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: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
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