During the rebellion of 1798, Mr. John Beresford (one of the candidates) had built a riding-house for his yeomanry troop in Marlborough Green, which had been also much used as a place for whipping suspected persons in, to make them discover what in all probability they never knew;—a practice equally just and humane, and liberally resorted to (perhaps for sport) by military officers, pending that troublous era, when martial law authorised every species of cruelty.
In Mr. Beresford’s riding-house this infernal system was carried on to a greater extent than in any other place of execution then tolerated in the metropolis:—to such an extent, indeed, that some Irish wags (who never fail even upon the most melancholy occasions to exercise their native humour) had one night the words, “Mangling done here by J. Beresford and Co.” painted upon a sign-board, and fixed over the entrance.
It happened that this same Horish had been among those who had paid to their king and country a full share of skin for the crime of being anonymously suspected. He had not forgotten the couple of hundred lashes on his bare carcase which he had received in Mr. Beresford’s riding-house: but the circumstance (being of such an ordinary nature) was, of course, totally forgotten by the candidate, notwithstanding the tenacious sensation of the elector’s loins, where many a good thick welt remained to remind him of the pastime.
Horish, a coarse, rough-looking, strong-built, independent, and at the moment well-dressed brute of a fellow, remained quite coquettish as to his votes. “Let me see!” said he, feeling his importance, and unwilling to part with it, (which would be the case the moment he had polled,) and looking earnestly at all the candidates,—“Let me see! who shall I vote for?—I’m very hard to please, gentlemen, I assure you!” He hesitated: we all pressed:—“Fair and easy, gentlemen,” said Horish, looking at each of us again, “don’t hurry a man!”
“Barrington,” cried impatient Beresford, “I know that honest fellow Horish will vote for me!” Horish stared, but said nothing.
“Indeed he will not,” replied I,—“eh, Horish?” Horish looked, but remained silent.
“I’ll lay you a rump and dozen,” exclaimed Beresford, “on the matter!”
Horish now started into a sort of animation, but coolly replied:—“You’ll lose that same rump and dozen, Mr. Beresford! ’twas many a dozen you gave my r—p already in your riding-house, and to the devil I bob that kind of entertainment! but if ever I have the honour of meeting you up a chimney, depend on it, Mr. Beresford, I’ll treat you with all the civility imaginable!—Come, boys, we’ll poll away for the counsellor!” and, under Horish’s influence, I was supported by every chimney-sweeper in the city of Dublin (and there were many) who had a vote. I think he brought me near twenty voters of one species or another.
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.