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.
Before, and for some time after, I was called to the bar, the bench was in several instances very curiously manned as to judges. The uniform custom had previously been to send over these dignitaries from England;—partly with a view to protect the property of absentees,[[78]] and partly from political considerations: and the individuals thus sent appeared as if generally selected because they were good for nothing else. In truth, as the judges of Ireland were not made independent of the crown until 1784, no English barrister who could earn his bread at home would accept a precarious office in a strange country, and on a paltry salary. Such Irishmen, also, as were in those days constituted puisne judges, were of the inferior class of practising barristers, on account of the last-mentioned circumstance.
[78]. The interest of money in England was only five per cent; in Ireland, six. Moneyed Englishmen, therefore, lent out large sums on Irish mortgages. Lord Mansfield had vested much money in this way; and as Irish mortgages, from the confused state of Irish entails at that time, were generally considered rather ticklish securities, the Irish judges were sent over from England to take care of that matter, and were removable at pleasure, for the same reason.
A vulgar idea, most ridiculous in its nature, formerly prevailed in Ireland, of the infallibility of judges.—It existed long before and at an early period of my observations, and went so far even as to conceive that an ignorant barrister, whose opinion nobody probably would ask, or, if obtained, nobody would act upon—should he, by interest, subserviency, or other fortuitous circumstances, be placed on the judicial bench, immediately changed his character—all the books in his library pouring their information into his head! The great seal and the king’s patent were held to saturate his brain in half an hour with all that wisdom and learning which he had in vain been trying to get even a peep at during the former portion of his life; and the mere dicta of the metamorphosed barrister were set down, by reporters, as the infallible (but theretofore inexplicable) law of the land; and, as such, handed round to other judges under the appellation of precedents, entitled to all possible weight and authority in judicial decisions.
This old doctrine of the infallibility of dicta and precedents, (which presented, in fact, an accumulation of enigmas and contradictions,) was at one time carried to great lengths;—I believe partly from a plausible system of making legal decisions uniform, whether right or wrong; and perhaps partly from the inability of the adopters to make any better sort of precedent themselves. A complaisance so ridiculous has of late been much relaxed.[[79]]
[79]. A judge who feels himself bound by old precedents in the teeth of his own convictions, is much to be pitied. If he decides according to the said precedents, he does wrong with his eyes open. If he decides against them, he will be considered as deciding against the settled law of the land, and the Courts of Error quickly set the ancient mistake on its legs again.
To show the gradual and great improvement of the Irish bench, and the rapid advance as regards the administration of justice in the law courts of that country, I will subjoin a few illustrative anecdotes.
Baron Monckton, of the Exchequer (an importation from England), was said to understand black letter and red wine better than any who had preceded him in that situation. At all events, being often vino deditus, he on such occasions described the segment of a circle in making his way to the seat of justice! This learned baron was longer on the bench than any other I recollect to have heard of; he resided in Butter-lane, and was held as a precedent.
I have in later days enjoyed the intimacy of a very clever well-informed man, and a sound lawyer, who (like the baron) rather indulged in the juice of the grape, and whom Lord Clare had made a judge for some services rendered to himself. The newspapers eulogised this gentleman very much for his singular tender-heartedness, saying, “So great was the humanity of Judge Boyd, that when he was passing sentence of death upon any unfortunate criminal, it was observable that his lordship seldom failed to have ‘a drop in his eye!’” He was, in fact, a humane though firm-minded man, and understood his trade well. He was tall and strong, and his face exactly resembled a scarlet pincushion well studded! He was considered to be a slave to the tender passion, and was called (by no means mal-apropos) “Love in a blaze!”
I remember a barrister being raised to the Irish bench, who had been previously well known by the ingenious surname of Counsellor Necessity,—because “necessitas non legem habet:” and certainly, to do him justice, he was not unworthy of the cognomen.
Old Judge Henn (a very excellent private character) was dreadfully puzzled on circuit, about 1789, by two pertinacious young barristers (arguing a civil bill upon some trifling subject) repeatedly haranguing the court, and each most positively laying down the “law of the case” in direct opposition to his adversary’s statement thereupon. The judge listened with great attention until both were tired of stating the law and contradicting each other, when they unanimously requested his lordship to decide the point.
“How, gentlemen,” said Judge Henn, “can I settle it between you?—You, sir, positively say the law is one way, and you (turning to the opposite party) as unequivocally affirm that it is the other way. I wish to God, Billy Harrison, (to his registrar, who sat underneath,) I knew what the law really was!”
“My lord,” replied Billy Harrison most sententiously, (rising at the same moment, and casting a despairing glance toward the bench,) “if I knew what the law was, I protest to God I would tell your lordship with a great deal of pleasure!”
“Then we’ll save the point, Billy Harrison!” exclaimed the judge.—“What point, my lord?” said Billy.
A more modern justice of the Irish King’s Bench, in giving his dictum on a certain will case, absolutely said, “he thought it very clear that the testator intended to keep a life interest in the estate to himself!” The bar did not laugh outright; but Curran soon rendered that consequence inevitable. “Very true, my lord,” said he, “very true! testators generally do secure life interests to themselves. But, in this case, I rather think your lordship takes the will for the deed!”
The chief judges were, however, generally accomplished men, of first-rate talent as lawyers; and the chancellors, with few exceptions, had been learned, able, and dignified; qualities, which Lord Lifford was the last to unite in an eminent degree.
On the subject of judges, I cannot omit a few anecdotes of a very different description from the foregoing, totally extra-judicial, which occurred in my own time.
Baron Power was considered an excellent lawyer, and was altogether one of the most curious characters I have met in the profession.—He was a morose, fat fellow, affecting to be genteel: he was very learned, very rich, and very ostentatious. Unfortunately for himself, Baron Power held the lucrative office of usher of the Court of Chancery, which was principally remunerated by fees on monies lodged in that court. Lord Clare (then chancellor) hated and teazed him, because Power was arrogant himself, and never would succumb to the arrogance of Fitzgibbon, to whom in law he was superior. The chancellor had a certain control over the usher; at least he had a sort of license for abusing him by inuendo, as an officer of the court, and most unremittingly did he exercise that license. Baron Power had a large private fortune, and always acted in office strictly according to the custom of his predecessors; but was attacked so virulently and pertinaciously by Lord Clare, that having no redress, it made a deep impression, first on his pride, then on his mind, and at length on his intellect. Lord Clare followed up his blow, as was common with him: he made daily attacks on the baron, who chose rather to break than bend; and who, unable longer to stand this persecution, determined on a prank of all others the most agreeable to his adversary!—The baron walked quietly down early one fine morning to the south wall, which runs into the sea, about two miles from Dublin; there he very deliberately filled his coat-pockets with pebbles; and having accomplished that business, as deliberately walked into the ocean, which received him cordially, but did not retain him long, his body being thrown ashore with great contempt by the very next tide. His estates devolved upon his nephews, two of the most respectable men of their country; and the lord chancellor enjoyed the double gratification of destroying a baron, and recommending a more submissive usher in his place; and when all parties were out of mourning, got his own son, the Honourable Hubert Fitzgibbon (a very nice child at that time), into the patent. They might have blamed Lord Clare for drowning the baron; but there is no law human or divine which forbids a man from providing for his own offspring when he has the opportunity. So, as such or such an office must exist, if the business is duly performed, it is nothing to the nation who executes it.
Had the matter ended thus, it might not have been so very remarkable; but the precedent was too respectable and inviting not to be followed by persons who had any particular reasons for desiring strangulation; as a judge drowning himself gave the thing a sort of dignified legal éclat! It so happened, that a Mr. Crosby Morgal, then an attorney residing in Dublin, (of large dimensions, and with shin bones curved like the segment of a rainbow,) had, for good and sufficient reasons, long appeared rather dissatisfied with himself and other people. But as attorneys were considered much more likely to induce their neighbours to cut their throats than to execute that office upon themselves, nobody ever suspected Morgal of any intention to shorten his days in a voluntary manner.
However, it appeared that the signal success of Baron Power had excited in the attorney a great ambition to get rid of his sensibilities by a similar exploit.—In compliance with such his impression, he adopted the very same preliminaries as the baron had done; walked off by the very same road, to the very same spot; and, having had the advantage of knowing, from the coroner’s inquest, that the baron had put pebbles into his pocket with good effect, adopted likewise this judicial precedent, and committed himself in due form into the hands of Father Neptune, who took equal care of him as he had done of the baron; and, after having suffocated him so completely as to defy the exertions of the Humane Society, sent his body floating ashore, to the full as bloated and buoyant as Baron Power’s had been. This gentleman was father to a lady of fortune and some rank, still living, and whose first husband met a much more disagreeable finale, being shot against his will by his brother candidate at an election. She has herself, however, been singularly fortunate throughout life.
As a sequel to this little anecdote of Crosby Morgal, it is worth observing, that, though I do not recollect any of the attorneys immediately following his example, four or five of his clients very shortly after started from this world of their own accord, to try, as people then said, if they could any way overtake Crosby, who had left them no conveniences for staying long behind him.[[80]]
[80]. The Irish attorneys had, I believe, then pretty much the same reputation and popularity enjoyed by their tribe throughout the United Kingdom. They have now, in each country, wisely changed their designation into that of solicitors. I recollect one anecdote, which will, I think, apply pretty well to the major part of that celebrated profession. Some years ago, a suitor in the Court of Exchequer complained in person to the chief baron, that he was quite ruinated, and could go on no further! “Then,” said Lord Yelverton, “you had better leave the matter to be decided by reference.”—“To be sure I will, my lord,” said the plaintiff: “I’ve been now at law thirteen years, and can’t get on at all! I’m willing, please your lordship, to leave it all either to one honest man or two attorneys, whichever your lordship pleases.”—“You had better toss up, head or harp, for that,” said Lord Yelverton, laughing. Two attorneys were however appointed, and, in less than a year, reported that “they could not agree:” both parties then declared, they would leave the matter to a very honest farmer, a neighbour of theirs. They did so, and, in about a week, came hand-in-hand to the court, thanked his lordship, and told him their neighbour had settled the whole affair square and straight to their entire satisfaction! Lord Yelverton used to tell the anecdote with great glee.
Mr. William Johnson (the present Judge Johnson) was one of my brother barristers whose smiles were not always agreeable to me when we went circuits together. I liked his frowns extremely, because they were very sincere, extremely picturesque, and never niggardly. But as to smiles, my own had the trouble of mounting up from my heart; he, more wise, had an assortment ready prepared for the use of his policy: in this particular, therefore, we were not matched.
When my friend William was angry, I was sure he was in earnest, and that it would not be over too soon: I therefore considered it as a proper, steady sort of concern. But his paroxysms of good-humour were occasionally awkward; and I have frequently begged of him to cheer up our society by getting into a little passion; nay, I have sometimes taken the liberty of putting him into a slight one myself, to make him more agreeable.
Be it remembered, however, that this was before Mr. William Johnson became a judge; I cannot say what effect an inoculation by Lord Norbury’s merry temperament may have had upon his constitution. But I have frequently told him, when I saw him drooping into placidity (he is not singular on that point), that either physic or wrangling was indispensable, to keep the bile from stagnation; and I hope my old chum has not suffered himself to sink into a morbid state of mental tranquillity.
I always promised to give William Johnson a page or two in my “Historic Memoirs of Ireland:” some of his friends suggested that he would be more appropriately introduced into my “Fragments.” As we are now both rather stricken in years, I will adopt their suggestion without abandoning my own purpose, and, with the best wishes for his celebrity, bequeath him in each work to posterity, to make what use they please of, as they certainly will of both of us, when we cannot help ourselves.
Though divers curious and memorable anecdotes occur to me of my said friend, Judge William Johnson, I do not conceive that any of them can be very interesting out of court, particularly after he becomes defunct, which nature has certainly set down as a “motion of course.” One or two, however, which connect themselves with my egotistical feelings shall not be omitted. At the same time, I assure him, that I by no means approve of our late brother Daly’s method of reasoning, who, on speaking rather indecorously of Mr. William Johnson, in his absence, at the bar-mess on circuit, was tartly and very properly asked by the present Mr. Justice Jebb, “Why he would say such things of Mr. Johnson behind his back?”—“Because,” replied Mr. Daly, “I would not hurt his feelings by saying them to his face!”
I often reflect on a singular circumstance which occurred between my friend Johnson and me, as proving the incalculability of what is called in the world “luck,” which, in my mind, cannot have a better definition than “The state-lottery of nature.” My friend is the son of a respectable apothecary, formerly of Fishamble-street, Dublin, and was called to the bar some few years before me; but the world being blind as to our respective merits, I got immediately into considerable business, and he, though a much steadier and wiser man, and a much cleverer lawyer, got none at all.—Prosperity, in short, was beginning fairly to deluge me; when suddenly I fell ill of a violent fever on circuit, which nearly ended my career. Under these circumstances, Johnson acted by me in a kind and friendly manner, and insisted on remaining with me, which however I would not allow; but I never forgot the proffered kindness, and determined, if ever it came within my power, to repay this act of civility (though then involving no great pecuniary sacrifice).
I was restored to health, and my career of good fortune started afresh, whilst Johnson had still no better luck. He remained assiduous, friendly, and good-natured to me; but at the same time he drooped, and told me at Wexford, in a state of despondency, that he was determined to quit the bar and go into orders. I endeavoured to dissuade him from this, because I had a presentiment that he would eventually succeed; and I fairly owned to him that I doubted much if he were mild enough for a parson, though quite hot enough for a barrister.
About two years after, I was appointed king’s counsel.—My stuff gown had been, so far, the most fortunate one of our profession, and Johnson’s the least so. I advised him jocosely to get a new gown; and shortly after, in the whim of the moment, fancying there might be some seeds of good luck sticking to the folds of my old stuff after I had quitted it for a silken robe, I despatched a humorous note to Johnson, together with the stuff gown, as a mark of my gratitude for his attentions, begging he would accept it from a friend and well-wisher, and try if wearing it would be of equal service to him as to me.
He received my jocose gift very pleasantly, and in good part; and, laughing at my conceit, in the same spirit of whim put on the gown. But, whatever may become of prepossessions, certain it is that from that day Johnson prospered; his business gradually grew greater and greater; and, in proportion as it increased, he became what they call in Ireland, high enough to every body but the attorneys. No doubt he was well able to do their business; but they never seemed to find it out till he had got the lucky gown on his back, though he had a “brother, Tom,” of that cast, a good bringer, too.
Thus my friend William Johnson trudged ably on through thick and thin, but minding his stepping stone, till he got to the Parliament House, into which Lord Castlereagh stuffed him (as he said himself), “to put an end to it.” However, he kept a clear look-out, and now sits in the place his elder brother Judge Robert had occupied, who was rather singularly unjudged for having Cobbettised Lord Redesdale, as will hereafter appear. I have always considered that Judge Robert Johnson was treated cruelly and illegally: the precedent has never been followed, and I hope never will.
Old Mr. Johnson, the father of these two gentlemen, when upward of sixty, procured a diploma as physician—to make the family genteeler. He was a decent, orderly, good kind of apothecary, and a very respectable, though somewhat ostentatious doctor; and, above all, an orthodox, hard-praying Protestant. I was much amused one day after dinner at Mr. Hobson’s, at Bushy, near Dublin, where the doctor, Curran, myself, and many others were in company. The doctor delighted in telling of the successes of his sons, Bob, Bill, Gam, and Tom the attorney, as he termed them: he was fond of attributing Bob’s advancement rather to the goodness of God than the Marquess of Downshire; and observed, most parentally, that he had brought up his boys, from their very childhood, with “the fear of God always before their eyes.”—“Ah! ’twas a fortunate circumstance indeed, doctor,” said Curran; “very fortunate indeed, that you frightened them so early!”
One of the most honourable and humane judges I ever saw upon the Irish bench was the late Justice Kelly, of the Common Pleas. He acquired professionally a very large fortune, and died at a great age, beloved and regretted by every being who had known him. It was he who tried the cause of Lady M—; and never did I see him chuckle with pleasure and a proper sense of gallantry more than he did at the verdict in that case.
He was no common man. Numerous anecdotes have been told of him: many singular ones I myself witnessed; but none which did not do credit to some just or gentlemanly feeling. He had practised several years in the West Indies; and studying at the Temple on his return, was in due season admitted to the Irish bar, to the head of which he rose with universal approbation.
At the time the Irish insisted on a declaration of their independence Judge Kelly had attained the high dignity of prime sergeant; a law office not known in England. In Ireland the prime sergeant was at the head of his profession, having precedence of the attorney and solicitor-general. On the government first opposing the declaration of Irish independence Kelly, from his place in Parliament, declared “he should consider it rather a disgrace than an honour to wear the prime sergeant’s gown under a ministry which resisted the rights of his country!” and immediately sent in his resignation, and retired to the rank of a private barrister.
Among such a people, and in consequence of such conduct, it is useless to attempt describing his popularity. Nobody was satisfied who had not Tom Kelly for his advocate in the courts: no suitor was content who had not Tom Kelly’s opinion as to title: all purchasers of property must have Tom Kelly’s sanction for their speculations. In a word, he became both an oracle and a fortune-teller: his court-bag grew too heavy for his strength; but he got through every cause gallantly and cheerfully: he was always prepared; his perseverance never yielded; his arguments seldom failed; his spirits never flagged. This enviable old man lived splendidly, yet saved a large fortune. At length, it was found so unpopular to leave him at the bar, that he was first appointed solicitor-general, and then mounted on the bench of the Common Pleas, where having sat many years, he retired to his beautiful country residence, near Stradbally, Queen’s County, and lived as a country gentleman in hospitable magnificence. He married three of his daughters well, pursued his field-sports to his death, and departed this world to the unanimous regret of all who knew him.
Judge Kelly’s only son, while his father yet lived, turned methodist; got infatuated among devotees and old women; became a sectarian preacher! and has by these means contrived, as thoroughly as the possession of a large fortune will permit him, to bury once more the family name in that obscurity whence his father had raised it. After Judge Kelly had assumed the bench the public began to find out that his legal knowledge had been overrated! his opinions were overruled—his advice thought scarce worth having—his deductions esteemed illogical:—in short, he lost altogether the character of an infallible lawyer; but had the happiness of thinking he had confirmed his reputation for honour, justice, and integrity. He used to say, laughingly, “So they find out now that I am not a very stanch lawyer. I am heartily glad they did not find it out thirty years ago!”
He loved the world; and this was only gratitude, for the world loved him; and nobody ever yet enjoyed existence with more cheerfulness and composure. “Egad!” he used to say, “this world is wheeling round and round quite too fast to please me. For my part, I’d rather be a young shoe-boy than an old judge.” He always most candidly admitted his legal mistakes. I recollect my friend William Johnson once pressing him very fiercely to a decision in his favour, and stating as an argument (in his usual peremptory tone to judges he was not afraid of) that there could be no doubt on the point—precedent was imperative in the matter, as his lordship had decided the same points the same way twice before.
“So, Mr. Johnson,” said the judge, looking archly—shifting his seat somewhat, and shrugging up his right shoulder,—“so! because I decided wrong twice, Mr. Johnson, you’d have me do so a third time? No, no, Mr. Johnson! you must excuse me. I’ll decide right this bout:”—and so he did. Had he died previous to this circumstance, his two wrong decisions would have been precedents and settled law.
The anecdotes of his quaint humour are in fact innumerable, and some of his charges quite extraordinary. His profile was very like Edmund Burke’s: he had that sharp kind of nose which gives a singular cast to the general contour; but there was always an appearance of drollery lurking in his countenance. No man could more justly boast of carrying about him proofs of nationality, as few ever had the Irish dialect stronger. It was in every word and every motion! Curran used to say he had the brogue in his shoulders! If Judge Kelly conceived he had no grounds to be ashamed of his country, she had still less to be ashamed of him. He was calculated to do credit to any land.
I also had the pleasure of being acquainted with Mr. Arthur Wolfe intimately, afterward Baron Kilwarden, and chief justice of Ireland. This gentleman had, previously to his advancement, acquired very high eminence as an equity lawyer: he was many years my senior at the bar.
Wolfe had no natural genius, and but scanty general information: his talents were originally too feeble to raise him by their unassisted efforts into any political importance. Though patronised by the Earl of Tyrone, and supported by the Beresford aristocracy, his rise was slow and gradual; and his promotion to the office of solicitor-general had been long predicted, not from his ability, but in consequence of his reputation as a good-hearted man and a sound lawyer.
On the elevation of Mr. John Fitzgibbon to the seals Mr. Wolfe succeeded him as attorney-general; the parliamentary duties of which office were, however, far beyond the reach of his oratory, and altogether too important for his proportion of intellect; and hence he had to encounter difficulties which he was unable, on some occasions, successfully to surmount. The most gifted members of his own profession were, in fact, then linked with the first-rate political talents of the Irish nation, to bear down those measures which it had become Mr. Wolfe’s imperative official duty to originate or support.
In the singular character of Mr. Wolfe there were strange diversities of manner and of disposition. On first acquaintance, he seldom failed to make an unfavourable impression: but his arrogance was only superficial—his pride innoxious—his haughtiness theoretical. In society, he so whimsically mixed and mingled solemn ostentation with playful frivolity, that the man and the boy, the judge and the jester, were generally alternate.
Still Kilwarden’s heart was right and his judgment sufficing. In feeling he was quick—in apprehension slow. The union of these qualities engendered a sort of spurious sensibility, which constantly led him to apprehend offence where none was ever intended. He had a constant dread of being thought petulant; and the excitement produced by this dread became itself the author of that tetchy irritation which he so much deprecated. Thus, like certain humorous characters on the stage, he frequently worked himself into silly anger by endeavouring to show that he was perfectly good-tempered.
Lord Kilwarden, not perceiving the true distinction between pride and dignity, thought he was supporting the appearance of the one, when, in fact, he was only practising the formality of the other; and, after a long intercourse with the world, he every day evinced that he knew any one’s else character better than his own. As attorney-general during a most trying era, his humanity, moderation, justice, and discretion, were no less evident than was his strict adherence to official duties; and the peculiarities of his manner were merged in the excellence of his sterling qualities.
In the celebrated cause of the King against Heavy (in the King’s Bench), Mr. Curran and I were Heavy’s counsel; and afterwards moved to set aside the verdict on grounds which we considered to form a most important point, upon legal principles.
Curran had concluded his speech, and I was stating what I considered to be the law of the case, when Lord Kilwarden, impatient and fidgety, interrupted me:—“God forbid, Mr. Barrington,” said he, “that should be the law!”
“God forbid, my lord,” answered I, “that it should not be the law!”
“You are rough, sir!” exclaimed he.
“More than one of us have the same infirmity, my lord.”
“I was right, sir,” said he, colouring.
“So was I, my lord,” returned I, unbendingly.
He fidgeted again, and looked haughty and sour. I thought he would break out, but he only said, “Go on, sir—go on, sir!” I proceeded; and, whilst I was speaking, he wrote a note, which was handed to me by the officer. I kept it, as affording a curious trait of human character. It ran thus:—
“Barrington,
“You are the most impudent fellow I ever met! Come and dine with me this day at six. You will meet some strangers; so I hope you will behave yourself, though I have no reason to expect it!——
K.”
To conclude this sketch:—Lord Kilwarden was, in grain, one of the best men I ever met through life: but, to be liked, it was necessary he should be known; and the more intimately known, the more apparent were his good qualities. He had not an error, to counterbalance which some merit did not exhibit itself. He had no wit, though he thought he said good things: as a specimen of his punning, he used to call Curran “Gooseberry!”
The instability of human affairs was lamentably exemplified in his lordship’s catastrophe:—his life was prosperous, and deservedly so; his death cruel and unmerited. There scarcely exists in record a murder more inhuman or more wanton than that of the chief justice.
In 1803, on the evening when the partial but sanguinary insurrection broke out in Dublin (organised by Mr. Emmet), Lord Kilwarden had retired to his country-house near the metropolis, and was tranquilly enjoying the society of his family, when he received an order from government to repair to town on particular business: in fact, the police, the secretaries, and all attached to the executive, had continued incredulous and supine, and never believed the probability of a rising until it was at the very point.
Lord Kilwarden immediately ordered his carriage, and, attended only by his nephew (a clergyman) and one of his daughters, proceeded to Dublin, without the least suspicion of violence or interruption. His road, however, lay through Thomas Street—wide and long—wherein the rebels had first assembled; and previously to Lord Kilwarden’s arrival had commenced operations. Before his lordship could conceive, or had time to ask, the cause of this assemblage, he was in the midst of their ranks: hemmed in on every side by masses of armed ruffians, there was no possibility of retreat; and without being conscious of a crime, he heard the yells of murder and revenge on every side around him, and perceived that he was lost beyond the power of redemption.
A general shout ran among the insurgents of “The chief justice!—the chief justice!” Their crime would have been the same in either case; but it was alleged that they were mistaken as to the person, conceiving it to be Lord Carleton, who, as justice of the Common Pleas, had some years before rendered himself beyond description obnoxious to the disaffected of Ireland, in consequence of having been the judge who tried and condemned the two Counsellors Sheers, who were executed for treason, and to whom that nobleman had been testamentary guardian by the will of their father. The mob thought only of him; and Lord Kilwarden fell a victim to their revenge against Lord Carleton.
The moment the cry went forth the carriage was stopped, and the door torn open. The clergyman and Miss Wolfe got out and ran. The latter was suffered to escape; but the pikemen pursued, and having come up with Mr. Wolfe, mangled and murdered, in a horrid manner, as fine and inoffensive a young gentleman as I ever knew.
Hundreds of the murderers now surrounded the carriage, ambitious only who should first spill the blood of a chief justice. A multitude of pikemen at once assailed him; but his wounds proved that he had made many efforts to evade them. His hands were lacerated all over, in the act of resistance; but, after a long interval of torture, near thirty stabs in various parts of his body incapacitated him from struggling further with his destiny. They dragged him into the street: yet, when conveyed into a house, he was still sensible, and able to speak a few words: but soon after expired, to the great regret of all those who knew him well, as I did, and were able to separate his frivolity from his excellent qualities.
Certain events which arose out of that cruel murder are singular enough. Mr. Emmet, a young gentleman of great abilities, but of nearly frantic enthusiasm, who had been the indiscreet organ and leader of that partial insurrection, was son to the state physician of Ireland, Doctor Emmet. Some time after the unfortunate event he was discovered, arrested, tried, and executed. On his trial Mr. Plunkett was employed to act for the crown, with which he had not before been connected; but was soon after appointed solicitor-general. The circumstances of that trial were printed, and are no novelty; but the result of it was a paper which appeared in Cobbett against Lord Redesdale, and which was considered a libel. It was traced to Judge Robert Johnson, of the Common Pleas, who was in consequence pursued by the then attorney-general, Mr. O’Grady, as was generally thought by the bar (and as I still think), in a manner contrary to all established principles both of law and justice. The three law courts had the case argued before them. The judges differed on every point:[[81]] however, the result was that Judge Johnson, being kidnapped, was taken over to England, and tried before the King’s Bench at Westminster, for a libel undoubtedly written in Ireland, although published by Cobbett in both countries. He was found guilty; but, on the terms of his resigning office, judgment was never called for. As, however, Judge Robert Johnson was one of those members of Parliament who had forgotten their patriotism and voted for the Union, the government could not in reason abandon him altogether. They therefore gave him twelve hundred pounds a year for life! and Robert Johnson, Esquire, has lived many years not a bit the worse for Westminster; while his next brother (to whom I have already paid my respects) was made judge of the Common Pleas, and reigns in his stead. This is the Mr. Robert Johnson who, from his having been inducted into two offices, Curran used to style, on alluding to him in the House of Commons, “the learned barrack-master.” He was a well-read, entertaining man, extremely acute, an excellent writer, and a trustworthy, agreeable companion. But there was something tart in his look and address, and he did not appear good-natured in his manner or gentlemanly in his appearance; which circumstances, altogether, combined with his public habits to render him extremely unpopular. He did not affect to be a great pleader, but would have made a first-rate attorney: he was indeed very superior to his brother William in every thing except law; in which the latter, when a barrister, was certainly entitled to the pre-eminence.
[81]. On the argument of that case in the Exchequer the judgment of Baron Smith was delivered with an ability scarcely ever rivalled. Its impression may be best imagined from the fact of the whole bar rising immediately on its conclusion by a sort of sympathetic impulse, and bowing to him profoundly.
END OF VOL. I.
PRINTED BY A. J. VALPY,
RED LION COURT, FLEET STREET.
Transcriber’s note:
Title page, ‘TWO’ changed to ‘THREE,’ “IN THREE VOLUMES.”
Page 78, full stop inserted after ‘Mr.,’ “of Mr. O’Kelly’s abilities”
Page 109, ‘five-and twenty’ changed to ‘five-and-twenty,’ “at least five-and-twenty years,”
Page 112, ‘guager’ changed to ‘gauger,’ “said the old gauger”
Page 115, ‘neice’ changed to ‘niece,’ “niece to Mr. Tennison”
Page 154, semicolon inserted after ‘he,’ “For I will go, says he;”
Page 206, ‘attornies’ changed to ‘attorneys,’ “guardianship of the attornies.”
Page 223, ‘attornies’ changed to ‘attorneys,’ “the attorneys pursued”
Page 239, ‘staunch’ changed to ‘stanch,’ “two-and-twenty stanch members”
Page 284, ‘attached’ changed to ‘attacked,’ “and was attacked for his”
Page 317, em-dash inserted after ‘chance,’ “every chance—death or”
Page 331, full stop inserted after ‘it,’ “I would not hazard it.”
Page 332, full stop inserted after ‘Mr.,’ “Mr. Pelham’s parliamentary talents”
Page 381, ‘ballance’ changed to ‘balance,’ “to give the balance”
Page 396, comma canged to full stop, “so long associated.”
Page 469, full stop inserted after ‘did,’ “and so he did.”
Page 475, ‘Lrod’ changed to ‘Lord,’ “and Lord Kilwarden fell”