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:78 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.

END OF VOL. I

King William’s neck was not broken, only his collar-bone; his fall from a chesnut horse, however, hastened his dissolution.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

A gossoon was then, and till very lately, an indispensable part of a country gentleman’s establishment; – a dirty, bare-legged boy, who could canter six miles an hour on all sorts of errands and messages – carry turf – draw water – light the fires – turn the spit, when the dog was absent, &c. tell lies, and eat any thing. One of these gossoons took a run (as they call it) of ten miles and back for some person, and only required a large dram of whiskey for his payment.

It was formerly used by nuns, monks, &c. in the warm climates to temper their blood withal. There is a sort of cooling root sold at the herbalists in Paris at present, of which the young religieuses of both sexes are said to make a cheap, palatable, and powerful anti-satanic ptisan. It is displayed in the shops on strings, like dried lemon-peel.

I believe that most countries produce simple herbs, of a nature adapted to the cure of diseases prevalent in their respective climates. The old Irishwomen formerly had wonderful skill in finding and applying such remedies; they chewed the herbs into a sort of pap, and then extracted the juice, for the patient to take inwardly – whilst the substance was applied as a poultice.

Many of the rebels told me, after 1798, that having no doctors, the country bone-setters and the “Colloughs” (old women) soon cured their flesh-wounds and broken limbs: “but,” added they, “when a boy’s skull was smash’d, there was no more good in him.”

Here I wish to observe the distinction which occurs to me as existing between the attachment of the Scottish Highlanders to their lairds and the ardent love of the Irish peasantry to their landlords – (I mean, in my early days, when their landlords loved them.)

With the Highlanders – consanguinity, a common name, and the prescriptive authority of the Scottish chief over his military clan, (altogether combining the ties of blood and feudal obedience) exerted a powerful and impetuous influence on the mind of the vassal. Yet their natural character – fierce though calculating – desperate and decisive – generated a sort of independent subserviency, mingled with headstrong propensities which their lairds often found it very difficult to moderate, and occasionally impossible to restrain when upon actual service.

The Irish peasantry, more witty and less wise, thoughtless, enthusiastically ardent, living in an unsophisticated way but at the same time less secluded than the Highlanders, entertained an hereditary, voluntary, uninfluenced love for the whole family of their landlords. Though no consanguinity bound the two classes to each other, and no feudal power enforced the fidelity of the inferior one, their chiefs resided in their very hearts: – they obeyed because they loved them: their affection, founded on gratitude, was simple and unadulterated, and they would count their lives well lost for the honour of their landlords. In the midst of the deepest poverty, their attachment was more cheerful, more free, yet more cordial and generous, than that of any other peasantry to any chiefs in Europe.

The Irish modes of expressing fondness for any of the family of the old landlords (families which, alas! have now nearly deserted their country) are singular and affecting. I witnessed, not long since, a genuine example of this, near the old mansion of my family. – “Augh then! Musha! Musha! the owld times! – the owld times! – Ough! then my owld eyes see a B – before I die. ’Tis I that loved the breed of yees – ough! ’tis myself that would kiss the track of his honour’s feet in the guther, if he was alive to lead us! Ough! God rest his sowl! any how! Ough! a-vourneen! a-vourneen!”

Yet these peasants were all papists, and their landlords all protestants: – religion, indeed, was never thought of in the matter. If the landlords had continued the same, the tenantry would not have altered. But under the present system, the populace of Ireland will never long remain tranquil, whilst at the same time it is increasing in number – an increase that cannot be got rid of: – hang, shoot, and exile five hundred thousand Irish, the number will scarcely be missed, and in two years the country will be as full as ever again.

It is not my intention to enumerate the several modes recommended for reducing the Irish population, by remote and recent politicians; from Sir William Petty’s project for transporting the men, – to Dean Swift’s scheme of eating the children, and the modern idea of famishing the adults. A variety of plans may yet, I conceive, be devised, without applying to either of these remedies.

Formerly the chimneys were all covered with tiles, having scripture-pieces, examples of natural history, &c. daubed on them; and there being a great variety, the father or mother (sitting of a winter’s evening round the hearth with the young ones) explained the meaning of the tiles out of the Bible, &c.; so that the impression was made without being called a lesson, and the child acquired knowledge without thinking that it was being taught. So far as it went, this was one of the best modes of instruction.

The Cronaune had no words; it was a curious species of song, quite peculiar, I believe, to Ireland, and executed by drawing in the greatest possible portion of breath, and then making a sound like a humming-top: – whoever could hum the longest, was accounted the best Cronauner. In many country gentlemen’s houses, there was a fool kept for the express purpose, who also played the trump, or Jews’-harp; some of them in a surprising manner.

Mr. Hutchinson, a later provost, father of Lord Donoughmore, went into the opposite extreme; a most excellent classical scholar himself, polished and well read, he wished to introduce every elegant branch of erudition: – to cultivate the modern languages, – in short, to adapt the course to the education of men of rank as well as men of science. The plan was most laudable, but was considered not monastic enough: indeed, a polished gentleman would have operated like a ghost among those pedantic Fellows of Trinity College. Dr. Waller was the only Fellow of that description I ever saw.

Mr. Hutchinson went too far in proposing a riding-house. The scheme drew forth from Dr. Duigenan a pamphlet called “Pranceriana,” which turned the project and projector into most consummate, but very coarse and ill-natured ridicule.

Doctor Barrett, late vice-provost, dining at the table of the new provost, who lived in a style of elegance attempted by none of his predecessors, helped himself to what he thought a peach, but which happened to be a shape made of ice. On taking it into his mouth, never having tasted ice before, he supposed, from the pang given to his teeth and the shock which his tongue and mouth instantly received, that the sensation was produced by heat. Starting up, therefore, he cried out (and it was the only oath he ever uttered), “I’m scalded, by G – d!” – ran home, and sent for the next apothecary!

Claret was at that time about 18l. the hogshead, if sold for ready rhino; if on credit, the law, before payment, generally mounted it to 200l.; besides bribing the sub-sheriff to make his return, and swear that Squire * * * * had “neither body nor goods.” It is a remarkable fact, that formerly scarce a hogshead of claret crossed the bridge of Banaghu, for a country gentleman, without being followed, within two years, by an attorney, a sheriff’s officer, and a receiver of all his rents, who generally carried back securities for 500l.

Buttered claret was then a favourite beverage – viz. claret boiled with spice and sugar, orange-peel, and a glass of brandy; four eggs, well beat up, were then introduced, and the whole poured in a foaming state from one jug into another, till all was frothy and cream-coloured. ’Twas “very savoury!”

A raking pot of tea always wound up an Irish jollification. It consisted of a general meeting about day-break, in the common hall, of all the “young people” of the house – mothers and old aunts of course excluded; of a huge hot cake well buttered – strong tea – brandy, milk, and nutmeg, amalgamated into syllabubs – the fox-hunter’s jig, thoroughly danced – a kiss all round, and a sorrowful “good-morning.”

I once saw the inconvenience of that species of fist strongly exemplified. The late Admiral Cosby, of Stradbally Hall, had as large and as brown a fist as any admiral in His Majesty’s service. Happening one day unfortunately to lay it on the table during dinner, at Colonel Fitzgerald’s, Merrion Square, a Mr. Jenkins, a half-blind doctor, who chanced to sit next to the admiral, cast his eye upon the fist: the imperfection of his vision led him to believe it was a roll of French bread, and, without further ceremony, the doctor thrust his steel fork plump into the admiral’s fist. The confusion which resulted may be easily imagined: – indeed, had the circumstance happened any where but at a private table, the doctor would probably never have had occasion for another crust. As it was, a sharp fork, sticking a sailor’s fist to the table, was rather too irritating an accident for an admiral of the blue to pass over very quietly.

Mr. O’Kelly is just returned from Paris. Ladies and gentlemen, who are pleased to send their commands to No. 30, Mary-street, will be most respectfully attended to.

Je certifie que M. Guillaume O’Kelly est venu à Paris pour prendre de moi leçons, et qu’il est sorti de mes mains en état de pouvoir enseigner la danse avec succès.

Gardel, Maître à Danser de la Reine,

et Maître des Ballets du Roi.

But as he was a Roman Catholic, and as no Roman Catholic could then hold any office in the vice-regal establishment of Dublin Castle, Mr. M. Kelly must have been misinformed on that point as to his father, whom I have often seen. Mr. Gofton, a dancing-master of Anne-street, Linen Hall, and uncle to Doctor Barrett, the late extraordinary vice-provost of Trinity College, was a friend of Mr. O’Kelly’s, and taught me to the day of his death, which was sudden. Under his tuition, I beat time and danced minuets for four years. Doctor Barrett used to carry his uncle’s kit till he entered Dublin College, of which he died vice-provost. He had two brothers; the most promising one was eaten by a tiger in Dublin, the other died a pawnbroker.

Waking the piper was an ancient usage. When he had got too drunk to play any more, he was treated as a corpse – stretched out, and candles placed round him: while in this insensible state, they put the drone of his pipe into his mouth, and blew the bellows till he was bloated. This was called blowing-up the piper with false music. It did him no bodily harm, as burnt whiskey and plenty of pepper soon sent the wind about its business, to the no small amusement of the company.

The shout of hunters when the game is in view.

A coarse dirty apron, worn by working women in a kitchen, in the country parts of Ireland, and exhibiting an assemblage of every kind of filth. Were you to ask a “Collough” why she keeps it so dirty, her reply would be – “Sure nobody never heard of washing a praskeen, plaze your honor’s honor!”

Pipers at that time formed an indispensable part of every sporting gentleman’s establishment. My father always had two – the ladies’ piper for the dance, the gentlemen’s piper for occasions of drinking. These men rendered that instrument the most expressive imaginable: – with a piece of buff leather on their thigh, they made the double chanter almost speak words, and by a humorous mode of jerking the bag, brought out the most laughable species of chromatic conceivable.

They were in the habit of playing a piece called “the wedding,” in which words were plainly articulated. The wedding-dinner, the dancing, drinking, &c. all was expressed in a surprising manner. They also played “the Hunt, or Hare in the Corn” through all its parts – the hounds, the horns, the shouts, the chase, the death, &c. If the German who composed the Battle of Prague had heard an old Irish piper, he never would have attempted another instrumental imitation of words.

The Irish patriots demanded 30,000 stand of arms from Government, which the latter not being so circumstanced as to enable them to refuse with safety, they were delivered to the volunteers, from the ordnance stores in Dublin Castle, and distributed among those corps which were least able to purchase arms.

The pranks formerly played in Ireland on Allhallow-eve, were innumerable. The devil was supposed to be at large on that night, and permitted to make what prey he could among the human species, by bringing them together. His principal occupation was therefore thought to be match-making, and it was whispered that he got more subjects, and set more Christians by the ears, through the sacrament of matrimony, than all his other schemes put together. Matches were then frequently made by burning nuts, turning shifts, &c.

It was a favourite air of D. Whittingham’s, and affected me much, though after a lapse of twenty-four years.

An unfortunate friend of mine who was afterward hanged, and his head stuck over the door of the same court-house.

This is, indeed, altogether a species of action, placing a price upon dishonour, maintained in no country but England (a money country). Why not transfer the offence to the criminal side of the courts of justice? All the rest of Europe ridicules our system. The idea entertained on the continent upon such occasions is silence or death! – if not the most lucrative, certainly the most honourable mode of procedure. – An affectionate husband cannot be recompensed by any thing, and a rich seducer cannot be punished. But if the gentleman was to be sent to a tread-mill, and the lady to solitary confinement, adultery would soon be as much out of fashion as it is now the haut goût.

Their ancestors had mostly been troopers in the English armies, and were mingled amongst the Irish to mend the breed. They however soon imbibed the peculiarities of the Irish character with an increased ability to procure all its gratifications. In country sports they were quite pre-eminent, except a few who took exclusively to farming and drinking.

I recollect an example of those good-humoured madrigals. A poet, called Daniel Bran, sang a stanza aloud, as he himself lay sprawling on the grass, after having been knocked down with a loaded whip, and ridden over, by old Squire Flood, who showed no mercy in the “execution of his duty.”

“There was Despard so brave, (a soldier)

And that son of the wave, (a sailor)

And Tom Conway, the pride of the bower; (a farmer)

But noble Squire Flood

Swore, G – d d – n his blood!

But he’d drown them all in the Delower.”

These distinct classes have for some years been gradually losing their characteristic sharp points, and are now wearing fast away. The third class have mostly emigrated, and, like the wolf-dogs, will soon be extinct.

These lines were considered as a standing joke for many years in that part of the country, and ran as follows:

Dialogue between Tom Flinter and his man.

A figurative expression for “with all possible speed” – used by the Irish peasants: by taking short cuts, and fairly hopping along, a young peasant would beat any good traveller.

I have visited many small inns, where they never gave a bill, only a verbal – “What your honour pleases!” I once asked a poor innkeeper in Ossory, why he did not make out his bills as other publicans did: – he gave me many reasons for not doing so: – “The gentlemen of the country,” said he, (“God bless them!) often give us nothing at all, and the strange quality generally give us more than we’d ask for; so both ends meet! But,” added he, proceeding to the most decisive reason of all, “there is never a schollard in the house – and the schoolmaster drinks too much punch, plaze your honour, when Mary sends for him, to draw out a bill for us; so we take our chance!”

Perhaps this may be considered rather too egotistical and highly coloured; but I must observe that at that time the importance of a member of the Irish Parliament was much greater in his country, than that of an English member at present in his. The Irish parliament was formerly almost wholly composed of gentlemen of family and high respectability: there was neither an attorney nor a usurer in it; on the contrary, there were no two professions in the world to which the Irish gentlemen had so great an aversion; to the one from experience, the other from anticipation.

What they called in Ireland mahogany acquaintances.

Though my actual intimacy with, and friendship for, Mr. Grattan, did not mature at a very early period, his conduct that night proved to me the nobleness of his nature. I was impetuous, petulant, and altogether too inexperienced for a debater. Mr. Cuffe, after I had put forth something improperly warm as to Mr. Grattan, said to him, “Why don’t you put down that chap at once? a single sentence of yours would silence him completely.” – “No, no, no!” said Grattan, “we are not at all on a fair level. I could do him a great deal of mischief; he can do me none. My name is made; he is trying to make one, too: he’s a bold boy, but I don’t think he is a bad one.”

He regarded swords no more than knitting-needles, and pinked every man he faced in combat.

That figure of rhetoric

“ – where contradictions meet,

And jarring epithets and subjects greet.”

I have seen this loyal sentiment drank out of Doctor Duigenan’s wig, brimful of wine! – its stanchness in holding liquid might be easily accounted for by any person who saw the doctor’s forehead either after a passion or a paroxysm of loyalty.

He burst a blood-vessel in singing “Rule Britannia,” and soon after became defunct, to the irreparable loss of the Skinners’ Alley loyalists.

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