redesdale in Ireland and published by Cobbett—Doubts of the legality of his lordship’s trial—He is found guilty 452

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PERSONAL SKETCHES.

MY FAMILY CONNEXIONS.

Family mansion described—Library—Garden—Anecdotes of my family—State of
landlord and tenant in 1760—The gout—Ignorance of the peasantry;
extraordinary anomaly in the loyalty and disloyalty of the Irish
country gentlemen as to James I., Charles I., Charles II., James II.,
and William—Ancient toasts—My great-grandfather, Colonel John
Barrington, hanged on his own gate; but saved by Edward Doran, trooper
of King James—Irish customs, anecdotes, &c.

I was born at Knapton, near Abbeyleix, in the Queen’s County,—at that time the seat of my father, but now of Sir George Pigott. I am the third son and fourth child of John Barrington, who had himself neither brother nor sister; and at the period of my birth, my immediate connexions were thus circumstanced.

My family, by ancient patents, by marriages, and by inheritance from their ancestors, possessed very extensive landed estates in Queen’s County, and had almost unlimited influence over its population, returning two members to the Irish Parliament for Ballynakill, counties of Kilkenny and Galway.

Cullenaghmore, the mansion where my ancestors had resided from the reign of James the First, was then occupied by my grandfather, Colonel Jonah Barrington. He had adopted me as soon as I was born, brought me to Cullenaghmore, and with him I resided until his death.

That old mansion (the Great House as it was called) exhibited altogether an uncouth mass, warring with every rule of symmetry in architecture. The original castle had been demolished, and its materials converted to a much worse purpose: the edifice which succeeded it was particularly ungraceful; a Saracen’s head (our crest) in coloured brick-work being its only ornament. Some of the rooms inside were wainscoted with brown oak, others with red deal, and some not at all. The walls of the large hall were decked (as was customary) with fishing-rods, fire-arms, stags’ horns, foxes’ brushes, powder-flasks, shot-pouches, nets, and dog-collars; here and there relieved by the extended skin of a kite or a king-fisher, nailed up in the vanity of their destroyers: that of a monstrous eagle, (which impressed itself indelibly on my mind,) surmounted the chimney-piece, accompanied by a card announcing the name of its assassin—“Alexander Barrington;”—who, not being a _rich_ relation, was subsequently entertained in the Great House two years, as a compliment for his present. A large parlour on each side of the hall, the only embellishments of which were some old portraits, and a multiplicity of hunting, shooting, and racing prints, with red tape nailed round them by way of frames, completed the reception-rooms; and as I was the only child in the house, and a most inquisitive brat, every different print was explained to me.

I remained here till I was near nine years old; I had no play-fellows to take off my attention from whatever I observed or was taught; and so strongly do those early impressions remain engraven on my memory, (naturally most retentive,) that even at this long distance of time I fancy I can see the entire place as it stood then, with its old inhabitants moving before me:—their faces I most clearly recollect.

The library was a gloomy closet, and rather scantily furnished with every thing but dust and cobwebs: there were neither chairs nor tables; but I cannot avoid recollecting many of the principal books, because I read such of them as I could comprehend, or as were amusing; and looked over all the prints in them a hundred times. While trying to copy these prints, they made an indelible impression upon me; and hence I feel confident of the utility of embellishments in any book intended for the instruction of children. I possessed many of the books long after my grandfather’s death, and have some of them still. I had an insatiable passion for general reading from my earliest days, and it has occupied the greater proportion of my later life. Gulliver’s Travels, Robinson Crusoe, Fairy Tales, and The History of the Bible, all with numerous plates, were my favourite authors and constant amusement: I believed every word of them except the fairies, and was not entirely sceptical as to those “good people” neither.

I fancy there was then but little variety in the libraries of most country gentlemen; and I mention as a curiosity, the following volumes, several of which, as already stated, I retained many years after my grandfather and grandmother died:—The Journals of the House of Commons; Clarendon’s History; The Spectator and Guardian; Killing no Murder; The Patriot King; Bailey’s Dictionary; some of Swift’s Works; George Falkner’s Newspapers; Quintus Curtius in English; Bishop Burnet; A Treatise on Tar-water, by some other bishop; Robinson Crusoe; Hudibras; History of the Bible, in folio; Nelson’s Fasts and Feasts; Fairy Tales; The History of Peter Wilkins; Glums and Gouries; somebody’s Justice of Peace; and a multiplicity of Farriery, Sporting, and Gardening Books, &c. which I lost piecemeal, when making room for law-books—probably not half so good, but at least much more experimental.

Very few mirrors in those days adorned the houses of the country gentlemen:—a couple or three shaving-glasses for the gentlemen, and a couple of pretty large dressing-glasses, in black frames, for the ladies’ use, composed, I believe, nearly the entire stock of reflectors at my grandfather’s, except tubs of spring water, which answered for the maid-servants.

A very large and productive, but not dressed-up garden, adjoined the house. The white-washed stone images; the broad flights of steps up and down; the terraces, with the round fish-pond,—rivetted my attention, and gave an impressive variety to this garden, which I shall ever remember, as well as many curious incidents which I witnessed therein.

At the Great House, where the Courts Leet and Baron were duly held, all disputes among the tenants were then settled,—quarrels reconciled,—old debts arbitrated: a kind Irish landlord then reigned despotic in the ardent affections of the tenantry, their pride and pleasure being to obey and to support him.

But there existed a happy reciprocity of interests. The landlord of _that_ period protected the tenant by his influence—any wanton injury to a tenant being considered as an insult to the lord; and if the landlord’s sons were grown up, no time was lost by them in demanding satisfaction from any gentleman for maltreating even their father’s blacksmith.

No gentleman of this degree ever distrained a tenant for rent: indeed the parties appeared to be quite united and knit together. The greatest abhorrence, however, prevailed as to tithe proctors, coupled with no great predilection for the clergy who employed them. These certainly were, in principle and practice, the real country tyrants of that day, and first caused the assembling of the White Boys.

I have heard it often said that, at the time I speak of, every estated gentleman in the Queen’s County was _honoured_ by the gout. I have since considered that its extraordinary prevalence was not difficult to be accounted for, by the disproportionate quantity of acid contained in their seductive beverage, called rum-shrub—which was then universally drunk in quantities nearly incredible, generally from supper-time till morning, by all country gentlemen—as they said, to keep _down their claret_.

My grandfather could not refrain, and therefore he suffered well:—he piqued himself on procuring, through the interest of Batty Lodge, (a follower of the family who had married a Dublin grocer’s widow,) the very first importation of oranges and lemons to the Irish capital every season. Horse-loads of these, packed in boxes, were immediately sent to the Great House of Cullenaghmore; and no sooner did they arrive, than the good news of _fresh fruit_ was communicated to the Colonel’s neighbouring friends, accompanied by the usual invitation for a fortnight.

Night after night the revel afforded uninterrupted pleasure to the joyous gentry; the festivity being subsequently renewed at some other mansion, till the gout thought proper to put the whole party _hors de combat_; having the satisfaction of making cripples for a few months such as he did not kill.

Whilst the convivials bellowed with only toe or finger agonies, it was a mere bagatelle; but when _Mr. Gout_ marched up the country, and invaded the head or the stomach, it was then called _no joke_; and Drogheda usquebaugh, the hottest-distilled drinkable liquor ever invented, was applied to for aid, and generally drove the tormentor in a few minutes to his former quarters. It was, indeed, counted a specific; and I allude to it the more particularly, as my poor grandfather was finished by over-doses thereof.

It was his custom to sit under a very large branching bay-tree in his arm-chair, placed in a fine sunny aspect at the entrance of the garden. I particularly remember his cloak, for I kept it twelve years after his death: it was called a _cartouche_ cloak, from a famous French robber who, it was said, invented it for his gang for the purposes of evasion. It was made of very fine broad-cloth; of a bright blue colour on one side, and a bright scarlet on the other: so that on being turned, it might deceive even a vigilant pursuer.

There my grandfather used to sit of a hot sunny day, receive any rents he could collect, and settle any accounts which his indifference on that head permitted him to think of.

At one time he suspected a young rogue of having slipped some money off his table when paying rent; afterward, when the tenants began to count out their money, he threw the focus of his large reading-glass upon their hands:—the smart, without any visible cause, astonished the ignorant creatures!—they shook their hands, and thought it must be the _devil_ who was scorching them. The priest was let into the secret: he seriously told them all it _was_ the devil sure enough, who had mistaken them for the boy that stole the money from the Colonel; but that if he (the priest) was _properly considered_, he would say as many masses as would _bother fifty devils_, were it necessary. The priest got his fee; and another farthing never was taken from my grandfather.

My grandfather was rather a short man, with a large red nose—strong made; and wore an immense white wig, such as the portraits give to Dr. Johnson. He died at eighty-six years of age, of shrub-gout and usquebaugh, beloved and respected. I cried heartily for him; and then became the favourite of my grandmother, the best woman in the world, who went to reside in Dublin, and prepare me for college.

Colonel John Barrington, my great-grandfather, for some time before his death, and after I was born, resided at Ballyroan. My grandfather having married Margaret, the daughter of Sir John Byrne, Bart., had taken the estates and mansion, and given an annuity to my great-grandfather, who died, one hundred and four years old, of a fever, having never shown any of the usual decrepitudes or defects of age: he was the most respectable man by tradition of my family, and for more than seventy years a parliament man.

Sir Daniel Byrne, Bart. my great grandfather, lived at his old castle of Timogrie, almost adjoining my grandfather Barrington: his domains, close to Stradbally, were nearly the most beautiful in the Queen’s County. On his decease, his widow, Lady Dorothea Byrne, an Englishwoman, whose name had been Warren, (I believe a grand-aunt to the late Lady Bulkley,) resided there till her death; having previously seen her son give one of the first and most deeply to be regretted instances of what is called forming _English connexions_. Sir John Byrne, my grand-uncle, having gone to England, married the heiress of the Leycester family:—the very name of Ireland was then odious to the English gentry; and previous terms were made with him, that his children should take the cognomen of Leycester, and drop that of Byrne; that he should quit Ireland, sell all his paternal estates there, and become an _Englishman_. He assented; and the last Lord Shelburne purchased, for less than half their value, all his fine estates, of which the Marquis of Lansdown is now proprietor.

After the father’s death, his son, Sir Peter Leycester, succeeded, and the family of Byrne, descended from a long line of Irish princes and chieftains, condescended to become little amongst the rank of English Commoners; and so ended the connexion between the Byrnes and Barringtons.

My mother was the only daughter of Patrick French, of Peterwell, county Galway, wherein he had large estates: my grandmother (his wife) was one of the last remaining to the first house of the ancient O’Briens. Her brother, my great-uncle, Donatus, also emigrated to England, and died fifteen or sixteen years since, at his mansion, Blatherwick, in Cheshire, in a species of voluntary obscurity, inconsistent with his birth and large fortune. He left great hereditary estates in both countries to the enjoyment of his mistress and natural children, excluding the legitimate branches of his family from all claims upon the manors or demesnes of their ancestors. The law enabled him to do what a due sense of justice and pride would have interdicted.

The anomaly of political principles among the country gentlemen of Ireland at that period was very extraordinary. They professed what they called “_unshaken loyalty_;” and yet they were unqualified partisans of Cromwell and William, two decided usurpers—one of them having dethroned his father-in-law, and the other decapitated his king.

The fifth of November was always celebrated in Dublin for the preservation of James, a Scottish king, (after Queen Elizabeth had cut his mother’s head off) from Guy Fawkes and a barrel of gunpowder in London; then the thirtieth of January was highly approved of by a great number of Irish, as the anniversary of making Charles the First, the son and heir of the said James, shorter by his head. Then the very same Irish celebrated the restoration of Charles the Second, the son of the _shortened_ king, and who was twice as bad as his father; and whilst they rejoiced in putting a crown upon the head of the son of the king who could not keep his own head on, they never failed to drink bumpers to the memory of _Old Noll_, who had cut that king’s head off; and in order to commemorate the whole story, and make their children remember it, they dressed up a fat _calf’s-head_, whole and white, on every anniversary of King Charles’s _throat being cut_, and with a red-smoked ham, which they called “Bradshaw,” placed by the side of it, all parties partook thereof most happily; washing down the emblem and its accompaniment with as much claret as they could hold, in honour of _Noll the regicide_!

Having thus proved their loyalty to James the First, and their attachment to his son’s murderer, and then their loyalty to the eldest of his grandsons, they next proceeded to celebrate the birth-day of William of Orange, a Dutchman, who had kicked their king, (his father-in-law) the second grandson, out of the country, and who in all probability would have given the Irish another _calf’s head_ for their celebration, if the said king, his father-in-law, had not got out of the way with the utmost expedition, and gone to live upon charity in France, the _then_ mortal enemy of the British nation; and as they dressed a calf’s head for the son’s murder, so they dressed _sheeps’ trotters_ every first of July, to commemorate the grandson’s running away at the Boyne Water, in the year 1690.

One part of the Irish people then invented a toast, called, “_The glorious, pious, and immortal memory of William, the Dutchman_;” whilst another raised a counter-toast, called “_The memory of the chesnut horse_,” _that broke the neck of the same King William_.[4] But in my mind, (if I am to judge of past times by the corporation of Dublin) it was only to coin an excuse for getting loyally drunk as often as possible, that they were so enthusiastically fond of _making sentiments_, as they called them.[5]

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Footnote 4:

King William’s _neck_ was not broken, only his _collar-bone_; his fall
from a chesnut horse, however, hastened his dissolution.

Footnote 5:

Could his majesty, King William, learn in the other world that he has
been the cause of more broken heads and drunken men, since his
departure, than all his predecessors, he must be the proudest ghost
and most conceited skeleton that ever entered the gardens of Elysium.

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As to the politics of my family, we had (no doubt) some very substantial reasons for being both Cromwellians and Williamites; the one confirmed our grants, and the other preserved them for us; my family, indeed, had certainly not only those, but other very especial reasons to be pleased with King William; and though he gave them nothing, they kept what they had, which might have been lost but for his usurpation.

During the short reign of James the Second in Ireland, those who were not _for_ him were considered to be _against_ him, and of course were subjected to the severities and confiscations usual in all civil wars. Amongst the rest, my great-grandfather, Colonel John Barrington, being a Protestant, and having no predilection for King James, was ousted from his mansion and estates at Cullenaghmore by one O’Fagan, a Jacobite wig-maker and violent partizan, from Ballynakill. He was, notwithstanding, rather respectfully treated, and was allowed forty pounds a year by his said wig-maker, so long as he behaved himself.

However, he only behaved well for a couple of months; at the end of which time, with a party of his faithful tenants, he surprised the wig-maker, drove him out of possession in his turn, and repossessed himself of his mansion and estates.

The wig-maker, having escaped to Dublin, laid his complaint before the authorities; and a party of soldiers were ordered to make short work of it, if the colonel did not submit on the first summons.

The party demanded entrance, but were refused; and a little firing from the windows of the mansion took place. Not being, however, tenable, it was successfully stormed—the old gamekeeper, John Neville, killed, and my great-grandfather taken prisoner, conveyed to the drum-head at Raheenduff, tried as a rebel by a certain Cornet M‘Mahon, and in due form ordered to be hanged in an hour.

At the appointed time, execution was punctually proceeded on; and so far as tying up the colonel to the cross-bar of his own gate, the sentence was actually put in force. But at the moment the first haul was given to elevate him, Ned Doran, a tenant of the estate, who was a trooper in King James’s army, rode up to the gate—himself and horse in a state of complete exhaustion. He saw with horror his landlord strung up, and exclaimed,—

“Holloa! holloa! blood and ouns, boys! cut down the colonel! cut down the colonel! or ye’ll be all hanged yeerselves, ye villains of the world, ye! I am straight from the Boyne Water, through thick and thin: Ough, by the hokys! we’re all cut up and kilt to the devil and back agin—Jemmy’s scampered, bad luck to him, without a ‘good bye to yees!’—or, ‘kiss my r—p!’—or the least civility in life!”

My grandfather’s hangmen lost no time in getting off, leaving the colonel slung fast by the neck to the gate-posts. But Doran soon cut him down, and fell on his knees to beg pardon of his landlord, the holy Virgin, and King William from the Boyne Water.

The colonel obtained the trooper’s pardon, and he was ever after a faithful adherent. He was the grandfather of Lieutenant-colonel Doran, of the Irish brigade, afterward, (if I recollect right,) of the 47th regiment—the officer who cut a German colonel’s _head clean off_ in the mess-room at Lisbon, after dinner, with one stroke of his sabre.[6] He dined with me repeatedly at Paris about six years since, and was the most disfigured warrior that could possibly be imagined. When he left Cullenagh for the continent, in 1784, he was as fine, clever-looking a young farmer as could be seen; but he had been blown up once or twice in storming batteries, which, with a few sabre-gashes across his features, and the obvious aid of numerous pipes of wine, or something not weaker, had so spoiled his beauty, that he had become of late absolutely frightful.

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Footnote 6:

Sir Neil O’Donnel, _who was present_, first told me the anecdote. They
fought with sabres: the whole company were intoxicated, and nobody
minded them _much_ till the German’s head came spinning like a top on
the mess-table, upsetting their bottles and glasses. He could not
remember what they quarrelled about. Colonel Doran himself assured me
that he had very little recollection of the particulars. The room was
very gloomy:—what he best remembered was, a tolerably effective gash
which he got on his left ear, and which nearly eased him of that
appendage:—it was very conspicuous.

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This occurrence of my great-grandfather fixed the political creed of my family. On the 1st of July, the orange lily was sure to garnish every window in the mansion: the hereditary patereroes scarcely ceased cracking all the evening, to glorify the victory of the Boyne Water, till one of them burst, and killed the gardener’s wife, who was tying an orange ribbon round the mouth of it, which she had _stopped_ for fear of _accidents_.

The tenantry, though to a man Papists, and at that time nearly in a state of slavery, joined heart and hand in these rejoicings, and forgot the victory of their enemy while commemorating the rescue of their landlord. A hundred times have I heard the story repeated by the “_Cotchers_,”[7] as they sat crouching on their hams, like Indians, around the big turf fire. Their only lament was for the death of old John Neville, the game-keeper. His name I should well remember; for it was his grandson’s wife, Debby Clarke, who nursed me.

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Footnote 7:

A corruption of “_Cottager_;” the lowest grade of the Irish peasants,
but the most cheerful, humorous, and affectionate. The word is spelt
differently and _ad libitum_. Though the poorest, they were formerly
the most happy set of vassals in Europe.

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This class of stories and incidents was well calculated to make indelible impression on the mind of a child, and has never left mine.—The old people of Ireland (like the Asiatics) took the greatest delight in repeating their legendary tales to the children, by which constant, unvarying repetition, their old stories became hereditary, and I dare say neither gained nor lost a single sentence in the recital, for a couple of hundred years. The massacres of Queen Elizabeth and Cromwell were quite familiar to them; and by an ancient custom of every body throwing a stone on the spot where any celebrated murder had been committed, upon a certain day every year, or whenever a funeral passed by, it is wonderful what mounds were raised in numerous places, which no person, but such as were familiar with the customs of the poor creatures, would ever be able to account for.

I have often thought that people, insulated and shut out from society and external intercourse, ignorant of letters and all kinds of legends save their own local traditions, are as likely to be faithful historians as the plagiarists and compilers of the present day.

I have heard the same stories of old times told in different parts of the country by adverse factions and cotchers, with scarcely a syllable of difference as to time or circumstance. They denote their periods, not by “the year of our Lord,” or reigns, or months; but by seasons and festivals, and celebrated events or eras,—such as “the Midsummer after the _great frost_”—“the All-hallow eve before the _Boyne Water_”—“the Candlemas that Squire Conolly had _all the hounds_ at Bally Killeavan”—“the time the _English Bishop_[8] was hanged,” &c. &c.

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Footnote 8:

Arthur, Bishop of Waterford, was hung at Dublin for an unnatural
crime—a circumstance which the prejudiced Irish greatly rejoiced at,
and long considered as forming an epocha.

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ELIZABETH FITZGERALD.

My great-aunt, Elizabeth—Besieged in her castle of Moret—My uncle seized
and hanged before the walls—Attempted abduction of Elizabeth, whose
forces surprise the castle of Reuben—Severe battle.

A great-aunt of mine, Elizabeth Fitzgerald, was married to Stephen Fitzgerald, who possessed the castle of Moret, near Bally-Brittis, not very far from Cullenagh.[9] She and her husband held their castle firmly during the troubles. They had above forty good warders; their local enemies had no cannon, and but few guns. The warders, protected by the battlements, pelted their adversaries with large stones, when they ventured to approach the walls; and in front of each of that description of castle, there was a hole perpendicularly over the entrance, wherefrom any person, himself unseen, could drop down every species of defensive material upon assailants.

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Footnote 9:

I have heard the _battle of Moret_ told a hundred times, and never
with one variation of fact or incident. It was a favourite legend with
the old people, and affords a good idea of the habits and manners of
those lawless times.

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About the year 1690, when Ireland was in a state of great disorder, and no laws were regarded, numerous factious bodies were formed in every part of the country to claim old rights, and re-take possession of forfeited estates, by mere force, when their factions were strong enough.

My uncle and aunt, or rather my aunt and uncle (for she was said to be far the most effective of the two), at one time suffered the enemy, who were of the faction of the O’Cahils of Timagho, and who claimed my uncle’s property, (which they said—very truly—Queen Elizabeth had turned them out of,) to approach the gate in the night-time. There were neither outworks nor wet fosse; the assailants therefore, counting upon victory, brought fire to consume the gate, and so gain admittance. My aunt, aware of their designs, drew all her warders to one spot, large heaps of great stones being ready to their hands at the top of the castle.

When the O’Cahils, in great numbers, had got close to the gate, and were directly under the loop-hole, on a sudden streams of boiling water, heated in the castle coppers, came showering down upon the heads of the crowd below: this extinguished their fire, and cruelly scalded many of the besiegers.

The scene may be conceived which was presented by a multitude of scalded wretches, on a dark night, under the power and within the reach of all sorts of offensive missiles. They attempted to fly; but whilst one part of the warders hurled volleys of weighty stones beyond them, to deter them from retreating, another party dropped stones more ponderous still on the heads of those who, for protection, crouched close under the castle-walls: the lady of the castle herself, meantime, and all her maids, assisting the chief body of the warders in pelting the Jacobites with every kind of destructive missile, till all seemed pretty still; and wherever a groan was heard, a volley of stones quickly ended the troubles of the sufferer.

The old traditionists of the country say, that at day-break there were lying one hundred of the assailants under the castle-walls—some scalded, some battered to pieces, and many lamed so as to have no power of moving off; but my good aunt kindly ordered them all to be put out of their misery, as fast as ropes and a long gallows, erected for their sakes, could perform that piece of humanity:—her faithful old partizan, Keeran Karry, always telling them how sorry the lady was that she had no doctor in the castle, she being so _tender-hearted_ that she could not bear to hear their groaning under the castle-walls, and so had them hanged out of _pure good-nature_.

After the victory, the warders had a feast on the castle-top, whereat each of them recounted his own feats. Squire Fitzgerald, who was a quiet easy man, and hated fighting, and who had told my aunt, at the beginning, that they would surely kill him, having seated himself all night peaceably under one of the parapets, was quite delighted when the fray was over. He walked out into his garden outside the walls to take some tranquil air, when an ambuscade of the hostile survivors surrounded and carried him off. In vain his warders sallied—the squire was gone past all redemption!