Twenty Years' Recollections of an Irish Police Magistrate

by Frank Thorpe Porter

In the year 1842, and for several subsequent years, by an arrangement with my colleagues, I undertook the magisterial duties connected with the licensing and regulation of job and hackney vehicles, and the adjudication of complaints in the carriage court. At the time when I assumed those duties, Richard Wilson Greene (whose high legal acquirements ultimately obtained for him the position of Baron in the Court of Exchequer) was in very extensive practice at the Bar. An issue from Chancery was sent to be tried at one of the principal towns on the Leinster Circuit, and he was specially retained for one of the parties. A very efficient reporter, named Christopher Hughes, in whose character there was great comical eccentricity, was employed to take down, in shorthand, the trial of the issue. Early in the succeeding term, it was arranged that a consultation should be held at the house of the senior counsel, in Leeson Street, and Mr. Hughes was requested to meet Mr. Greene at the Courts, with his notes, and to accompany him to the consultation. The appointed time had nearly arrived, when Greene and Hughes hurried off from the Four Courts. Having passed out to the quay, the former hailed an outside car, on which they sat beside each other, and the driver was ordered to make all possible haste to Leeson Street. The horse was a fine-looking animal, but he stepped high and was very slow. Mr. Greene urged the driver to hasten on, and after two or three expostulations, he remarked to the Jehu that the horse was unfit for a jaunting car, although he was large and strong, but that he would suit well for a family carriage. The driver, a lad of eighteen or nineteen years of age, exclaimed, "Bedad your honor is a witch!" "What do you mean?" asked Mr. Greene. "Oh," replied the carman, "I mane no offince, but yer honor is right about the baste; that's what he is. I'll tell yer honor a saycret. The baste is a carriage horse belonging to one Counsellor Greene, and the coachman has a hack-car and figure on Bride Street stand. He ginerally manages to have something the matther with one of the horses, and that gives him an opportunity to get a good deal of work out of the other in the car." Although Mr. Greene was very angry at what the driver had communicated, he did not disclose that he was the owner of the horse. He whispered to Hughes, and requested him to give the driver his name and address, but to leave him unpaid. When they arrived at Leeson Street, Greene at once entered the house of the senior counsel, and warned the servant against telling his name to the carman. Hughes had a scene, and was treated to a copious supply of opprobrious epithets, but he did not pay, and merely gave his name and address. He was summoned, at the owner's suit, before me; and when the case was called the proprietor of the vehicle, in very energetic terms, demanded exemplary costs against the defaulting hirer of his car. His denunciations were suddenly interrupted by the appearance of Mr. Greene; and there was abundant merriment, of which I had a full share, when it transpired that the learned Queen's Counsel had hired a hack-car drawn by his own horse. The coachman ran out of court, and I afterwards heard that he never applied for wages or discharge. The incident attained great publicity, and afforded much amusement in "The Hall" amongst the long-robed fraternity. One day Greene said to some of his brethren that he believed the fellow had left Dublin, but that he was strongly tempted to send the police in quest of him. "Send your horse," observed the facetious Robert Holmes, "for he is best acquainted with the carman's traces."

Mr. Hughes, whose name appears in the preceding anecdote, deserves to be noticed upon his own merits. He was frequently engaged in reporting proceedings in the Police Courts, and we never had occasion to impute any inaccuracy to his statements. He was always ready to assist any of his brethren of the "press-gang," and to suggest a palliation or excuse for their casual errors. I frequently indulged him with permission to sit in the magistrate's room whilst he was transcribing his notes, and I have been often amused with his remarks and statements, which were strictly true, and in which he never concealed his own professional expedients or mistakes. He mentioned that he was directed to go to one of the dinners of the Malachean Orphan Society, where O'Connell presided, but having indulged in his potations at a luncheon, he forgot the requirement for his services at Mrs. Mahony's great rooms in Patrick Street. "I slept," said he, "until about 11 o'clock, and then I recollected myself, so I went quietly to the office and got the file of the previous year, and, with a little alteration, it did for the day's dinner as well." He often mentioned what he designated his greatest mistake. He described it thus:—"On the concluding day of George the Fourth's visit, in 1821, he went to Powerscourt, where he got a splendid reception from the noble proprietor. Lord Powerscourt had caused reservoirs to be constructed above the waterfall, in order that when his Majesty went to see it, the sluices might be drawn, and a tremendous cataract produced. I went down in the morning and viewed the place, and minutely noted all the preparations. I then drew on my imagination for a description of a second Niagara, and put into the mouth of the royal visitor various exclamations of delight and surprise. I sent off my report, and it appeared in due time, but unfortunately the king was too much hurried by other arrangements, and did not go to the Waterfall at all, but drove direct from Powerscourt House to Kingstown, where he embarked. I have been often quizzed for my imaginative report, but, nevertheless, I stated what the King ought to have done, and what he ought to have said, and if he did otherwise, it was not my fault."

I was extremely fortunate, at my accession to magisterial office, to find myself provided with clerks who could not be surpassed in diligence, integrity, or intelligence. I shall particularize Messrs. Pemberton and Cox. The former was the son of a previous chief magistrate, at whose instance he was appointed. The latter had been for several years in America, and had been engaged by Jacob Philip Astor in forming the settlement of Astoria, in Washington Irvine's description of which he is most favorably mentioned. He was a man of great literary taste, and was an accomplished linguist. Their performance of official duties never required from me, nor to my knowledge from any of my colleagues, the slightest correction or reproof. Pemberton was a solicitor, and was promoted in 1846 to the Clerkship of the Crown for the King's County. He had been many years before an assistant to Messrs. Allen and Greene, the Clerks of the Peace for the City of Dublin. I shall have to notice hereafter some amusing incidents connected with Cox, but shall give precedence to a few anecdotes derived from Pemberton, and arising from his acquaintance with the old Session House in Green Street, and the records there, to which, I suppose, he had full access.

Towards the close of the last century an aid-de-camp of the then viceroy was indicted, at the Quarter Sessions, for the larceny of a handsome walking-stick, and also for assaulting the gentleman who owned it, and who was, moreover, a Frenchman. The transaction arose in a house of a description unnecessary to be particularized. An affray took place, the Frenchman was kicked down stairs, and lost his cane, which was alleged to have been wrested from him by the aid-de-camp. The charge of larceny was absurd, and the grand jury ignored the indictment. But the assault could neither be denied nor justified, and the traverser submitted, pleaded "guilty," and was fined five pounds. That punishment did not cure his propensity for beating Frenchmen and taking their sticks. On the 21st of June, 1813, he beat Marshal Jourdan at Vittoria, and captured his baton; and on the 18th of June, 1815, at Waterloo, he beat the greatest Frenchman that ever lived, Napoleon Bonaparte. I do not feel justified in naming the delinquent aid-de-camp, and perhaps the reader may think it quite unnecessary that I should.

More than half a century has elapsed since the office of Recorder of Dublin was held by Mr. William Walker, whose town residence was in Lower Dominick Street. One day a groom, in the service of a Mr. Gresson, was tried before him, for stealing his master's oats. The evidence was most conclusive, for the culprit had been detected in the act of taking a large bag of oats out of his master's stable, which was in the lane at the back of the east side of Dominick Street. When the prisoner was convicted, the Recorder addressed him to the following effect:—"The sentence of the Court is, that you are to be imprisoned for three calendar months; and at the commencement of that term you are to be publicly whipped from one end of that lane to the other, and back again; and in the last week of your imprisonment, you are to be again publicly whipped from one end of that lane to the other, and back again; for I am determined, with the help of Providence, to put a stop to oat-stealing in that lane." His worship's emphatic denunciation of oat-stealing in that lane, arose from the circumstance of his own stable being the next door to Mr. Gresson's.

The same civic functionary was a great amateur farmer. He had a villa and some acres of land at Mount Tallant, near Harold's Cross, and prided himself upon his abundant crops of early hay. On one occasion he entered the court to discharge his judicial duties at an adjourned sessions, and was horrified at hearing from the acting Clerk of the Peace (Mr. Pemberton) that there were upwards of twenty larceny cases to be tried. "Oh!" said he, "this is shocking. I have three acres of meadow cut, and I have no doubt that the haymaking will be neglected or mismanaged in my absence." In a few minutes, he inquired in an undertone, "Is there any old offender on the calendar?"

"Yes," was the reply, "there is one named Branagan, who has been twice convicted for ripping lead from roofs, and he is here now for a similar offence, committed last week in Mary's Abbey."

"Send a turnkey to him," said the Recorder, "with a hint that, if he pleads guilty, he will be likely to receive a light sentence."

These directions were complied with, and the lead-stealer was put to the bar and arraigned.

"Are you guilty or not guilty?"