Twenty Years' Recollections of an Irish Police Magistrate

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1. Highway robbery acquittal at Wexford assizes

   Wexford · town · Wexford · 1827–1840

   A prisoner tried at Wexford for highway robbery was acquitted despite evidence strongly suggesting his guilt, prompting the defending counsel to seek his immediate release.

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   A prisoner was tried before him at Wexford on an indictment for highway robbery, and although the evidence amounted to a strong probability of his guilt, the verdict was an acquittal. Richard Newton Bennett, who defended the prisoner, immediately applied to the Chief Baron to order the man to be liberated, to which the other replied, "He will be discharged from custody, Mr. Bennett, to-morrow at noon. I shall set out for Waterford in the morning, and I wish to have a couple of hours start of your client."

   In my early professional days the law in reference to injuries to growing crops of vegetables was very imperfect, and although taking potatoes, turnips, &c. out of the owner's ground was considered a very serious trespass, the offence could not be treated as actual larceny. Some proceedings at Waterford, in reference to the abstraction of turnips, were held to be insufficient to sustain an indictment, and a deputation of the Grand Jury sought a conference with Chief Baron O'Grady on the subject. One of them asked his Lordship if the delinquents could be made liable to punishment under the _Timber_ Act, to which he gravely replied, "Certainly not, unless you can prove that the turnips were _sticky_."

   Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 121

   As the companion tells it

   Up ahead is Wexford, a town the road passes through. Back in the years around 1827 to 1840, a man was tried here at the assizes for highway robbery. The evidence pointed strongly toward his guilt, but the jury acquitted him. His defending counsel, Richard Newton Bennett, asked the Chief Baron to have him released at once. The Chief Baron said he would be discharged the next day at noon, adding, "I shall set out for Waterford in the morning, and I wish to have a couple of hours start of your client." The judge apparently wanted to be well on the road before the freed man could follow. The same Chief Baron, at Waterford, once heard from a Grand Jury deputation about people stealing turnips from fields. The law then treated taking crops as trespass, not larceny. When one juror asked if the offenders could be charged under the Timber Act, the Chief Baron replied, "Certainly not, unless you can prove that the turnips were sticky."

2. Kingstown as a magnet for professional beggars

   Kingstown · townland · Dublin

   The author observed that mendicants discharged after conviction in areas like Rathmines or Inchicore rarely returned there, but Kingstown vagrants persistently went back to beg at its piers and terraces, which attracted more charity from recognising visitors.

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   I did not find mendicancy so persistent in any part of the police district as in Kingstown. If a vagrant was brought up and punished for begging in Rathmines or the Pembroke township, or if the detection occurred at Inchicore, or in the more respectable parts of the city, it was not at all probable that the beggar would be soon found again in the same locality. The Kingstown vagrants, as soon as they were discharged from Kilmainham, generally started off to return and resume their solicitations at the piers and jetty, or about the streets and terraces, which were more devoted to healthful recreation than to professional or commercial affairs. I have no doubt that mendicants from distant places receive more at Kingstown or Bray, from visitors whom they recognize, or who recognize them, than would be given to them if both parties were at home. A lady with whom I was personally acquainted, and whose family residence was near Carlow, has several times, in my presence, given sixpences to beggars who belonged to her own neighbourhood, and I have heard her tell them that Kingstown was a better and more lucky place for them than ever they would find Carlow to be. I shall close my observations on street begging, by deliberately stating from my personal and official experience, that not one penny can be given to any mendicant on our thoroughfares in real, efficient, and merited charity. I would now warn my readers against another kind of begging, which avails itself of very systematic and elaborate means, and sometimes displays considerable educational acquirements, namely, written applications to charitable individuals to alleviate dire distress or succour unmerited misfortune. I know that this system is extensively practised in London, and I have heard that it is reviving in Dublin. I use the term "reviving," because it was completely crushed here in 1844 by the intelligence and activity of the detective division. At that time it was discovered that a confederacy of impostors had been formed in Bridgefoot Street, and that the members of this nefarious association were levying contributions on all in whose dispositions they had ascertained charity and credulity to be united. Forty-one of them were arrested and brought before me, and I committed them for trial on charges of "conspiring to defraud, obtaining money under false pretences, and forgery at common law." They were, however, consigned to Newgate, exactly at the time when the State prosecutions against O'Connell had been commenced; and it was the received opinion in police quarters that they owed their escape--for they were not prosecuted--to a feeling on the part of the attorney-general of that period, that all his attention was demanded in bringing down the eagle, and that none of his energies could be spared to scatter a flock of kites. But they were not relinquished by the detectives, and were brought in detail under the castigation of the law until the confederacy was broken up. Their begging letters and petitions were addressed to all whom they considered likely to yield the slightest attention to their requests. These productions were termed in their slang "_Slums_." One impostor represented that she was a clergyman's widow, with four female children, the eldest only eleven years of age; that her pious, exemplary, and most affectionate partner had died of malignant fever, contracted whilst whispering the words of Christian consolation to the departing sinner, and imparting the joyful assurance, that the life flickering away, the socket glimmer of a mere earthly light, would be rekindled in a lamp of everlasting duration and unvarying brilliancy. That resigned to her suffering, and adoring the hand from which she had experienced chastening, she was not forbidden to hope that the blessed spirit of charity would be manifested in her relief, and in shielding her helpless, artless babes from the privations of distress in their infancy, and from the still more fearful danger of being, in advanced youth, exposed to the snares of sin and its depraving consequences. A contribution, however small, addressed to Mrs. ----, at No. -- Bridgefoot Street, Dublin, would, it was respectfully hoped, be accorded by Lord ----, or Mr. or Mrs. ----, whose well-known, though unostentatious benevolence, must plead the poor widow's apology for such an intrusion. Another was an unfortunate man, who for many years had earned a respectable livelihood as a commercial agent, and supported a numerous and interesting family by his industry and intelligence, but having unfortunately been in the County of Tipperary, when a contested election was in progress, he unguardedly expressed a wish for the success of the Conservative candidate, and although not a voter, he was set upon by a horde of savage ruffians, and beaten so as to produce paralysis of his lower extremities, and that now nothing remained for him but to entreat the humane consideration of one who could not, if the public testimony of his, or her generous disposition, was to be credited, refuse to sympathize with a parent whose helplessness compelled him to witness, with unavailing anguish, the poignant miseries of the offspring he had hoped, by his honest exertions, to have supported and reared, without submitting to the galling necessity of soliciting that aid which nothing but the most absolute destitution could reconcile him to implore. A _military lady_ announced herself as the widow of color-sergeant Robert Maffett, who having served faithfully for twenty-three years, the four last having been in India, had been severely wounded in a decisive battle in Scinde, and when invalided and pensioned, was unfortunately drowned at Blackwall, in consequence of the boat which was conveying him ashore being accidentally upset. That she and her eight poor orphans had no resource on reaching her native city, where she found that all her relations had died or emigrated, and where she was friendless and alone, but to throw herself upon the charitable feelings of one whose character emboldened her to hope that the humble appeal of the soldier's widow, for herself and her poor orphans, would not be unavailing. These and a thousand other _slums_ were manufactured in Bridgefoot Street, alias Dirty Lane, not an unsuitable name for the locale of such proceedings, and they were invariably accompanied by lists of subscriptions, and magisterial or municipal attestations, admirably got up in the first style of forgery. In the first case to which I have adverted, the "hapless widow" succeeded in getting five pounds from the Lord Chief Justice of Ireland (Pennefather). In the instance of the "military widow," Lady Blakeney was lightened of three pounds. Another _slum_ was circulated by a scoundrel who represented himself to be the son of a gentleman in the south of Ireland, of an old family, and of the pristine faith; that he had been educated at Louvain, had an ardent wish to become a Catholic clergyman, and that one of the most distinguished dignitaries of that church was inclined to ordain him, but his father had died in debt, without leaving him the means of providing even the most humble outfit for such a vocation. One of his missives produced the effect of relieving an alderman's lady of five pounds sterling, which the excellent and worthy matron piously suggested might be useful in providing the embryo priest _with vestments_.

   Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 16

   As the companion tells it

   Somewhere close to Kingstown, a police magistrate found begging more stubborn than anywhere else in his district. When a vagrant was caught and punished in Rathmines or Pembroke or Inchicore or the respectable parts of the city, that beggar rarely came back to the same spot. But Kingstown vagrants, released from Kilmainham, headed straight back to the piers and jetty, or the streets and terraces, and started begging again. These were places given over to healthful recreation rather than business. The magistrate had no doubt that mendicants from distant places received more at Kingstown or Bray from visitors who recognized them, or whom they recognized, than either party would ever give at home. He knew a lady whose family residence was near Carlow who several times, in his presence, gave sixpences to beggars from her own neighbourhood. He heard her tell them Kingstown was a better and luckier place for them than Carlow would ever be. He stated from his personal and official experience that not one penny given to any mendicant on the thoroughfares was real, efficient, and merited charity. He then warned against another kind of begging that used elaborate and systematic means, and sometimes considerable education: written applications to charitable individuals pleading dire distress. He knew this was extensively practised in London and had heard it was reviving in Dublin. It had been completely crushed in 1844 by the detective division, when a confederacy of impostors was discovered in Bridgefoot Street. Forty-one of them were arrested and committed for trial on charges of conspiring to defraud, obtaining money under false pretences, and forgery. They were sent to Newgate at the very time the State prosecutions against O'Connell had commenced, and the received opinion in police quarters was that they escaped prosecution because the attorney-general felt all his attention was demanded in bringing down the eagle, and none of his energies could be spared to scatter a flock of kites.

3. Local Wit on the Murder of a Landlord at Strokestown

   Strokestown · town · Roscommon · 1842

   Passing through Strokestown, the magistrate learned of the recent murder of a landlord, Major M----, and was met with a darkly humorous local remark that the townspeople were 'rale docthors' who 'kill' when they cannot cure, reflecting local attitudes following the killing.

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   In the year 1842, I indulged in an excursion to the County of Mayo, and enjoyed a sojourn of a fortnight at the house of a most hospitable friend near Crossmolina. On leaving Dublin, I travelled by rail to Mullingar, and from thence proceeded by the mail-coach to my destination. I may mention here that a few months previous, a transaction had occurred in the vicinity of Strokestown which was of a most unusual, perhaps I might say an exceptional, character in Connaught--namely, the murder of a landlord. I was the sole occupant of the inside of the vehicle, and as the journey was nocturnal, I had several hours of sound and refreshing sleep. The stoppage of the coach in Strokestown to change horses awakened me, and I lowered the window in order to alight. The door was at once opened for me by a young fellow, who said, "Strokestown, sir." "Oh!" I replied, "this is where you shot Major M----." "Troth it is," said he, "we are all rale docthors here, and when we can't cure, of coorse we kill." Such a jest, although prompt and witty, was not calculated to produce a favorable impression on the mind of a stranger; but during my visit to the West, I did not hear an angry word spoken, nor did I observe any tendency on the part of the humbler classes to treat those in higher positions with hostility or disrespect. I was perfectly pleased with the country and the people, and my friend's hospitality afforded me social gratifications in which there was one novelty which I peculiarly relished. It was a liquor derived from no foreign vineyard, but was so peculiarly Irish as to induce one whom I am certainly not singular in believing to be the greatest lyric poet that ever existed, to make it the subject of song adapted to the joyous and spirit-stirring air of "Paddy O'Rafferty." I shall quote the lines of the immortal Moore as fully justifying the predilection which I have acknowledged for the potation he describes:-

   Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 39

   As the companion tells it

   Coming up on Strokestown in County Roscommon. In 1842, a magistrate travelling by mail-coach from Mullingar toward Mayo passed through this town, and a dark piece of wit stopped him here. A few months before his journey, a landlord, Major M----, had been murdered in the vicinity. That was unusual, even exceptional, in Connaught. The magistrate was the sole occupant of the inside of the vehicle. The journey was nocturnal, and he had enjoyed several hours of sound and refreshing sleep. The stoppage of the coach to change horses awakened him, and he lowered the window in order to alight. A young fellow opened the door for him and said, "Strokestown, sir." The magistrate replied, "Oh! this is where you shot Major M----." The young man answered, "Troth it is, we are all rale docthors here, and when we can't cure, of coorse we kill." That jest was prompt and witty, the magistrate said, but it was not calculated to produce a favorable impression on the mind of a stranger. He noted, though, that during his visit to the West he did not hear an angry word spoken, nor did he observe any tendency on the part of the humbler classes to treat those in higher positions with hostility or disrespect. He was perfectly pleased with the country and the people.

4. Reunion of Christian Wilson and Mary Tudor at Cork Hill

   Cork Hill · street · Dublin

   After years believed dead, Christian Wilson returned as a Captain in the 60th Regiment and was spotted marching his company at Cork Hill to relieve the guard at Dublin Castle, leading to his reunion with Mary Tudor's father and his own.

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   One morning a note was received by my father, requesting him to call, as soon as possible, on the writer, at the Queen's Head Hotel in Bride Street. He repaired to the place appointed; and in consequence of what there occurred, he had interviews next morning with Richard Tudor and James Wilson, and prevailed on them to accompany him to Cork Hill, about 11.30 a.m., and there he pointed out to the astonished and delighted old men Captain Christian Wilson, of the 60th Regiment, marching his company to relieve the guard at Dublin Castle.

   The tale concludes. The lovers met and were united. Old Tudor was rich; his closing years were happy. Wilson retired from the army after he had attained the rank of Major, and settled on a property in a southern county, where the descendants of him and Mary Tudor are living in independence and respectability.

   Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 5

   As the companion tells it

   Cork Hill is a street in Dublin. A note arrived one morning requesting the narrator's father to call on the writer at the Queen's Head Hotel in Bride Street. He went, and because of what happened there, he arranged interviews the next morning with Richard Tudor and James Wilson. He persuaded them to come with him to Cork Hill, around 11:30 a.m., and there he pointed out to the astonished and delighted old men Captain Christian Wilson, of the 60th Regiment, marching his company to relieve the guard at Dublin Castle. Christian had been believed dead for years. The lovers met and were united. Old Tudor was rich, and his closing years were happy. Wilson retired from the army after attaining the rank of Major, and settled on a property in a southern county, where the descendants of him and Mary Tudor live in independence and respectability.

5. Alleged bribery in the 1852 Dublin city election

   Dublin · city · Dublin · 1852–1853

   Following a contested Dublin city election in 1852, it was alleged that an alderman acted as treasurer of funds for bribing freemen voters, with a man named Bell employed to distribute the money among them.

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   There had been in 1852 a contested election for the city of Dublin, and the defeated party, as is usual on such occasions, attributed their failure to the use, on the part of their adversaries, of every unfair stratagem and corrupt inducement. At the commencement of the Session of Parliament in 1853, it was rumoured that a petition would be lodged to invalidate the return, especially on the grounds of extensive bribery amongst the freemen. It was alleged that a certain alderman was the confidential treasurer of the funds appropriated for the venal voters, and that a person named BELL had been employed to procure the men and dispense the money. The alderman was one of my most intimate friends, and I frequently enjoyed his hospitality. I was also acquainted with several of the other party who were loud in their denunciations of the corruption of which Bell was alleged to have been the instrument. When I heard them speaking of the sums distributed amongst the freemen, I contented myself by affecting to lament the injustice to which I was individually subjected, that I was a freeman of my native city, and that I might have participated in the distribution to which they referred, were it not for an odious statutable enactment which prohibited a Dublin Police magistrate from exercising the franchise, and realizing its incidental advantages, whilst the English Metropolitan Magistrates were subjected to no such disqualification. One of my friends who happened to be the editor of a newspaper, remarked that I seemed disposed to treat the recent bribery with levity, and to regard it as mere fun, and I replied that he was not far wrong in his conjecture, and that I would advise him to adopt a similar course. He asked me to commit my ideas to writing and transmit them to him. I acceded to his request, and he published my communication; but I feel confident that neither publicly nor privately did he divulge the name of its author. No parliamentary petition was presented; and the bountiful treatment of the freemen was only noticed publicly in my poor production of--

   Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 69

   As the companion tells it

   Dublin ahead, the city where a contested election in 1852 set tongues wagging long after the votes were counted. The defeated party claimed their rivals had used every unfair stratagem and corrupt inducement to win. When Parliament opened in 1853, rumours spread that a petition would be lodged to invalidate the return, chiefly on grounds of extensive bribery among the freemen of the city. It was alleged that a certain alderman served as confidential treasurer of the funds set aside for venal voters, and that a man named Bell had been employed to procure the men and dispense the money. The narrator of this account, an Irish Police Magistrate, counted the alderman among his most intimate friends and often enjoyed his hospitality. He also knew several of the opposing party, who loudly denounced the corruption Bell was said to have carried out. When they spoke of the sums handed among the freemen, the magistrate affected to lament only a personal injustice: he was himself a freeman of Dublin, and might have shared in the distribution, were it not for an odious statute barring Dublin Police magistrates from exercising the franchise, while English Metropolitan Magistrates faced no such disqualification. One friend, a newspaper editor, remarked that the magistrate seemed to treat the bribery with levity, regarding it as mere fun. The magistrate replied he was not far wrong, and advised the editor to adopt a similar course. The editor asked him to put his thoughts in writing, and he did. The editor published the piece, and the magistrate was confident the author's name was never divulged, publicly or privately. In the end, no parliamentary petition was ever presented. The bountiful treatment of the freemen was noticed publicly only in that poor production of his.

6. Blackrock carman Doyle's celebrated defence speech

   Blackrock · townland · Dublin

   A carman named Doyle from Blackrock was summoned for violent conduct and extortion, but was acquitted after witnesses discredited the disreputable complainant. His witty speech about the complainant's bad character was later reused, apparently unknowingly borrowed, in a Boucicault stage play.

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   "Your worship, if I get any punishment on this man's oath, it will be a wrong judgment. The Recorder knows him well, and he wouldn't sintence a flea to be kilt for back-biting upon his evidence. He has took out all his degrees in the Harold's Cross college; and if, instead of sending me to the Cease to do evil hotel, you had himself brought there, the door would open for him of its own accord, for there is not a gaol in Ireland that would refuse him. He swore hard against me, but thanks be to God, he did not swear that I was an honest man, for there is nobody whose character could stand _under the weight of his commendation_."

   On the evidence of O'Connor and Power, I dismissed the charge, and subsequently spoke of the case, and repeated Doyle's speech in festive society. When Boucicault produced his interesting Irish drama of Arra-na-pogue at the Theatre Royal, I was one of his gratified audience, and was greatly surprised at hearing the speech which had been originally delivered before me in the Carriage Court by the Blackrock carman, addressed to the court-martial by Shawn-na-poste, to induce a disbelief of the informer by whom he was accused. I subsequently ascertained that it had been given to Boucicault by one who could fully appreciate its originality and strength, my gifted friend, Dr. Tisdall.

   Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 17

   As the companion tells it

   Somewhere close to Blackrock, a carman named Doyle once found himself before the court, summoned for violent conduct and extortion. He gave a defence speech that became famous. He told the magistrate that if he got any punishment on the complainant's oath, it would be a wrong judgment. He said the Recorder knew the man well, and wouldn't sentence a flea to be killed for back-biting on his evidence. He said the complainant had taken out all his degrees in the Harold's Cross college, and that if the man himself had been sent to the Cease to do evil hotel, the door would open of its own accord, for there was not a gaol in Ireland that would refuse him. He finished by saying the man swore hard against him, but thanks be to God, he did not swear that Doyle was an honest man, for there was nobody whose character could stand under the weight of his commendation. On the evidence of O'Connor and Power, the charge was dismissed. The magistrate later repeated Doyle's speech in festive company. When Boucicault produced his Irish drama Arra-na-pogue at the Theatre Royal, the magistrate sat in the audience and was greatly surprised to hear the same speech, delivered by the character Shawn-na-poste to a court-martial. He later found it had been given to Boucicault by his gifted friend, Dr. Tisdall.

7. Cholera Outbreak in Dublin, 1849

   Dublin · city · Dublin · 1849

   Cholera appeared in Dublin in April 1849 and persisted until October, though less severely than in 1832. Many cases were attributed to fish, fruit, acid drinks or intemperance, and police were often called to deal with people feigning symptoms to obtain spirits.

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   Leaving to my readers, without any comment from myself, the consideration of the statements and sentiments contained in the extracts from the French author, I pass to the year 1849, which certainly afforded a most agreeable contrast to its immediate predecessor in the almost total cessation of political agitations and asperities. The only regrettable circumstance to which my recollections of the latter year can revert being the appearance of cholera in Dublin, early in April, and its continuance, with intermitting violence, until October. It was far less prevalent than it had been in 1832, and, in almost every instance, the disease was ascribed to the use of fish, fruit, acid drinks, or habitual intemperance. In the great majority of cases ardent spirits were administered; and the police were frequently complained to by officers of health and other sanitary officials who had been called on to relieve pretended sufferings, in the expectation of brandy or whisky being promptly afforded. Occasionally, on being refused the coveted dram, the mock sufferer became at once invigorated, and addressed abusive language and threats of personal violence to "the cholera fellow." Some instances of opprobrious and menacing expressions were brought by summons under my cognizance, and for such I prescribed a month's sojourn in the Richmond Bridewell, unless the delinquent found two good and substantial sureties for his good behaviour. One of these summonses was reported, I believe by Mr. Dunphy, in the _Freeman's Journal_. It was described as "an affair in which a patient became impatient, because he was not _stimulated_ when he _simulated_."

   My residence at Roundtown was not far from a range of small cottages occupied by the laboring class. One of our female servants alarmed my family by stating that the cholera was very nigh, for that she had seen five poor people taken off to hospital from the cottages near the quarry. I mentioned her statement to a police sergeant, and requested him to enquire if it was correct. In about half an hour, he returned and said, "Your worship, I have good news for you. The cholera has not come near you: it is only the typhus fever."

   Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 52

   As the companion tells it

   As you pass through Dublin, you are travelling through a city that saw cholera arrive early in April 1849 and linger with intermitting violence until October. It was far less severe than the outbreak of 1832. In almost every instance the disease was ascribed to fish, fruit, acid drinks, or habitual intemperance, and in the great majority of cases ardent spirits were administered. The police were frequently called by officers of health and sanitary officials to relieve people pretending to suffer, in the hope of being given brandy or whisky. When the coveted dram was refused, the mock sufferer would often become at once invigorated and turn abusive toward the health officer, calling him names and threatening personal violence against, as the source puts it, "the cholera fellow." Some of these cases came before the author himself, a police magistrate, who prescribed a month in the Richmond Bridewell unless the delinquent found two good and substantial sureties for his good behaviour. One summons was reported in the Freeman's Journal, described as "an affair in which a patient became impatient, because he was not stimulated when he simulated." Living at Roundtown, not far from a range of small cottages occupied by the labouring class, the magistrate's family was alarmed when a female servant reported that five poor people had been taken to hospital from cottages near the quarry. A police sergeant was sent to enquire, and returned within half an hour with the words, "Your worship, I have good news for you. The cholera has not come near you: it is only the typhus fever."

8. Sailor robbed and drugged at Kingstown, thief convicted

   near Dún Laoghaire · town · Dublin

   A sailor from the same ship was decoyed into a disreputable house at Kingstown, drugged with whiskey and snuff, and robbed of his clothes and money. A detective tracked the woman responsible to the railway terminus and recovered the goods; she received six months' imprisonment.

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   From the same ship a sailor came ashore attired in his best clothes, and with seven pounds in his pocket. He was decoyed into a disreputable place, where, by the administration of whiskey and snuff, he was rendered insensible. A detective observed a woman leaving the house, and carrying a bundle. He allowed her to proceed to the railway terminus, at the entrance of which he arrested her. The bundle contained the seaman's clothes, and the female searcher got a five pound note and two sovereigns secreted in the culprit's _chignon_. The police did not inform the sailor of the clothes and money having been found. They dressed him in some old ill-fitting habiliments, and he looked most lubberly in his attire, and also deeply dejected at the supposed loss of his clothes and cash. His sadness was at once dissipated by the contents of the bundle being produced, and the banknote and sovereigns completed the restoration of his spirits. There was, however, one small article missing, and in reference to it he made an earnest request of me, and accompanied it with _an alluring offer_, in the following terms:--

   "Your honor, my clothes are all here and my money is safe too. I only miss a little blue hankercher with white spots, I had it from mother when we last parted; and it's dog's usage I'll get from her if I haven't it at our next meeting. If you send out a smart chap or two in search of it, I think it will be easily got, and if it is, I'm d----d but I'll stand anything that you and your people choose to call for, all round."

   Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 28

   As the companion tells it

   This is Dún Laoghaire, known in an older time as Kingstown. A sailor from a ship in the harbour came ashore wearing his best clothes, with seven pounds in his pocket. He was decoyed into a disreputable house, given whiskey and snuff until he was rendered insensible, and robbed of everything he had on him. A detective saw a woman leaving the house carrying a bundle. He let her walk to the railway terminus and arrested her at the entrance. The bundle held the seaman's clothes. A female searcher found a five pound note and two sovereigns hidden in the culprit's chignon. The police did not tell the sailor his things had been recovered. They dressed him in old ill-fitting clothes, and he looked lubberly and deeply dejected at the supposed loss. His sadness vanished when the bundle was produced and the banknote and sovereigns completed the restoration of his spirits. One small item was still missing. He made an earnest request of the magistrate. His words were these: "Your honor, my clothes are all here and my money is safe too. I only miss a little blue hankercher with white spots, I had it from mother when we last parted; and it's dog's usage I'll get from her if I haven't it at our next meeting. If you send out a smart chap or two in search of it, I think it will be easily got, and if it is, I'm d----d but I'll stand anything that you and your people choose to call for, all round." The woman received six months' imprisonment.

9. Second smuggled tobacco cargo hidden on Dalkey Island

   Dalkey Island · townland · Dublin · 1844

   On the same night as the Kingstown smuggling run, another cargo of tobacco was landed on Dalkey Island and concealed among the rocks; an informant, likely the smuggling captain himself, later led Customs to it for a lucrative reward.

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   When the Ajax man-of-war was stationed at Kingstown, the officer in command frequently exercised his crew in warlike operations. In the year 1844, as well as I now recollect, he announced his intention to have a mimic attack made on the ship, by boats, at night. A vast number of persons assembled to behold a spectacle intrinsically grand and peculiarly novel to a Dublin public. The operations commenced about ten o'clock, and continued for upwards of an hour. Signals of alarm were displayed by numerous lights of various colours, and they were succeeded by tremendous discharges of artillery and musketry, above which the cheers of the supposed combatants were frequently audible. At length the assailants retired, and the Ajax remained intact and triumphant. The spectators were most enthusiastic in their applause of the bloodless conflict, which certainly was most deserving of public admiration. However, it afterwards transpired that during the sham battle in the harbour, some extraordinary operations were effected in the vicinity. A smuggling vessel landed a cargo of tobacco close to the Kingstown end of the eastern pier, but outside the harbour. The venture was completely successful, and several days elapsed before the revenue authorities received any intimation of such a daring proceeding. The cargo was conveyed away partly by rail, partly by road, and it was reported that almost the whole of it was transmitted to Limerick, but nothing tangible resulted from enquiries or searches. On the same night another cargo was landed on Dalkey Island, and hastily concealed amongst the rocks. It was supposed to have been brought by a consort of the craft which had made the other run. On the following day, a man, apparently of the seafaring class, gave information to the Customs that he knew where there was a large quantity of contraband tobacco concealed, and that he was willing, for the usual remuneration, which I believe was nearly half the value of the commodities, to conduct them to the place. He accordingly took them to Dalkey Island, where they found the tobacco. It was subsequently rumoured, and I believe the rumour was well-founded, that he was the master of the vessel from which it had been landed; and as one cargo had been successfully smuggled, and the vessels had got away in safety, the reward, incident to discovering the other cargo, was sufficient to pay the prime cost and expenses of the two ventures, and to realize a considerable profit on the whole transaction.

   Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 31

   As the companion tells it

   Somewhere around Dalkey Island, tobacco was once hidden among the rocks, and the story of how it got there begins with a spectacle on the water. In 1844, the Ajax man-of-war was stationed at Kingstown. Her commander announced a mock night attack on the ship by boats, and a great crowd gathered to watch. The show began about ten o'clock and lasted over an hour. Coloured lights signalled alarm, then artillery and musketry thundered out, and the supposed combatants cheered above the noise. The attackers retired, the Ajax stood triumphant, and the crowd applauded the bloodless conflict. But while every eye was on the harbour, a smuggling vessel landed a cargo of tobacco close to the Kingstown end of the eastern pier, outside the harbour. It was completely successful. Days passed before the revenue authorities heard anything. The tobacco went partly by rail, partly by road, and was said to have been sent almost entirely to Limerick. Searches turned up nothing. On that same night, another cargo was landed on Dalkey Island and hastily concealed among the rocks. It was thought to have been brought by a consort of the first vessel. The next day, a man who looked like a sailor came to the Customs and said he knew where a large quantity of contraband tobacco lay hidden. He was willing, for the usual reward — nearly half the value of the goods — to lead them to it. He took them to Dalkey Island, and they found the tobacco. It was afterwards rumoured, and believed to be true, that this man was the master of the vessel that had landed the cargo. One run had already succeeded, and both vessels had escaped safely. The reward for betraying the second cargo was enough to cover the cost and expenses of both ventures, and still leave a considerable profit.

10. Sheep-stealing convictions favored by Wicklow jurors

    Wicklow · townland · Wicklow · 1827–1840

    At the Wicklow assizes, several men charged with sheep-stealing were all convicted, reflecting the strong local importance placed on sheep-farming by the jury pool of the time.

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    Some friends of the Leinster Circuit have suggested that a few descriptive notices of my personal recollection of scenes in court, convivial evenings at the Bar-mess, or other amusing incidents of the period between 1827 and 1840, during which time I had attended every Assize Court held in Wicklow, Wexford, Waterford, Kilkenny, and Tipperary, might not be unacceptable. The subject is one in which the pleasures of memory are mingled with numerous regrets; for of all those whose learning and talents excited my respect and admiration, or whose wit and conversational powers rendered their society invariably delightful, very few remain. Of the judges which I remember, I considered Chief Baron O'Grady (subsequently created Lord Guillamore) the most amusing public functionary that I ever had seen. He came our circuit but once during my time. At Wicklow he presided in the Crown Court; and amongst the cases for trial there were four or five for sheep-stealing, and they were all convicted. Sheep-farming was at that time so prevalent in Wicklow, and considered so important by the class of persons who were summoned as jurors, that an accusation of sheep-stealing almost invariably eventuated in conviction. Towards the close of the assizes, a member of the Militia band then stationed at Arklow was put forward for trial on an indictment for the manslaughter of a comrade, whom he had killed with his sword on a sudden altercation. The case appeared fully to warrant a conviction, but the jury, without even retiring, acquitted the prisoner. Mr. Scott, the senior counsel for the crown, expressed an indignant disapproval of the verdict, upon which the Chief Baron observed, "Mr. Scott, the prisoner is not yet discharged, and you can get a conviction immediately if you only indict him for _sheep-stealing_." When we proceeded to Wexford, the Chief Baron, as Record Judge, had but two short cases to try, and when they were disposed of, he engaged in the trial of criminals. A woman named Hester Carroll, who had been for some time a pest and disgrace to the town of Enniscorthy, was put forward, charged with a robbery of a gold watch and chain, and upwards of twenty pounds, from a farmer, who had become intoxicated in her society. She was found guilty, and when the verdict was announced, a sergeant of constabulary, who had been the principal means of her detection, advanced to the table in the Record Court where she was standing, to take away various articles which had been found in her possession; whereupon she sprang at him, tore his face fearfully, and bit his hand very severely. When she was disengaged from her intended victim, and held so as to prevent further violence, the Chief Baron pronounced the sentence of the court in terms which seemed to me and others of his hearers to be an imitation, in style and assumed solemnity, of that incident to a capital offence. After some preliminary observations on the heinous nature of her crime, and the certainty of her guilt, and the tendency of her conduct in court to prevent any mitigation of punishment, he concluded in the following words--"The sentence of the court is that you, Hester Carroll, shall be taken from the place where you now stand, to the gaol from whence you were brought, and from thence that you shall be transported for the term of seven years to such penal settlement or colony as his Majesty's government may direct, and may God have mercy upon those who shall have to manage you there."

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 121

    As the companion tells it

    Close to Wicklow, the assize courts were held here between 1827 and 1840. The author who recorded these scenes attended every Assize Court held in Wicklow during that time, along with courts in Wexford, Waterford, Kilkenny, and Tipperary. He writes that the pleasures of memory are mingled with numerous regrets, for of all those whose learning and talents excited his respect and admiration, or whose wit and conversational powers rendered their society invariably delightful, very few remain. Chief Baron O'Grady, later created Lord Guillamore, presided in the Crown Court at Wicklow. He came the Leinster Circuit but once during this period, and was considered the most amusing public functionary the author had ever seen. Among the cases for trial were four or five for sheep-stealing, and they were all convicted. Sheep-farming was so prevalent in Wicklow at that time, and considered so important by the class of persons summoned as jurors, that an accusation of sheep-stealing almost invariably eventuated in conviction. Towards the close of the assizes, a member of the Militia band stationed at Arklow was put forward for trial on an indictment for the manslaughter of a comrade, whom he had killed with his sword on a sudden altercation. The case appeared fully to warrant a conviction, but the jury, without even retiring, acquitted the prisoner. Scott, the senior counsel for the crown, expressed an indignant disapproval of the verdict. The Chief Baron observed, "Mr. Scott, the prisoner is not yet discharged, and you can get a conviction immediately if you only indict him for sheep-stealing."

11. Sirr nearly killed by runaway wagons at Killiney quarries

    Killiney · townland · Dublin

    While collecting mineral specimens at the Killiney stone quarries used to supply Kingstown harbour construction, Major Sirr was nearly crushed by a runaway train of loaded wagons on the tramway, saved only by the breaksman's quick action.

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    When the piers which form Kingstown harbour were in course of construction, the supply of stone was derived from immense quarries at Killiney, and conveyed along a tramway, on which, near the quarries, there were slopes, down which the loaded waggons required no impelling power, but rather to be restrained, by breaks, from acquiring a dangerous velocity. Major Sirr was fond of collecting natural curiosities, especially of a geological nature; and he frequently visited Killiney in quest of spar formations, which were occasionally found there. He was by no means niggardly in his dealings with the spar finders; but still he could not conciliate them into a feeling of kindness or respect. One day he was proceeding up the tramway slope, when the discharge of artillery at the Pigeon House fort attracted his attention. He turned and looked in the direction of the firing, just at the moment when a train of loaded wagons was about to descend. Being right before them, he would have been utterly destroyed in a moment, but the breaksman saw his perilous situation, and applied the requisite pressure, stopped the train, and saved the Major. Several persons witnessed his danger and the prompt means by which it was averted. On the transaction becoming known in the quarries, there was an immediate strike. All work was stopped, and a determination was unanimously avowed to insist on the dismissal of the breaksman. No specific complaint was preferred against the individual whose expulsion was required. The Harbour Commissioners deputed Mr. Hickman Kearney to enquire into the grounds and reasons for such an extraordinary demand. He went to the quarries and called on the workmen to come forward and explain the cause of their animosity to the breaksman. The only reply was that "he should go." It appeared, on reference to the clerk of the works, and to the overseers, that the obnoxious man was honest, sober, diligent, and attentive to his duties; and it was strongly urged that no accident had occurred at the slope since his appointment, and that he had, by his presence of mind and promptitude, saved Major Sirr's life. This produced a general exclamation of "That's the reason he shan't stay amongst us. What business had he to save the Major?" The poor breaksman would have lost his employment, but for an old and influential workman who interfered in his favor, and induced the others to forgive him, _provided he faithfully promised never to do the like again_.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 14

    As the companion tells it

    Somewhere around here, Killiney's old quarries supplied the stone for the piers of Kingstown harbour. The stone was carried along a tramway, and near the quarries there were slopes where the loaded wagons had to be held back by brakes to keep them from running out of control. Major Sirr, who was fond of collecting geological specimens, used to come here looking for spar formations. One day he was walking up the tramway slope when the sound of artillery firing from the Pigeon House fort caught his attention. He turned to look, right as a train of loaded wagons was about to come down the slope. He was directly in their path and would have been killed in an instant, but the brakesman saw his danger, applied the pressure, stopped the train, and saved his life. What happened next is remarkable. When word spread through the quarries, the workmen went on strike, demanding the brakesman be dismissed. When Mr. Hickman Kearney was sent by the Harbour Commissioners to find out why, the workmen would only say he should go. The clerk of the works reported that the man was honest, sober, and diligent, and that no accident had happened at the slope since his appointment. At this the men called out: what business had he to save the Major? The brakesman only kept his job because an older, influential workman intervened and got the others to forgive him, provided he promised never to do the like again.

12. Soldier's scalding accident aboard ship at Kingstown

    Kingstown · townland · Dublin

    During embarkation of an infantry regiment at Kingstown, a soldier accidentally sat in a basin of hot soup placed on his seat, and in pain leapt overboard into the sea, being rescued and treated aboard.

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    An infantry regiment of the line was embarked at Kingstown in a very capacious steamer, I believe the Medusa, for Gibraltar or Malta. There was a large quantity of baggage which the men were actively engaged in conveying on board and stowing away. I was sauntering on the jetty when, at one o'clock, they were directed "to knock off for dinner." The meal was served on deck, and consisted of soup, bread, and meat, and the recipients availed themselves of every position in which they could speedily enjoy their repast. The circular seat around the window on the quarter-deck was fully occupied. The soup was brought up in large tin basins, and the bread was amply supplied, ready cut, from wicker baskets. One of the men who occupied the circular seat, seeing a basket of bread placed almost within his reach, stood up, advanced about a yard, and having procured what he required, stepped backward to resume his place. Meanwhile, one of the attendants had placed a large vessel of soup on the portion of the bench apparently vacant, and the soldier sat down in it. With a loud scream, indicative of acute pain, he rushed to the tafferel, and plunged into the sea. He was immediately rescued from the risk of drowning, and having been brought on board, was sent below for medical treatment, and to get his wet clothes changed. I saw him on deck in the course of the afternoon, and he stated that he was suffering very little, and that he would be "all right" very soon. Unless the temperature of the soup was below scalding heat, the instantaneous application of the cold water, although of a saline character, must have been extremely efficacious.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 75

    As the companion tells it

    Close to Kingstown, an infantry regiment was once embarked on a large steamer, believed to be the Medusa, bound for Gibraltar or Malta. The men were busy carrying baggage aboard and stowing it away. On the jetty, the narrator watched as, at one o'clock, the order came to knock off for dinner. The meal was served on deck: soup, bread, and meat. The men took whatever position they could to eat quickly. The circular seat around the quarter-deck window was fully occupied. Soup came up in large tin basins, and bread was handed out ready-cut from wicker baskets. One soldier on that circular seat saw a basket of bread almost within reach, so he stood up, moved about a yard forward, got what he needed, and stepped backward to sit down again. While he was up, an attendant had placed a large vessel of soup on the part of the bench that looked vacant. The soldier sat straight down into it. With a loud scream of pain he rushed to the tafferel and plunged into the sea. He was pulled out at once, brought back aboard, and sent below for medical treatment and dry clothes. Later that afternoon, the narrator saw him on deck. The soldier said he was suffering very little and would be, in his own words, "all right" very soon.

13. A Wife's Confinement and Reformation at Grangegorman

    Grangegorman · parish · Dublin

    A wealthy man's wife, whose intemperance led her to violently assault a servant, was imprisoned at Grangegorman under a peace bond after failing to appear in court. She was released early after apparent reformation and never relapsed, according to the magistrate's later observations.

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    About the time to which the last anecdote refers, I was applied to, on a Monday afternoon, by a gentleman who asked and obtained a private interview. He was in a high social position, and possessed an ample fortune. He stated that his wife had lapsed into habits of intemperance which rendered his life wretched, and estranged him from association with his friends, to whom he could not bear to have her deplorable tendencies exposed. When inebriated she was excessively violent, and did not hesitate to assault the domestics, and that on the preceding evening she had assaulted, in his presence, a female servant, with a poker. I told him to have her summoned by the servant for the following Thursday, and I had three o'clock mentioned as the hour for hearing the complaint. The lady did not attend, and on proof of the service of the summons and a sworn information of the assault, I issued a warrant for her apprehension. She was brought before me after all the other business of the next day had been finished, and I required her to give bail in two sureties to keep the peace, and in default of such, to be imprisoned for three months. At Grangegorman, she was not compelled to associate with the other prisoners, and the matron's attention was invited to the case. At the termination of the second month, her husband, who had received frequent letters from her, felt confident that she had become reformed, and I discharged her at his instance and on his surety. I afterwards met them frequently in society. I have seen her at viceregal parties, and never observed the slightest appearance of, or tendency to, her former indulgence. I do not believe that she ever relapsed; but whilst I am happy to notice a complete reformation, my satisfaction is alloyed by the reflection that it was the only instance of such a change that I ever knew to occur.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 36

    As the companion tells it

    You're coming through Grangegorman now, the parish where a wealthy man's wife was once imprisoned under a peace bond after her drinking made her violent enough to strike a female servant with a poker in her husband's presence. She failed to appear in court on the Thursday summons, so the magistrate issued a warrant and required two sureties to keep the peace or three months in prison. She was kept apart from the other prisoners here, with the matron's attention called to her case. After two months her husband, who had received frequent letters from her, believed she had reformed, and the magistrate discharged her on his surety. In later years he met them often in society, even at viceregal parties, and never saw the slightest sign of her old habits, though he noted it was the only such reformation he ever knew.

14. Donnybrook Fair's rowdy reputation

    Donnybrook · parish · Dublin

    Porter contrasts the peaceable Parisian New Year fair with the notorious Donnybrook Fair, recalling it as a place where drunken brawling was common and cheap. He laments the loss of its old character as a scene of fighting and disorder.

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    In the pages which I have yet to submit to the indulgent consideration of my readers, it is not my intention to continue the insertion of specimens of my metrical tendencies. The remainder of my reminiscences are chiefly derived from a residence of eighteen months in Paris in 1864-5. That city has been subjected to much suffering amongst her inhabitants, and to the destruction of magnificent palatial and municipal edifices since the time to which my visit refers; and the Imperial dynasty, that then seemed perfectly secure against Bourbon rivalry or republican designs, has experienced a complete extinction, without any apparent chance of its revival. Notwithstanding all the changes which have occurred within the last ten years, I feel convinced that there are many sights which the French capital can still present to the observation of a traveller from this country, and which will remain indelibly impressed on his memory, either through their intrinsic beauty or magnificence, or still more by the marked contrast they exhibit to objects similar in name here, but in which the name is the only resemblance. He who reflects on the presence of some objects and the absence of others, will be frequently more astonished at not seeing than in beholding. I think that this remark can be exemplified. There is a fair in Paris which is held, during the entire month of January, on the Boulevards, extending from the Madeleine to the Place de la Bastille, a distance of about three English miles. It is resorted to by the most respectable classes. There are wooden booths erected at both sides of the Boulevard, on the footways; and the articles offered for sale comprise "everything, and anything else you may wish for." Children have their toys and confections. Hats, lamps, shoes, boots, jewels, hosiery, glass, birds, mountebanks, newspapers, portable baths, guns, groceries, gloves, cutlery, false teeth, false beards, false eyes, false legs, tempt the adults. There are, however, no horses, cattle, sheep, or swine offered for sale, the live stock, consisting only of poultry, rabbits, pigeons, and Guinea-pigs. To an Irishman it is a fair only in name. I visited it frequently, and saw it early and late, but I did not hear an altercation or see a fight, or any person intoxicated. Oh, Donnybrook! how different from your defunct glories! How could a Patlander recognise any resemblance in a scene of peaceable amusement, excited and busy, but without a reel or a blow, to the classic spot, where "batin' was chape as dirt" amongst

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 99

    As the companion tells it

    As you pass through Donnybrook parish, you are travelling through the grounds of a fair once famous across Ireland for its disorder. A police magistrate who had spent time in Paris wrote about the January fair held on the boulevards there, stretching some three English miles from the Madeleine to the Place de la Bastille. He visited it often, early and late, and never heard an altercation, saw a fight, or found anyone intoxicated. To an Irishman, he said, it was a fair only in name. That peaceable scene set him thinking of Donnybrook, and he cried out, "Oh, Donnybrook, how different from your defunct glories!" The old fair was a place where, in the words he quoted, "batin' was chape as dirt" — fighting was cheap, plentiful, and common, fueled by drink. He called it a classic spot, and he mourned that its rough old character had passed away. What remains now is a quiet suburb, bearing only the name of what he remembered.

15. Fisher, the drunkard scholar of Peter Street

    Peter Street · street · Dublin

    Fisher, an educated but incorrigible alcoholic, was repeatedly found drunk in Dublin streets, notably discovered asleep on the steps of a hall door in Peter Street. Magistrates habitually dismissed him with a caution due to his pitiable, harmless condition.

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    One of the most extraordinary characters of the many who came under my frequent magisterial notice, was a man named Fisher. He was the most inveterate and incorrigible drunkard that was to be found in Dublin, perhaps I might truly say, in the Empire. He had been educated, as I heard, in Stockholm, and acquired a proficiency in several European languages. He had also considerable classical attainments. His intemperance had ruined his commercial interests, and precluded his employment by others, even in very subordinate capacities. Occasionally he would be taken and kept almost as a prisoner in the concerns of an extensive timber merchant, arranging with the Norwegian or Danish people engaged in the delivery of cargoes. A suit of clothes and a pound or two would be thus acquired, but in a few minutes after his liberation he would assuredly be found in street or lane, hall or entry, dead drunk. He was never violent, abusive, blasphemous, or indecent, and as his senses returned, he became courteous and submissive. By the police he was generally pitied, and when a constable was obliged to state that he found "Mr. Fisher" drunk on a thoroughfare, he almost invariably added that he was _very quiet_. The magistrates were not severe on the wretched creature, and in general, the ruling in reference to him was deferred until the close of their sitting (four o'clock), and then the charge sheet was marked, "Dismissed with a caution." If there happened to be a paucity of cases, we were not disinclined to allow Fisher to address the bench, and state the grounds on which he expected or solicited exemption from punishment. He never "worshipped" us, but invariably named the magistrate, with the prefix of "My dear." I recollect a short speech having been made by him before myself, which excited my surprise and admiration from its purity of diction and the combination of interesting ideas it evinced. The charge against him was "Drunk on a public thoroughfare," and the constable stated that he found Mr. Fisher lying on the steps of a hall door in Peter Street, fast asleep, and having been aroused, he was very drunk, but perfectly quiet.

    "My dear Mr. Porter," said the prisoner, "I acknowledge and regret my lapse from propriety--

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 28

    As the companion tells it

    Fisher was the most inveterate and incorrigible drunkard in Dublin, perhaps in the Empire. He had been educated in Stockholm and acquired proficiency in several European languages, with considerable classical attainments. But intemperance ruined his commercial interests and precluded employment by others, even in subordinate capacities. Occasionally a timber merchant would take him in as a prisoner, arranging with Norwegian or Danish people engaged in the delivery of cargoes. A suit of clothes and a pound or two would be thus acquired, but within minutes of his liberation he would be found in street or lane, hall or entry, dead drunk. He was never violent, abusive, blasphemous, or indecent. As his senses returned he became courteous and submissive. The police pitied him, and when a constable stated he found Mr. Fisher drunk on a thoroughfare, he invariably added that he was very quiet. The magistrates were not severe. The ruling was deferred until the close of their sitting at 4 o'clock, and then the charge sheet was marked dismissed with a caution. When there was a paucity of cases, they allowed Fisher to address the bench and state the grounds on which he solicited exemption from punishment. He never worshipped them, but invariably named the magistrate with the prefix of my dear. He once made a short speech before the magistrate that excited surprise and admiration for its purity of diction and combination of interesting ideas. The charge was drunk on a public thoroughfare. The constable stated he found Mr. Fisher lying on the steps of a hall door in Peter Street, fast asleep, and having been aroused, very drunk but perfectly quiet. "My dear Mr. Porter," said the prisoner, "I acknowledge and regret my lapse from propriety."

16. German bandsmen caught stealing onions at Inchicore garden

    Inchicore · population centre · Dublin

    Two German musicians from a regimental band were caught climbing into a fruit garden at Inchicore at night, but despite abundant choice fruit had filled their pockets and handkerchiefs entirely with onions.

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    Two musicians belonging to a regimental band were observed one night to cross a wall at Inchicore, into a garden abounding with every description of choice fruit. The police were quietly apprised of the offence, and the delinquents were apprehended coming out of the premises precisely at the place where they had entered. They were both Germans. Their pockets were crammed, and each had a handkerchief containing as much as could be bundled in it. They had not taken a peach, apricot, or plum; even the pears and apples were disregarded; and the produce of their daring raid consisted entirely of onions. I committed them for a week, and they were dismissed from the service by the regimental authorities.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 23

    As the companion tells it

    As you pass through Inchicore, there's a tale from an old police magistrate's book. One night, two musicians from a regimental band climbed a wall into a garden here that was full of choice fruit. The police were tipped off quietly and caught the pair coming out at the very spot where they had got in. Both men were Germans. Their pockets were crammed full, and each had a handkerchief stuffed with as much as could be bundled in. But they had not taken a single peach, apricot, or plum. They disregarded the pears and the apples. The entire haul of their raid was onions. The magistrate committed them for a week, and the regimental authorities dismissed them from the service.

17. Lord Lieutenant dined in a tent at Donnybrook Fair, 1808

    Donnybrook · parish · Dublin · 1808

    In 1808, during the viceroyalty of the Duke of Richmond, a Lord Lieutenant of Ireland dined in a tent at Donnybrook Fair, an event reported in newspapers of the time without disapproval, reflecting the fair's broad social acceptance despite its disorder.

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    In the early pages of these reminiscences I mentioned that a Lord Lieutenant of Ireland had dined in a tent at Donnybrook Fair. I have heard doubts expressed as to the correctness of such a statement. I now reiterate it, adding that it occurred in 1808, in the viceroyalty of the Duke of Richmond. It was noticed in several newspapers of the time, but not with the slightest expression of disapproval. It was almost an established custom for the Lord Mayor and Sheriffs, with many of the aldermen and common council, to dine at the fair, but their festivities were enjoyed in a house. The place was then in the city of Dublin, but it has since, along with a large adjoining district, been added to the county of Dublin as regards any civil or criminal jurisdiction, but the parliamentary franchises are available in the city, although the district forms no portion of it, and possesses no municipal privileges whatever. This arrangement, or perhaps it might be termed "derangement," occurred in 1832. I shall not digress into any remarks on local changes of a political nature, but resume my recollections of the fair now so properly abolished.

    Almost every tent displayed the proprietor's name, and generally the place of his residence, to induce visitors, from the same direction, to give him a preference. Colored signs were frequently exhibited, which at night became transparencies by a lamp being placed behind each. On one might be seen the representation of a fellow apparently dancing with a young female, whilst underneath was inscribed--

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 83

    As the companion tells it

    As you pass through Donnybrook, this was once the site of the famous fair. In 1808, during the viceroyalty of the Duke of Richmond, a Lord Lieutenant of Ireland dined in a tent at Donnybrook Fair. Several newspapers of the time reported it, and not one expressed the slightest disapproval. It was almost an established custom for the Lord Mayor and Sheriffs, with many of the aldermen and common council, to dine at the fair too, though their festivities were enjoyed in a house. At that time Donnybrook was still in the city of Dublin. In 1832 a rearrangement moved civil and criminal jurisdiction to the county of Dublin, while parliamentary franchises remained with the city. Almost every tent at the fair displayed the proprietor's name and generally the place of his residence, to encourage visitors from the same direction to give him their custom. Coloured signs hung outside, and at night a lamp behind each turned them into transparencies. The fair is now, as the writer put it, so properly abolished.

18. Moll Raffle's Feigned Injury at Kingstown

    Kingstown · townland · Dublin

    A magistrate travelled to Kingstown to witness a power of attorney signed by a woman known as Moll Raffle, who claimed a hand injury prevented her from signing herself. Later that day he saw her at the Kingstown jetty using the supposedly injured hand freely, revealing she had faked the injury to hide her illiteracy.

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    I was sitting one day at the police-court in Dublin, along with another magistrate, when a gentleman entered and preferred a very urgent request that one of us would accompany him to Kingstown, to witness and certify the execution of a power of attorney by his mother, in reference to certain funds in the Bank of England. The applicant was reputed to be the natural son of a very distinguished nobleman who had discharged viceregal duties in Ireland, and also in very important and extensive oriental territories. I never heard what the original name of the lady had been, but she was known by the rather inelegant _soubriquet_ of Moll Raffle. She had followed her aristocratic paramour to Ireland, and he had relieved himself from her claims or importunities by providing her with a husband, and her son with an official appointment of respectable rank and emolument. I had never seen her, and I was influenced by personal curiosity to accede to her son's request. We proceeded to Kingstown, and on arriving at a commodious and genteel residence, he desired the servant to inform Mrs. ---- that he had brought the magistrate for the business required. In a few minutes she appeared, and although no longer youthful, or even middle-aged, a second look was not necessary to convince me that she must have been exquisitely beautiful in her features, and of a tall and symmetrical figure. Her right arm was bandaged and in a sling, and she exclaimed to her son that she was deeply mortified at having given me the trouble of coming so far on an ineffectual mission, for that she had unfortunately sustained a severe fall, having trodden on a loose stair-rod just after he had started for Dublin, and her wrist and hand were so much bruised as to render her incapable of making her signature. I told her that if she took the pen in her left hand, I would, at her instance and request, guide it so as to write her name, and that I would explain the matter in a special magisterial attestation on the document. To this suggestion she readily acceded, and the power of attorney was promptly perfected. She insisted that I should take luncheon, after which I left. Not having to return to official duties, I sauntered through Kingstown until about four o'clock, when I went to the jetty, which was crowded, as a military band was playing there. I was not long on the jetty before I saw Mrs. ---- with half-a-dozen companions, but the sling was gone, and her right hand seemed perfectly capable of managing her parasol. I subsequently ascertained that "Moll Raffle" had never been taught to write, and that she thought it more agreeable to pretend that her hand had been hurt than to acknowledge her educational deficiency.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 41

    As the companion tells it

    Somewhere close to Kingstown, a magistrate came one day to witness a woman sign a power of attorney. The woman was known by the name Moll Raffle, and the document concerned funds in the Bank of England. Her son had gone to the police-court in Dublin and asked a magistrate to accompany him, and one agreed, partly out of curiosity, for he had never seen her. She had followed an aristocratic paramour to Ireland, and he had provided her with a husband and her son with an official appointment. They arrived at a commodious and genteel residence. She appeared, no longer youthful, but clearly once exquisitely beautiful, tall and symmetrical in figure. Her right arm was bandaged and in a sling. She exclaimed that she was mortified to have caused such trouble, for she had trodden on a loose stair-rod after her son left for Dublin, and her wrist and hand were so bruised she could not sign. The magistrate offered to guide the pen in her left hand and note the matter in a special attestation. She agreed, and the power of attorney was perfected. She insisted he stay for luncheon. Afterwards he sauntered through Kingstown until about four o'clock, when he went to the jetty, crowded for a military band. He saw her there with half a dozen companions. The sling was gone, and her right hand managed her parasol perfectly. He later ascertained that Moll Raffle had never been taught to write, and thought it more agreeable to pretend her hand was hurt than to acknowledge her deficiency.

19. Old Kilmainham Gaol Described as Notorious County Prison

    Kilmainham · townland · Dublin

    The old common gaol of County Dublin, 'Old Kilmainham', stood near Mount Brown on the road to Inchicore and was considered one of the worst prisons in the kingdom due to its small size and lax discipline; a remnant of its granite wall still stood in the author's time.

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    There may still be seen on the right hand side of the road leading from Dublin through Mount Brown to Inchicore, a small portion of a granite wall which formerly was in front of "Old Kilmainham," the common gaol of the County of Dublin. That building was considered one of the worst prisons of the kingdom, in consequence of its insufficient size and lax discipline. Swift is said to have been, in his youthful days, a frequent, although not a criminal visitor at this old gaol; and there, perhaps, in the conversation of its inmates, he acquired much of the coarseness and indelicacy which mar the wit and vigor of his productions. I shall, however, most willingly and scrupulously abstain from offering to my readers any specimens of the language of such a time and place, when the building echoed with drunken revelry, and the sufferings of a prisoner were aggravated by indecent buffoonery or ribald jests. To my narrative such expressions are neither necessary nor ornamental.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 3

    As the companion tells it

    Somewhere around here stood Old Kilmainham, the common gaol of County Dublin. In the author's time, a small portion of its granite wall could still be seen on the road from Dublin through Mount Brown to Inchicore. The prison was considered one of the worst in the kingdom, owing to its insufficient size and lax discipline. Swift, in his youthful days, was said to have been a frequent visitor, though not a criminal one. Perhaps in conversation with the inmates he acquired much of the coarseness and indelicacy that mar the wit and vigour of his writings. The building echoed with drunken revelry, and the sufferings of a prisoner were aggravated by indecent buffoonery and ribald jests. The author declined to offer any specimens of the language of such a time and place, calling such expressions neither necessary nor ornamental.

20. Drowning in the mill-race at Donnybrook Fair

    Donnybrook · parish · Dublin

    Porter recalls witnessing the body of an intoxicated woman being pulled from a mill-race near the Donnybrook fair green, one of several fatal accidents he associated with the fair.

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    I have to notice an event which occurred in 1855, and was productive of most salutary results, not merely to the suburb in which it was effected, but to the entire city and county of Dublin; I mean the abolition or suppression of Donnybrook Fair. This excellent proceeding was effected at the instance and mainly by the exertions of Alderman Joseph Boyce, who was Lord Mayor of Dublin in the last-mentioned year. It would be almost impossible to describe the scenes of drunkenness, violence, gambling, and gross indecency that characterized an entire week in the month of August, every year whilst "The Brook" afforded its immoral attractions, causing our prisons to be immediately crowded with loose, disorderly, or dishonest characters, so as to resemble hospitals in a locality suddenly visited by an epidemic or contagious distemper. I do not believe that, for many years previous to its suppression, Donnybrook Fair was ever held without being the direct or indirect cause of a life or lives being lost. It lasted for a week; and the greatest intemperance and violence seemed to be specially displayed on the day known as "the Walking Sunday." I visited the fair on several occasions in my days of boyhood, and I can recollect some sad accidents in which lives were lost or limbs fractured by vehicles having been driven furiously by drunken "jarveys." I have seen the body of a female taken out of a mill-race close to the fair green, into which she had fallen in a state of intoxication. I witnessed a very furious encounter on the bridge between coal-porters and some other class of combatants, in which a man was thrown over the battlement and killed by the fall; but the worst experience that I had of Donnybrook was in 1820, when an amiable and most inoffensive young gentleman, named James Rogerson, was walking beside me through the main street of the village, about eight o'clock in the evening, and was struck in the head by a large stone thrown at another person. He was felled by the blow, and was raised in a state of insensibility. After he had revived a little, I took him in a covered car to his father's residence in William Street, where he died in a few days from the effects of the injury, and the perpetrator of the fatal assault was never made amenable for the offence. From the time when I attained the police magistracy in 1844 until 1855, I had to deal with an ample share of the charges and summonses arising from the annual nuisance of Donnybrook Fair; and I fully agreed with my colleagues in considering such duties as "moral scavenging;" and just as pedestrians might apologise for mud-covered feet or bespattered garments being unavoidable in filthy thoroughfares, so the delinquencies arising from the various evil excitements abundantly offered in the locality where they occurred, were almost invariably imputed to the offender having unfortunately gone to "The Brook." I must admit that in disposing of drunken or disorderly cases, I was often influenced by the consideration that when such an annual abomination was tolerated in a civilized community, it was a ground for slightly mitigating the punishments incurred by yielding to its abundant temptations.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 83

    As the companion tells it

    The road is taking you through Donnybrook parish, in Dublin, a place once defined by its fair. Donnybrook Fair ran for a week every August, and it was finally suppressed in 1855, largely through the efforts of Alderman Joseph Boyce, who was Lord Mayor of Dublin that year. Porter, who later became a police magistrate in 1844, said the fair was a week of drunkenness, violence, gambling, and gross indecency. He said the prisons filled up so fast it was like a hospital during an epidemic. He did not believe that for many years before its suppression the fair was ever held without someone losing their life, directly or indirectly. The worst of the intemperance came on the day known as the Walking Sunday. As a boy he visited the fair several times and remembered some sad accidents. People were killed or had limbs broken by vehicles driven furiously by drunken jarveys. He saw the body of a woman taken out of a mill-race close to the fair green. She had fallen in while intoxicated. He also witnessed a furious fight on the bridge between coal-porters and another group of combatants, in which a man was thrown over the battlement and killed by the fall. But the worst experience Porter had was in 1820. He was walking through the main street of the village, about eight o'clock in the evening, beside a young gentleman named James Rogerson, whom he describes as amiable and most inoffensive. A large stone was thrown at another person but struck Rogerson in the head. He was felled by the blow and raised insensible. Porter took him in a covered car to his father's residence in William Street, where he died a few days later from the injury. The man who threw the stone was never brought to account. Porter served as police magistrate dealing with the fair's cases from 1844 until the suppression in 1855, work he and his colleagues called moral scavenging.

21. Drunken women brought before the Head Office via Newmarket

    Newmarket · street · Dublin

    Further members of the same drinking party were picked up on their way home and taken to the Newmarket police station, before being brought before the Head Office the next morning. This illustrates routine policing of public drunkenness among Dublin's poorer classes.

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    "Mrs. Rafferty had just run out to get a grain of tay and a quarther of shuggar. Mrs. M'Mullen, the shoemaker's wife, had a few half-pence left after paying for a pair of soles and some binding; and was it not quare that they should meet Jenny Riordan just round the corner at Cassidy's door? Cassidy always kept 'the best of sperrits,' and Jenny Riordan stood for little Patsy M'Mullen only a fortnight before. Mrs. M'Mullen insisted that half a glass a-piece would do them no harm, if they'd slip into Cassidy's. Well, in they went; and just as they were passing 'behind the tay chests,' that all the world mightn't see them, who should be there but Kitty Laffan and Betty Rooney. Poor Betty had just left her sarvice, and had half a quarter's wages in her pocket; and she wished to explain why she wouldn't stay in that place, as her mistress was too particular entirely. They were all decent women, that never took more than 'half a glass' at a time. But they were all very genteel, and had a proper spirit; so each insisted on 'standing' until each half glass had become half a pint. Mrs. M'Mullen got home after losing the pair of soles on the way, and got terrible usage from her husband. Mrs. Rafferty had a little difference with Betty Rooney, and as Betty felt herself rather strong after the last little sup, she cut Mrs. Rafferty's head with a pewter quart that happened, unluckily, to be 'convenient.' Mrs. Rafferty put Betty's eyes into mourning for the next week; and the big polisman (I don't know his name, but they call him 'Coffin-foot', because you might bury a child in his shoe) escorted the combatants to Chancery Lane." Some more of the party were picked up on their way home, and taken to Newmarket, and were brought up to the Head Office next morning. The husbands of these half-glass takers could not say much about the matter, for they had a little jollification amongst themselves on the previous Monday, and two of them beat their respective wives very severely, for daring to go skulking and prying after them, and disturbing them, under the pretence of getting them home.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 102

    As the companion tells it

    A police station on Newmarket in Dublin. Members of a drinking party were picked up on their way home, taken to the station, then brought to the Head Office the next morning. Mrs. Rafferty had run out for a grain of tea and a quarter of sugar. Mrs. M'Mullen, the shoemaker's wife, had a few halfpence left after paying for a pair of soles and some binding. They met Jenny Riordan round the corner at Cassidy's door. Cassidy always kept "the best of sperrits," and Jenny had stood for little Patsy M'Mullen only a fortnight before. Mrs. M'Mullen insisted half a glass each would do no harm. In they went, passing behind the tea chests. Kitty Laffan and Betty Rooney were already there. Betty had just left her service with half a quarter's wages, and wished to explain her mistress was too particular entirely. They were decent women who never took more than half a glass at a time. But each insisted on standing drinks until each half glass became half a pint. Mrs. M'Mullen got home after losing the pair of soles on the way, and got terrible usage from her husband. Mrs. Rafferty had a difference with Betty Rooney. Betty cut Mrs. Rafferty's head with a pewter quart. Mrs. Rafferty put Betty's eyes into mourning for the next week. A big policeman they called "Coffin-foot," because you might bury a child in his shoe, escorted the combatants to Chancery Lane. More of the party were picked up on their way home and taken to the station, brought to the Head Office the next morning. Their husbands could not say much, for they had their own jollification the previous Monday, and two beat their wives severely for daring to go skulking after them.

22. Illicit whiskey still discovered on Haddington Road

    Haddington Road · street · Dublin

    Porter recalls the detection of an illicit still in a house on Haddington Road, where Excise authorities sought severe penalties against every adult on the premises, including a woman merely employed there occasionally to do washing.

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    I am disposed to offer here a few observations in reference to the liquor traffic, and the effect of the laws by which it is regulated. I have heard the commission of every offence in which violence was a principal ingredient, attributed to the demoralising and infuriating indulgence in strong drinks. I am convinced, by my official experience, that hundreds of crimes unattended with actual violence, have also originated in the debasing craving for stimulating liquors. Frauds and thefts have been abundantly committed from such an incentive; and even affection has been extinguished by its loathsome power so completely, as to make the criminality and degrading infamy of a son or daughter, subsidiary to the gratification of intemperate habits; and the result of recent legislation has certainly neither remedied, nor in my humble opinion mitigated, the prevalence of drunkenness and its multifarious concomitant evils. We are informed that a strict observance of the statute prohibiting the opening of public-houses on Sunday before two o'clock, p.m., has been enforced, and notwithstanding that regulation, we see numerous cases of intoxication in our thoroughfares two or three hours before the publicans open. On a Sunday in the present year, a servant-man left my house between ten and eleven o'clock, in the forenoon, and returned, or rather was brought back, in less than two hours completely intoxicated. In such a case the law is only operative in restraining the regular licensed trader. To deal with those infractions of the law and of public decency, the visitorial powers of the police and constabulary should be greatly extended; and the penalties incident to a conviction for the illicit traffic should be augmented to at least fourfold the amount now authorised, with the alternative, in case of non-payment, of three or four months' imprisonment with hard labor. In the preceding pages I have mentioned a conviction for smuggling tobacco, on which a penalty of one hundred pounds or six months' imprisonment was awarded. I recollect a detection of an illicit still in a house on Haddington Road, in reference to which the Excise authorities required that every adult found on the premises should be subjected to very severe penalties, or imprisonment for some months; and when I declined to convict a young woman who was washing clothes in the dwelling-house, and who was not a resident, but merely employed there occasionally, the professional gentlemen engaged in the prosecution were very dissatisfied with my decision. Offences against the Customs or Excise, which tend to withhold or lessen the revenue, even in the slightest degree, are made legally liable to penal consequences, compared with which the infractions of laws intended to protect the community from the innumerable evils generated by intemperance, may be regarded as trifling indiscretions, undeserving of strict and severe repression. If a trader sends forth from his premises one hundred drunken customers, to exhibit every phase of violent or indecent behaviour, his conduct is not visited with one-tenth of the punishment incurred by selling a glass of poteen whisky.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 84

    As the companion tells it

    Haddington Road in Dublin was where an illicit whiskey still was discovered in a house. Porter, an Irish police magistrate, records the case in his recollections. He writes of the liquor traffic and the laws that regulate it, arguing that hundreds of crimes have originated in the craving for stimulating liquors. Frauds and thefts, he says, have been committed from such an incentive, and even affection has been extinguished by it. He notes that a statute prohibiting the opening of public-houses on Sunday before two o'clock has been enforced, yet cases of intoxication appear in the thoroughfares two or three hours before the publicans open. On a Sunday in the year he was writing, a servant-man left his house between ten and eleven in the forenoon and was brought back in less than two hours completely intoxicated. The law, he says, restrains only the regular licensed trader. Porter argues that penalties for the illicit traffic should be augmented to at least fourfold the amount then authorised, with the alternative of three or four months' imprisonment with hard labour. He recalls the detection of the illicit still in the house on Haddington Road. The Excise authorities required that every adult found on the premises should be subjected to very severe penalties, or imprisonment for some months. Porter declined to convict a young woman who was washing clothes in the dwelling-house. She was not a resident but merely employed there occasionally. The professional gentlemen engaged in the prosecution were very dissatisfied with his decision. He contrasts the severity of punishments for offences against the Customs or Excise, which tend to withhold or lessen the revenue, with the far lighter punishment visited on a licensed trader who sends forth a hundred drunken customers. Selling a glass of poteen whisky, he observes, incurred far greater penalty than that.

23. John's Lane Racket Court and Flood's Reputation

    near John's Lane · street · Waterford

    The racket court in John's Lane was the haunt of the dissipated tailor Flood, whose extraordinary skill at the game was well known there, and it was through the court's marker that the Lord Lieutenant identified him as the player he needed for his wager.

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    In the year 1810 a manufacturing goldsmith of high respectability, named Gonne, lived in Crow Street, Dublin. His establishment was noted for the superior execution of chased work, especially in watch cases, and he had occasionally extensive orders from the house of Roskill, of Liverpool, the reputation of which for watches and chronometers, was then, as it is still, extremely high. Mr. Gonne indulged himself in the purchase of a splendid gold watch of Roskill's best make, and prided himself greatly on the possession of an article not to be surpassed either in exquisite ornamentation or accuracy of movement. He was fond of pedestrian excursions, and his hours of relaxation were frequently devoted to a ramble along the low road to Lucan, which is certainly not inferior in picturesque scenery, to any other of the many beautiful localities in the vicinity of Dublin; but on one night Mr. Gonne came home greatly disgusted with his promenade, and avowing a determination never again to set foot on _that nasty road_. He did not bring home his beautiful watch, and it transpired that a man, of small stature, had disturbed an agreeable revery by requesting to be accommodated with whatsoever money Mr. Gonne had in his possession, and that he also expressed great admiration of his watch, and insisted on the immediate delivery of that article. The propinquity of a pistol to Mr. Gonne's breast, induced a speedy compliance with the disagreeable demand. On his arrival in Dublin, Gonne declared that he had been robbed by _a little tailor_. He stated that the fellow's features were concealed by a veil, and that as soon as he got the watch and a small sum of money into his possession, he managed to ascend the wall of Woodlands demesne with surprising agility, and on it he seated himself _cross-legged_. He then addressed the victim of his depredation by name, and assured him that his watch should be safely kept, and that an opportunity should be afforded for redeeming it for ten pounds. Gonne apprised the authorities of the outrage which he had suffered. He declared that he never, to his knowledge, beheld the robber before; that he did not recognise his voice, but felt satisfied that he was a tailor, from the manner in which he sat on the wall. An experienced peace-officer who heard the description, agreed with Gonne that the delinquent was a tailor, and added that he knew the man. It appeared that there was a little knight of the thimble, of most remarkable activity, named Flood; he was of dissipated habits, and was known at the racket-court in John's Lane, where his play was most astonishing. He rarely missed a ball, and none would encounter him in a match of rackets, unless at very great odds. Flood was sought for, but was not forthcoming. Several of the provincial towns were searched in vain, and it was supposed that he had left the country, when he was apprehended, almost in the act of committing a highway robbery on the Rock-road, which at that time constituted a portion of the City of Dublin. His haunts were discovered and searched, and several articles of value, supposed to have been acquired by highway robbery, were found. There was a case quite sufficient for the conviction of Flood in the affair for which he was apprehended; but it was deemed expedient to investigate several other charges, and amongst them the robbery of Mr. Gonne, who minutely detailed all the circumstances of his disagreeable adventure on the Lucan Road, but he could not identify the prisoner. He was then directed by the divisional magistrate of police, before whom the case was pending, to pass round to the rere of the bench and view a number of watches which were in a drawer, of which the magistrate had the key. His watch was not amongst them. Flood was committed for trial, and sent to Newgate on two other charges, but the robbery of Mr. Gonne was not considered one on which an indictment could be sustained.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 13

    As the companion tells it

    Somewhere about John's Lane there was once a racket court, and the man most known there was a tailor named Flood. He was small in stature and given to dissipated habits, but his play at rackets was astonishing. He rarely missed a ball, and no one would face him in a match except at very great odds. The story that brought Flood down began in 1810. A goldsmith named Gonne, a respectable man in Crow Street, Dublin, had bought himself a splendid gold watch from the house of Roskill in Liverpool. He was fond of walking the low road to Lucan. One night he came home without his watch. He said a small man had pressed a pistol to his breast and demanded his money and the watch. The robber's face was hidden by a veil. After taking what he wanted, he climbed the wall of Woodlands demesne with surprising agility and sat on it cross-legged. He called Gonne by name and said the watch would be kept safely, and that Gonne could redeem it for ten pounds. Gonne told the authorities he had been robbed by a little tailor. He did not recognise the voice, but felt sure the robber was a tailor from the way he sat on the wall. An experienced peace-officer agreed and said he knew the man. He named Flood, known for his remarkable agility and his astonishing play at the racket court in John's Lane. Flood was sought but could not be found. Provincial towns were searched in vain. Then he was apprehended, almost in the act of a highway robbery on the Rock-road. His haunts were searched and several articles of value were found. Gonne detailed every circumstance of the Lucan Road adventure but could not identify the prisoner. Flood was committed to Newgate on two other charges, but the robbery of Gonne was not one on which an indictment could be sustained.

24. Ladder-climbing suitors' apology to Loretto Convent, Rathfarnham

    Rathfarnham · townland · Dublin

    Two young men once climbed trees overhanging the wall of the Loretto Convent at Rathfarnham to send love notes to two wealthy pupils, but relinquished their scheme and sent their ladders to the convent as a token of repentance after being confronted.

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    In twelve or eighteen months after the festive occasion to which I have referred, I accompanied a friend to visit two of his daughters, who were pupils at the Loretto Convent, Rathfarnham. Mrs. Ball, the aged and respected Superioress, gave us a very kind reception. We were conducted through the gardens and conservatories. On returning to the house, we were plentifully served with refreshments. In the course of conversation, my friend expressed his regret that so much hostile feeling should exist against conventual institutions. I remarked that it was not at all so intense as it had been in the previous century, when in London the mere reputation of a house being a nunnery was considered by the populace as fully sufficient to justify its destruction. To the best of my recollection, the Superioress observed--"I hope that those who entertained such hostile feelings lived long enough to repent of them. I think that the various classes of society are coming to a better understanding, and I expect great progressive improvement. Here we have not suffered the slightest annoyance for more than thirty years, and the only matter of which we had to complain was not very serious. Shortly after this establishment was founded, two young fellows, who resided in the neighbourhood, formed a design to entice two very handsome and rich young ladies to elope with them. They provided ladders, climbed into the trees which overhung the wall, dropped notes at the feet of the lasses, and were for a time incessant in their amatory pursuit. However, a communication with the guardian of one and the parents of the other, and the consequent authoritative expostulations, produced a satisfactory effect. They promised to relinquish their project, and as a token of their sincerity, sent us their ladders. I believe they repented of having given us any trouble, and they implicitly kept their promise. One of them is now a colonel in the army, and the other is _a magistrate of police_. Mr. Porter, let me request you to have more fruit and another glass of wine." I admired the kind and forgiving sentiments of the Superioress, and felt very grateful for her courteous hospitality, but I had no idle curiosity to know the names of the two ladder lads to whom her observations referred.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 26

    As the companion tells it

    Somewhere around here stood the Loretto Convent, where a Mrs. Ball served as the aged and respected Superioress. The convent had not suffered the slightest annoyance for more than 30 years, she once told a visitor, and the only matter she had to complain of was not very serious. Shortly after the establishment was founded, two young men who lived in the neighbourhood formed a plan to entice two handsome and rich young ladies, both pupils at the convent, to elope with them. They provided ladders, climbed into the trees which overhung the wall, and dropped notes at the feet of the girls. They were for a time incessant in their pursuit. But a communication with the guardian of one girl and the parents of the other brought authoritative expostulations, and these produced a satisfactory effect. The two young men promised to relinquish their project. As a token of their sincerity, they sent the convent their ladders. Mrs. Ball said she believed they repented of having caused any trouble, and they implicitly kept their promise. One of them went on to become a colonel in the army. The other became a magistrate of police. The visitor who recorded all this, a Mr. Porter, admired the kind and forgiving sentiments of the Superioress but had, as he put it, "no idle curiosity to know the names of the two ladder lads to whom her observations referred."

25. Legal gap over turnip theft debated at Waterford

    Waterford · city · Waterford · 1827–1840

    Proceedings at Waterford concerning the theft of turnips from fields were found insufficient to sustain an indictment for larceny, prompting a Grand Jury deputation to seek clarification from the judge on whether the Timber Act could apply.

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    In my early professional days the law in reference to injuries to growing crops of vegetables was very imperfect, and although taking potatoes, turnips, &c. out of the owner's ground was considered a very serious trespass, the offence could not be treated as actual larceny. Some proceedings at Waterford, in reference to the abstraction of turnips, were held to be insufficient to sustain an indictment, and a deputation of the Grand Jury sought a conference with Chief Baron O'Grady on the subject. One of them asked his Lordship if the delinquents could be made liable to punishment under the _Timber_ Act, to which he gravely replied, "Certainly not, unless you can prove that the turnips were _sticky_."

    Charles Kendal Bushe had been a member of the Leinster Bar; and when he had attained the distinguished position of Chief Justice, he frequently selected his former circuit as a Judge of Assize. Amongst the members of the Bar he was not merely respected and admired, but beloved. Portly in his personal appearance, he was dignified without ostentation, witty without sarcasm, learned without pedantry, and his judicial duties were discharged with impartiality, patience, kindness, and humanity. Kilkenny was his native county, and amongst the gentry of that place his family had been long established. The judges on circuit usually invite two or three barristers to dinner daily in each town; and I had the very agreeable honor of being an occasional guest of Chief Justice Bushe. I recollect a conversation relative to the criminal calendars of that time compared with those of the previous century. The Chief Justice said that the name of his family had been introduced into the charge of a judge to the Grand Jury of Kilkenny, about the year 1760, in terms far from complimentary. There were then organised bands or gangs of freebooters, who plundered and maltreated the proprietors and tenants of estates, unless a certain subsidy, called rapparee rent, or blackmail, was paid for their forbearance, and concealment and subsistence afforded whenever required. He said that the Agar family, (pronounced _Eager_,) the Floods, and the Bushes had become contributory to the marauders, and sheltered them from capture. Rumours of such an arrangement having been circulated, it was alluded to by Baron Dawson telling the Grand Jury of Kilkenny that their county was _eager_ for prey, _flooded_ with iniquity, and that every _bush_ sheltered a knave.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 121

    As the companion tells it

    Waterford, on the road somewhere in this city. Back in the late 1820s and into the 1830s, the law on injuries to growing crops was very imperfect. Taking potatoes or turnips from a man's ground was counted a serious trespass, but it could not be treated as actual larceny. Some proceedings held at Waterford, concerning the abstraction of turnips, were found insufficient to sustain an indictment. A deputation of the Grand Jury sought a conference with Chief Baron O'Grady on the matter. One of them asked his Lordship whether the delinquents could be made liable to punishment under the Timber Act. He gravely replied, "Certainly not, unless you can prove that the turnips were sticky." The story was remembered by a police magistrate recalling his early professional days. The gap in the law meant that a man's turnips could be taken from his field, and the trespass was serious, but the courts could not make it stick as theft. The Grand Jury at Waterford had gone to the Chief Baron looking for a way to punish the offenders, and they reached for the Timber Act as a possible instrument. O'Grady's answer turned the word timber into a joke at their expense. Unless the turnips were sticky, there was nothing in that Act for them. It was the law's fault, not the court's, that the fields were left so poorly guarded.

26. Mysterious goods theft via Portobello canal passenger boat

    near Portobello · townland · Dublin

    A Rathmines carman was hired by a well-dressed stranger who bought £27 worth of goods around Dublin before absconding near Portobello, apparently intending to catch the Ballinasloe passage-boat but never appearing. The unclaimed goods were eventually given to the honest carman.

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    The Dublin carmen are far from being faultless, but, as a class, I found them generally very honest. Whilst I discharged the carriage business, I knew instances of considerable sums of money and articles of value, which had been left in their vehicles, being brought in and delivered up to the police. I do not know how such property, if unclaimed, is now disposed of; but in my time, I invariably, after the expiration of twelve months, had it delivered, subject to charges for advertising, &c., to the person who brought it. I may mention one very extraordinary incident. Before the opening of the Great Southern and Western Railway, the Grand Canal Company ran passenger boats to the towns of Athy and Ballinasloe. A boat for the latter place left Portobello each day at two o'clock. A Rathmines man, who was owner and driver of a covered car, was returning home one morning about 11 o'clock, when he was hailed, in Dame Street, by a respectably dressed man, who engaged him to drive about town, and to be paid by the hour. The hirer stopped at several establishments and bought parcels of woollen, linen, plaid, and cotton goods, as also a hat and a pair of boots, for all of which he paid in cash. There was merely room for the hirer in the vehicle along with his ample purchases. Finally, he directed the driver to go to Portobello, adding that he intended to leave town by the passage-boat at two o'clock. When the car arrived at the end of Lennox Street, the driver was ordered to stop. The hirer alighted and told the driver to go round by the front of the hotel and wait for him at the boat. The order was obeyed, and the carman waited until the boat started, but the hirer did not appear. The driver apprized the police of the circumstance, and, at their suggestion, he attended the two boats which left on the following day, but no one came to claim the goods. They were brought to the police stores and advertised, the hirer was described and sought for in various hotels and lodging-houses, but without any result. It was ascertained at the establishments where the parcels were purchased that they cost twenty-seven pounds, and the carman ultimately got them on paying some small charges. He had not been paid his fare, nevertheless he was not dissatisfied. A rare case amongst his fraternity.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 17

    As the companion tells it

    Somewhere around here, a strange theft played out on the Grand Canal. Before the Great Southern and Western Railway opened, the Grand Canal Company ran passenger boats from Portobello to Athy and Ballinasloe. The boat for Ballinasloe left Portobello every day at two o'clock. One morning, a Rathmines man who owned and drove a covered car was hailed in Dame Street by a respectably dressed stranger, who hired him by the hour to drive about town. The stranger stopped at several shops and bought parcels of woollen, linen, plaid, and cotton goods, a hat, and a pair of boots, paying cash for everything. There was barely room in the car for the man alongside his purchases. Finally, he told the driver to head to Portobello, saying he intended to leave town by the passage-boat at two o'clock. When the car reached the end of Lennox Street, the stranger ordered the driver to stop. He got out and told the carman to go round by the front of the hotel and wait for him at the boat. The driver did as he was told and waited until the boat started, but the stranger never appeared. The carman went to the police. At their suggestion, he attended the two boats leaving the following day, but nobody came to claim the goods. The parcels were taken to the police stores and advertised. The stranger was described and sought in hotels and lodging-houses, with no result. The goods were found to have cost 27 pounds. After twelve months, the carman received them, paying only some small charges for advertising. He had never been paid his fare, yet he was not dissatisfied. The author called it a rare case amongst his fraternity.

27. The Stolen Salmon Sign of Essex Quay

    Essex Quay · street · Dublin

    Two young men were charged with felony after pulling down a large gilt salmon sign from a fishing-tackle shop on Essex Quay while drunk, intending it as a prank rather than theft. They were fined six pounds after the shop owner joked the salmon had been taken 'out of season.'

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    I was frequently invited to the hospitable and joyous table of my cousin, the late Anthony Hawkins of Leopardstown, Stillorgan. On one occasion he entertained about a score of guests, of whom I was unquestionably the senior. Choice viands and generous wines sustained and stimulated the utmost hilarity; and when some of the company expressed apprehensions that further indulgence might bring them under the cognizance of the police, the host remarked that they would have a _friend in court_, for it could not be supposed that the jolly old magistrate would lean heavily in the morning on those who had been his boon companions on the preceding evening, and that each of them would get off for _a song_, which he would suggest to be given in advance. Two young fellows, reminded me that they lived on Merchants' Quay, and as that was in my division, they entertained no fears. The company separated in time to avail themselves of the latest train to Dublin, and the two sparks travelled in the same carriage with me. Neither of them was in the slightest degree "the worse for liquor;" and when we parted at Harcourt Street Station we shook hands, and one said, "Good night, your worship, I hope you'll not be hard on us to-morrow." Next morning I was on duty at Exchange Court, and when the charge sheets from Chancery Lane were laid before me, I was astonished beyond description to find my companions who had bespoken my leniency brought forward on an accusation of FELONY. A constable stated that he had seen one of the prisoners get on the shoulders of the other, and pull down a large gilt salmon, which formed the sign over the door of a fishing-tackle establishment on Essex Quay. On taking down the salmon, they were crossing over to the quay wall when he intercepted them, and with the aid of another policeman and a civilian, he captured and brought them to the station-house. Another witness proved that the prisoners stopped at the door over which the sign was suspended, and that one of them said, "Let us give the poor salmon a swim." This evidence induced me to believe that the transaction was not a deliberate theft, but a wanton, mischievous freak. The proprietor of the shop expressed the same opinion, and urged a summary adjudication. They offered to pay for the sign, as it had been broken by an accidental fall; and the court was convulsed with laughter when the proprietor observed that the salmon had been taken "out of the lawful season." The spree cost the two delinquents the moderate sum of six pounds. The subsequent banterings which they had to endure amongst their festive associates completely deterred them from any further manifestation of fishing propensities.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 37

    As the companion tells it

    The Stolen Salmon Sign of Essex Quay comes from the pages of Twenty Years' Recollections of an Irish Police Magistrate. The author recalls an evening at the table of his cousin, Anthony Hawkins of Leopardstown, Stillorgan. About 20 guests were present, and generous wines kept the company merry. Some worried they might fall foul of the police, but the host said they would have a friend in court, since the magistrate himself would not lean heavily on his boon companions. Two young fellows pointed out that they lived on Merchants' Quay, which was in the magistrate's division, and so feared nothing. The company caught the last train to Dublin, and the two young men shared a carriage with the magistrate. At Harcourt Street Station they shook hands, and one said, "Good night, your worship, I hope you'll not be hard on us to-morrow." Next morning at Exchange Court, the charge sheets brought the magistrate an astonishment. His two companions from the night before stood accused of felony. A constable testified that he had seen one prisoner get on the shoulders of the other and pull down a large gilt salmon that formed the sign over the door of a fishing-tackle shop on Essex Quay. As they carried it toward the quay wall, the constable intercepted them, and with help from another policeman and a civilian, brought them to the station-house. A witness recalled that one of them had said, "Let us give the poor salmon a swim." The magistrate took this as a prank rather than a deliberate theft. The shop proprietor agreed, and asked for a summary judgment. The young men offered to pay for the sign, which had been broken in a fall. The court erupted in laughter when the proprietor remarked that the salmon had been taken "out of the lawful season." The spree cost the two of them 6 pounds, and the teasing they endured afterward ended any further fishing propensities.

28. Three thieves imprisoned for raiding a Harold's Cross orchard

    near Haroldscross · population centre · Dublin

    Three habitual thieves were caught filling sacks with apples, pears and apricots from an extensive orchard and garden at Harold's Cross, and Porter sentenced each to four months' hard labour at Kilmainham for the double offence.

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    My immediate predecessors generally resided in Dublin, and they were considered by the proprietors of orchards and gardens in the rural portion of the district, as too lenient to depredators of fruit and vegetables. At the time of my appointment, there was no safety for such crops unless they were closely watched, and during the night, the discharge of firearms, to deter marauders, was almost continuous in Dolphin's Barn, Kilmainham, Harold's Cross, and Crumlin. Any cessation of strict vigilance was certain to produce consequences which might be fairly termed calamitous to those whose fruits and vegetables were depended on for the maintenance of their families. There were many persons who followed garden robbing as their avocation, and the injuries inflicted by them frequently extended to the succeeding year. If they feared interruption, they would tear or cut the branches of the larger fruits, and entire gooseberry and currant bushes would be abstracted, to be picked at leisure. Small fines or short imprisonments had totally failed to check such offences. At the time to which I refer, I resided at Roundtown, and although I had gardens and a fine vinery there, they were never spoliated, so that in adopting towards fruit-stealers stronger measures than they had previously experienced, I was not actuated by any personal feeling. However, I had the birch very liberally used amongst the boys, and the more mature offenders were, when convicted by me, deprived of any opportunity for continuing their depredations on the growing or ripening productions of the season. Personal motives were, nevertheless, sometimes ascribed to me, even by those who were highly pleased with my decisions. A very extensive orchard and garden at Harold's Cross were entered by three habitual thieves, and they were captured whilst hastily filling two sacks with the choicest apples, pears, apricots, &c. They had taken the sacks from premises adjoining, and I convicted them of two distinct offences. Each was sent for four months to Kilmainham, with hard labour. Mr. Cox was engaged in drawing the informations and committals, when the proprietor exclaimed, in a tone of the highest gratification, "Oh! Mr. Cox, is it not a blessing from God that we have now got a magistrate _who has a garden of his own_?"

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 23

    As the companion tells it

    Harold's Cross was once open country on the edge of Dublin, and its orchards and gardens drew thieves the way fruit draws wasps. At the time this account was written, there was no safety for such crops unless they were closely watched. During the night, the discharge of firearms to deter marauders was almost continuous in Dolphin's Barn, Kilmainham, Harold's Cross, and Crumlin. Many persons followed garden robbing as their avocation. If they feared interruption, they would tear or cut the branches of the larger fruits, and entire gooseberry and currant bushes would be abstracted, to be picked at leisure. Small fines or short imprisonments had totally failed to check such offences. A very extensive orchard and garden at Harold's Cross were entered by three habitual thieves, and they were captured whilst hastily filling two sacks with the choicest apples, pears, and apricots. They had taken the sacks from premises adjoining. The magistrate convicted them of two distinct offences, and each was sent for four months to Kilmainham, with hard labour. Mr. Cox was engaged in drawing the informations and committals, when the proprietor exclaimed, in a tone of the highest gratification, "Oh! Mr. Cox, is it not a blessing from God that we have now got a magistrate who has a garden of his own?"

29. City Militia embarkation for the Crimean War at Kingstown

    Kingstown · townland · Dublin · 1854

    At the start of the Crimean War, the City of Dublin Light Infantry and Artillery embarked at Kingstown for Liverpool, with recruitment relieving the district of many disorderly characters; Porter was jeered by the departing men.

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    At the commencement of the Crimean War, the militia regiments of the United Kingdom were embodied. The City of Dublin Light Infantry and Artillery and the County regiment were almost entirely raised in the metropolitan district. Recruiting for the line was also very briskly pursued here, and I can safely and deliberately state, that the military enrolments relieved our district of a great number of loose characters, whose abstraction was very salutary to our community. When the city militia became sufficiently strong for active service, they were embarked at Kingstown for Liverpool in a large steamer. I was on the jetty, and I do not think the English language could supply any opprobrious term that was not loudly ventilated in reference to me. The copious application of every variety of invective was really amusing to me, and it was only noticed by a frequent smile or an occasional laugh. It was remarked by one, that "if the d----l didn't take owld Porter, we might as well be without a d----l at all;" but another expressed his opinion, "that the d----l was in no hurry to grip the owld rascal, as he was certain to get him at last." I am sure, however, that if another police magistrate had been also present, he would have been considered fully entitled to participate equally in the compliments which I monopolized, and which I only notice in the hope that some remarks which I intend to submit to my readers in a subsequent page may be considered interesting, and perhaps, I may add, important.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 74

    As the companion tells it

    Close to Kingstown, in 1854, the militia regiments of the United Kingdom were embodied at the start of the Crimean War. The City of Dublin Light Infantry and Artillery, along with the County regiment, were almost entirely raised in the metropolitan district. Recruiting for the line was briskly pursued here, and the military enrolments relieved the district of a great number of loose characters, whose removal was, in the narrator's words, very salutary to the community. When the city militia became strong enough for active service, they were embarked at Kingstown for Liverpool in a large steamer. The narrator, a police magistrate named Porter, was on the jetty to see them off. He did not think the English language could supply any opprobrious term that was not loudly directed at him. The copious variety of invective amused him, met only with a smile or an occasional laugh. One man remarked that if the devil didn't take old Porter, they might as well be without a devil at all. Another expressed his opinion that the devil was in no hurry to grip the old rascal, as he was certain to get him at last. Porter noted that any other police magistrate present would have been entitled to share equally in the compliments he monopolized.

30. Domestic Dispute on Dame Street Leads to Fraud Scheme

    Dame Street · street · Dublin

    A man and woman were charged with creating a disturbance and using abusive language on Dame Street; the wife, deserted by her husband, produced marriage documents proving her claim. The magistrate discharged them but advised she seek admission to the South Union Workhouse to compel her husband's support.

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    There was another practitioner, an attorney, who was known by the nickname of "Bluebottle," inasmuch as his tendency was to taint whatever he touched, and to evince a preference for garbage. He happened to be present on one occasion, when a man and woman were charged before me "for creating a disturbance in Dame Street, and using abusive, insulting, and threatening language on the public thoroughfare." The woman stated that the man was her husband; that he was in comfortable circumstances, but left her in destitution, and refused to contribute to her support. She produced a marriage certificate and various other documents in support of her allegation, and I discharged the parties, with a caution against ventilating their domestic wrongs or differences in the public streets, suggesting to the female, that if she obtained admission to the South Union Workhouse as a destitute pauper, the guardians would make her husband responsible for deserting her, and rendering her a charge upon the rates. As her excitement and volubility appeared likely to create more disturbance, if she and her husband went forth together, I directed her to leave at once, and suggested, on her departure, that the man might remain until she had left the court and its vicinity. When she went out, she was followed by Bluebottle, who accosted her at the foot of the stairs, and told her that he would take immediate steps to compel her husband to afford her a suitable maintenance. Affecting to sympathise deeply with a destitute and friendless female, he induced her to give him all her documents, and also a small photographic picture, in which she and her husband appeared holding each other by the right hand. He then desired her to go away, promising to meet her at the Lord Mayor's court on the following day. This conversation and arrangement occurred very close to the door of the custody-room, and was fully overheard by the constable in charge, of whose proximity the ardent vindicator of the poor woman's wrongs had no knowledge or suspicion. When she departed, Bluebottle stepped up to the court, and beckoned to the husband, whom he brought to the precise spot where the previous conference had occurred. He then told him that he had obtained all the woman's papers, the certificate and the picture, and that he was willing to give him a great bargain of the entire for one pound. The man declared that all the cash in his possession amounted only to twelve shillings and sixpence, which he was willing to pay for the articles. Bluebottle agreed to take the latter sum, and received it, but before he delivered the picture and documents, the constable emerged from the vestibule of the custody-room and arrested him. He was brought immediately before me in his genuine name of Richard Walsh, and I had to decide whether the certificate, picture, and letters he was about to dispose of, brought him under a culpable liability. The 53rd section of the 5th Vic., sess. 2, chap. 24, enacts--

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 88

    As the companion tells it

    On Dame Street in Dublin, a man and woman were charged with creating a disturbance and using abusive, insulting, and threatening language. The woman stated that the man was her husband, in comfortable circumstances but left her in destitution and refused to support her. She produced a marriage certificate and other documents. The magistrate discharged both parties with a caution against ventilating their domestic wrongs in the public streets, and suggested that if she obtained admission to the South Union Workhouse as a destitute pauper, the guardians would make her husband responsible for deserting her. Her excitement threatened more disturbance, so the magistrate directed her to leave at once, suggesting the man remain until she had gone. When she went out, she was followed by an attorney known by the nickname Bluebottle, for his tendency to taint whatever he touched. He accosted her at the foot of the stairs and told her he would compel her husband to afford her suitable maintenance. Affecting sympathy, he induced her to hand over all her documents and a small photograph showing her and her husband holding each other by the right hand. He promised to meet her at the Lord Mayor's court the following day. The conversation occurred close to the custody-room door and was overheard by the constable in charge, whose proximity Bluebottle never suspected. When the woman departed, Bluebottle beckoned to the husband, brought him to the same spot, and told him he had all the woman's papers, the certificate and the picture, offering them for 1 pound. The man said he had only 12 shillings and sixpence. Bluebottle agreed and took the money, but before he delivered the goods, the constable emerged and arrested him. He was brought before the magistrate in his genuine name of Richard Walsh.

31. Enormous salmon fishery observed at Galway

    Galway · city · Galway

    The author describes witnessing extraordinary numbers of salmon passing through Galway Bay and up the river at Galway, calling it possibly the most abundant salmon fishery in Britain or Ireland.

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    I believe that there is not a salmon fishery in Great Britain or Ireland more abundant than the one at Galway. I have there seen from the bridge the fish in such numbers as I should have considered incredible if described. These myriads of salmon entered Galway Bay from the Atlantic, and passing the islands, proceeded about thirty miles to the river where they appeared in such enormous quantities. I therefore think that I should mention a most extraordinary fact, that whilst I was at Arran, I saw, in a morning stroll, five men drawing a seine net at the entrance to Kilronan harbour. They took some herrings, a few flat fish of various kinds, some whiting, some pollock, and a salmon of about twelve pounds weight. I was desirous of purchasing the latter, and they readily sold it to me for two shillings; but they all assured me that they did not know what kind of fish it was, and that they had never seen one before.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 120

    As the companion tells it

    As you pass through Galway, you are in a city that once held what an observer called the most abundant salmon fishery in Great Britain or Ireland. From the bridge here, he saw fish in such numbers he would have considered them incredible if someone had merely described them. These myriads of salmon entered Galway Bay from the Atlantic, passed the islands, and travelled about 30 miles to the river at Galway, where they appeared in enormous quantities. While he was visiting Arran, he saw five men drawing a seine net at the entrance to Kilronan harbour. They caught some herrings, a few flat fish, some whiting, some pollock, and a salmon of about 12 pounds. He bought the salmon for two shillings, but the men all assured him they did not know what kind of fish it was and had never seen one before.

32. False Coin Accusation at a Bride Street Grocery

    Bride Street · street · Dublin · 1846

    A shopkeeper in Bride Street, Dublin, wrongly accused a farmer of tendering a base crown-piece and had him arrested by a passing constable. A silversmith later confirmed the coin was genuine, leading to Lacy's discharge and compensation for his horse and cart livery.

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    In the year 1846, the Ribbon association, or fraternity, prevailed very extensively in the city of Dublin, and in the counties of Dublin, Wicklow, Kildare, and Meath. I believe that religious opinions or political tendencies had very little influence on their deliberations or proceedings. All the information that I acquired in reference to them led me to the conclusion that their temporal interests actuated them throughout. Threats, menaces, and even murderous violence were used without hesitation to deter competition with a ribbon-man in affairs of tenancy, traffic, or employment. I notice these tendencies merely as being connected with a most extraordinary incident at the time. A man named Lacy held a small farm somewhere between Brittas and Blessington, and at an early hour on a Saturday morning, he left home, bringing, with a horse and cart, various commodities for sale in Dublin. Having disposed of his goods, he was about to start for home in the evening. He stopped at a shop in Bride Street to purchase some groceries, and tendered in payment a crown-piece. It was a coin of George the Third's reign, was rather worn, and had acquired a dark and very questionable appearance. The proprietor of the shop pronounced the crown to be base, and used some expressions which irritated Lacy, who replied to them in vituperative terms. The grocer observed a constable passing, and having called upon him, charged Lacy with tendering a base coin. The man was taken to the station-house in Chancery Lane, his horse and cart were sent to a livery stable, and he remained in custody until Monday morning, when the charge was laid before me. Mr. Stuart, of Dame Street, a silversmith, was examined, and in my presence tested the crown. He pronounced it to be perfectly genuine. I accordingly directed the accused party to be discharged from custody, and I was not surprised at his expressions of indignation for having been detained and locked up amongst thieves and disorderly characters, and his horse and cart sent to livery, whilst his family could not but feel alarmed for his safety when he failed to return at the expected time. I directed his horse and cart to be given to him, and that the livery should be defrayed from the police funds. Scarcely had I disposed of the case when Lacy's wife arrived in an indescribable state of joyful excitement. She clasped him in her arms, exclaiming, "You're safe, all is right, thanks to God." She manifested no resentment towards the grocer, but wished him good luck and prosperity. The cause of her delight may be briefly explained, but it is not the less extraordinary. Her husband had incurred the resentment of the ribbon-men of his vicinity, by offering for land against one of the fraternity. On the Saturday night an armed party entered his house for the purpose of killing him, but their diabolical design was thwarted by the circumstance of their intended victim being in custody of the Dublin Police, upon an unfounded, but certainly not an unfortunate accusation. His family had communicated with the constabulary, lest the intended assassination might be perpetrated on his journey home, and early on Monday morning his wife started in search of him with the result which has been stated.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 42

    As the companion tells it

    In 1846, a farmer named Lacy stopped at a grocery shop on Bride Street in Dublin. He had come in with a horse and cart to sell goods in the city, and was about to start for home when he stopped to buy groceries. He paid with a crown-piece from George the Third's reign. It was worn and had a dark, questionable look. The shopkeeper pronounced it base. Words were exchanged. The grocer saw a constable passing and called him over, and Lacy was charged with tendering a false coin. He was taken to the station-house in Chancery Lane, his horse and cart sent to a livery stable. He stayed in custody until Monday morning, when the charge came before the police magistrate. Mr. Stuart of Dame Street, a silversmith, tested the crown and pronounced it perfectly genuine. Lacy was discharged. His horse and cart were returned, and the livery was paid from police funds. What made the case extraordinary was what had been happening at home. Lacy had offered for land against a member of the Ribbon fraternity, and drawn their resentment. On the Saturday night he was locked up, an armed party entered his house to kill him. His absence in custody saved his life. His family had contacted the constabulary, fearing assassination on his journey home. Early Monday morning his wife set out to find him. When she saw him free, she clasped him in her arms and said, "You're safe, all is right, thanks to God." She bore no resentment toward the grocer and wished him good luck and prosperity.

33. First juvenile offender sent to Glencree Reformatory turns out to be Porter's own thief

    near Glencree · valley · Wicklow

    Porter's first commitment to the newly available Glencree Reformatory was a boy caught with stolen linens on Rathmines Road, who turned out to have stolen the very items from Porter's own bleaching-line at his Roundtown home the night before.

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    I was invited by my kind and valued friend, the late Mr. George Evans, of Portrane, to spend a week at his hospitable mansion. Arrangements were made by me with my colleagues to admit of my absence for that time, and that I should take the duty on the Monday of the succeeding week. Accordingly, I came to Dublin from Donabate by an early train, and commenced the custody cases about ten o'clock, a.m. A constable prosecuted a lad whom he had met on Rathmines Road about four o'clock on that morning, carrying a coarse bath-sheet, in which two check shirts, three pairs of cotton socks, and a washing waistcoat were wrapped. The prisoner was charged with having those articles in his possession, they being "reasonably suspected of having been stolen or unlawfully obtained." I called on the prisoner to account to my satisfaction how he came by them. He declined any explanation, and produced a laugh in court by saying "that I would know time enough." I ordered him to be imprisoned for a week, and then to be transmitted to Glencree for three years. On my return home to Roundtown in the evening, I was told that my bath-sheet, nightshirts, &c., had been stolen on the previous night from a bleaching-line in the back yard, over the wall of which my first envoy to Glencree had managed to clamber. The articles did not remain long in the police store.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 24

    As the companion tells it

    This is the valley of Glencree. A reformatory was opened here, and a police magistrate named Porter had the odd distinction of sending its first boy. Porter had arranged a week away from the Dublin custody court, visiting his friend George Evans at Portrane. He came back by early train and began hearing cases about ten in the morning. A constable told the court he had met a lad on Rathmines Road at four that morning, carrying a coarse bath-sheet wrapped around two check shirts, three pairs of cotton socks, and a washing waistcoat. The charge was that the articles were reasonably suspected of having been stolen. Porter asked the boy to account for the goods. The lad gave no explanation and raised a laugh by saying that Porter would know in time enough. Porter ordered him imprisoned for a week, then sent to Glencree for three years. That evening Porter went home to Roundtown and was told his own bath-sheet and nightshirts had been stolen the night before from a bleaching-line in his back yard. The boy had climbed the wall to take them. Porter called him his first envoy to Glencree. The articles did not stay long in the police store.

34. Lord Gough attends Kingstown police court

    Kingstown · townland · Dublin · 1853

    Viscount Gough attended the Kingstown police-court to observe a case, and Porter offered him a seat of honour, leading to a jocular remark about the old warrior retreating from the heat of the courtroom fire.

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    About the end of 1853, I was for a few weeks engaged in magisterial duties at Kingstown, and on one occasion I observed the late Viscount Gough entering the police-court, and taking a seat in the part to which the public were indiscriminately admitted. There was some case pending, at the hearing of which he wished to be present, and I immediately requested his Lordship to honor me by occupying a seat beside me, adding that I could not consent to a person of his high rank and illustrious character remaining in any position inferior to my own. He declined my proposal, but consented to take a chair between the bench and the right-hand side of the court. His chair was rather close to the grate, which was full of fuel, only a few minutes previously kindled. The court was crowded, and soon became very warm, but his Lordship's proximity to the grate almost immediately compelled him to change his position. Apologizing for the interruption, he asked me to direct the office constable to remove his chair to the left side of the court, and to place it near a window. Acceding at once to the request of the noble, illustrious, and worthy old warrior, I ordered his seat to be moved to the place which he preferred, adding, that I hoped the gentlemen of the press would report the remarkable fact, that Lord Gough retreated from the fire of the police, although he never had shrank from any other fire, however hot it might have been. A member of his family told me, in a few days after, that his Lordship considered my observation as most complimentary and gratifying.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 71

    As the companion tells it

    Somewhere around here, in Kingstown, toward the end of 1853, Viscount Gough came into the police court. The magistrate on duty that day saw him take a seat among the general public, where anyone could sit. Gough wanted to hear a case that was pending. The magistrate asked his Lordship to sit beside him on the bench, saying he could not allow a man of his rank and character to remain in a lesser position. Gough declined, but accepted a chair between the bench and the right side of the court. That chair stood close to the grate, which had been filled with fuel and lit only minutes before. The court was crowded and soon grew very warm. Gough's closeness to the fire forced him to move. He apologised for the interruption and asked the magistrate to have his chair taken to the left side of the court, near a window. The magistrate agreed at once. He ordered the seat moved, then said he hoped the gentlemen of the press would report the remarkable fact that Lord Gough retreated from the fire of the police, though he had never shrunk from any other fire, however hot it might have been. A member of Gough's family told the magistrate, a few days later, that his Lordship considered the observation most complimentary and gratifying.

35. Nightly drunkenness on Dublin's main streets

    Grafton Street · street · Dublin

    Porter describes walking late at night through central Dublin streets from Stephen's Green to the Rotunda and regularly encountering dozens of intoxicated women. He notes that police court records confirmed such numbers of female drunkenness convictions remained high even after his retirement.

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    In narrating the incidents that came under my personal observation, and the impressions produced by many of them on my mind, during a residence of eighteen months in the French capital, I have to suffer the disadvantage of a lapse of ten years, during which some tremendous visitations have produced very disastrous effects, which may be attributed not only to the successful hostility of a foreign enemy, but also to the unrestrained and sanguinary violence arising from domestic turbulence. These unhappy events may have occasioned changes in the morals and habits of the Parisians, which would prevent recent travellers from deeming my descriptions correct or my conclusions reasonable. Having premised the possibility of a considerable social alteration, I resume, and shall advert to certain comparative qualities of persons in this country and in Paris, belonging to similar classes, presuming to recommend them to the consideration, not only of those who may visit the French city, but to all who are desirous of the improvement and civilized progress of thousands around us. Let me put some unpleasant but truthful contrasts. If I walk, between the hours of nine and twelve at night, from Stephen's Green, by Grafton Street, Westmoreland Street, and Sackville Street, to the Rotundo, I shall see from two to three dozen intoxicated females, and hear many loathsome expressions. On Monday mornings, there have been frequently upwards of fifty females convicted before me for drunkenness; and it would appear, by the statistical tables of the Dublin police, that the numbers have not decreased since my retirement from office. Now, without stigmatizing my own native Dublin as a peculiar locality of public impropriety, I would fearlessly assert that the English Metropolitan district is as bad, that Liverpool is worse, and our own Cork not better. The contrast presented to the reader is, that during a residence of eighteen months in Paris, and in that time frequently passing at late hours through quarters in which much poverty is to be seen, and to which great immorality is generally ascribed, I never saw a female under the influence of liquor, and never heard an expression or witnessed a gesture of an indecent character.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 102

    As the companion tells it

    Porter, an Irish police magistrate, walked Grafton Street and the streets of Dublin many nights, and what he saw stayed with him. Between nine and twelve at night, walking from Stephen's Green by Grafton Street, Westmoreland Street, and Sackville Street to the Rotunda, he would see from two to three dozen intoxicated females and hear many loathsome expressions. On Monday mornings, there were frequently upwards of fifty females convicted before him for drunkenness. He noted that the statistical tables of the Dublin police showed the numbers had not decreased since his retirement from office. He did not single out Dublin as uniquely bad. He would fearlessly assert that the English Metropolitan district was as bad, Liverpool worse, and Cork no better. His contrast came from eighteen months living in Paris. He frequently passed at late hours through quarters where much poverty was to be seen and great immorality was generally ascribed. Yet in all that time he never saw a female under the influence of liquor, and never heard an expression or witnessed a gesture of an indecent character. He drew these contrasts not to stigmatize his own native Dublin, but to recommend them to the consideration of all who desired the improvement and civilized progress of thousands around them. He wrote these recollections with the disadvantage of ten years having passed, during which tremendous visitations had produced disastrous effects that might have altered the morals and habits of the Parisians he described.

36. Policing and Recruitment Remembered in a Coombe Street Ballad

    The Coombe · street · Dublin · 1854

    A ballad overheard by the magistrate, sung by a woman lamenting her lover's enlistment, references police activity in the Coombe area of Dublin, reflecting contemporary concerns about desertion and recruiting during the Crimean War era.

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    Musha! Katey Doyle, do you know what? Shure Jem has took the shilling, And off he's gone to Aldershot, It's there he'll get the drilling. The polis now along the Coombe[6] No more will be resisted, And Fordham's Alley's all in gloom Since Jem has took and listed. So have you got a dhrop at all? My sperrits is so sinking, I do not think I'd stop at all If wanst I take to drinking.

    The night afore he wint to list I cribb'd his half week's wages, And when the two 'r three hogs[7] he miss'd At wanst he wint outrageous. Next mornin' to the Linen Hall He goes and takes the bounty; It would not be so bad at all If he had join'd the County; For they're not gone to foreign parts, And won't encounter dangers, But, just as if to break our hearts, He join'd the Connaught Rangers.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 38

    As the companion tells it

    This is the Coombe, a Dublin street remembered in a ballad from 1854. A police magistrate overheard a woman singing it. She sang of Jem, who took the shilling and went to Aldershot for drilling. The police along the Coombe, she said, would no more be resisted, and Fordham's Alley was all in gloom since Jem had listed. The night before he enlisted, she cribbed his half week's wages. When he missed two or three pounds, he went outrageous. Next morning he went to the Linen Hall and took the bounty. She wished he had joined the County, for they were not gone to foreign parts and would not encounter dangers. Instead, to break her heart, he joined the Connaught Rangers. Her spirits were sinking and she said she would not stop at all if once she took to drinking.

37. Polling and bribery satirised at Green Street

    Green Street · street · Dublin · 1852–1853

    Porter's satirical poem on the election bribery scandal refers to freemen voting 'so prompt and well' near Green Street, where the polling booths were located and where the bribery scheme allegedly operated.

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    My retrospection of that election Accords perfection to the magic "Bell," Whose notes so soothing were felt each booth in Where freemen voted so prompt and well. That Bell so cheering, our hopes uprearing, As Green Street nearing we came to poll, With _notes_ persuasive, soft and adhesive, And touch evasive of law's control.

    There are joy-bells swinging, and sweetly ringing, Their blithe sounds flinging from Christ Church high And Father Yore has erected more On the Liffey's shore to the Four Courts nigh. But more sublime than their varied chime Of a festal time or a funeral knell, Was the Bell so soothing, felt every booth in Where freemen voted so prompt and well.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 70

    As the companion tells it

    A street in Dublin, Green Street held the polling booths during the 1852 to 1853 election. Porter's satirical poem on the bribery scandal tells of a Bell whose notes were felt in every booth, where freemen voted "so prompt and well." The Bell's touch was, in his words, "evasive of law's control." As voters neared Green Street to poll, the Bell's notes were "persuasive, soft and adhesive." Porter ranked this Bell above the joy-bells of Christ Church and those Father Yore raised on the Liffey shore near the Four Courts. More sublime, he wrote, than any festal chime or funeral knell, was the Bell felt in every booth where freemen voted so prompt and well.

38. Students trick a jarvey out of a gratuitous jaunt from Harcourt Street to Summer Hill

    Summer Hill · street · Cork

    Two students devised a scheme, revealed in a police-court cross-examination, to obtain a free carriage ride: they claimed a destination at Santry to frighten off the driver, then escaped at Summer Hill leaving him unpaid.

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    They had been invited to an early evening party at Summer Hill. They were not inclined to walk such a distance, and neither of them found it convenient to pay for a vehicle. At last the one who subsequently complained of being termed a swindler and blackguard said that he would get a covered car without payment. Accordingly, having walked to the nearest "hazard," he desired his comrade to get into a car, and also seated himself, he then directed the driver to proceed "to Santry." "Santry!" explained the astonished jarvey; "is it joking you are? D----l an inch I'll go to Santry to-night. Get out of my car if you plaze, the baste is tired, and I won't go." "My good fellow," was the answer, "I shall not get out, and you may as well get on at once." "By gorra, if you don't get out, I'll pull you out," said the carman. "If you lay a finger on me," answered the occupant, "I will resist you as well as I can, and I shall prosecute you for an assault." It was a bad business. The carman changed his tactics. "Why, yer honor," he mildly urged, "it is an unrasonable thing to ax a man to go to such a place even in the day time, for there's nothin but murdher and robbery on that b----y road, an' if I _do_ go, we'll be all kilt, and you'll be robbed into the bargain; shure you haven't right sinse to think of such a jaunt." "My friend," said the fare, "there may be something in what you say, but I shall call at a house on Summer Hill and get firearms for myself and my companion, and with two case of pistols I fear no robbers." The carman grumbled, but he had a sturdy customer, so he mounted his seat and drove on. When they came to Summer Hill he was desired to pull up, and the two sparks alighted, assuring him that they would immediately procure the arms and resume their journey. As soon as they were inside the hall-door, the jarvey plied his whip, and rattled off as fast as he could, congratulating himself that he had escaped a drive to Santry, and leaving the two scamps to enjoy the joke of having got a gratuitous jaunt from Harcourt Street to Summer Hill.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 18

    As the companion tells it

    This is Summer Hill. Two students had been invited to an early evening party, and neither was inclined to walk such a distance, nor found it convenient to pay for a vehicle. One of them said he would get a covered car without payment. They walked to the nearest carriage stand, got in, and he directed the driver to proceed to Santry. The jarvey was astonished. "Not an inch I'll go to Santry tonight," he said. "Get out of my car if you please, the beast is tired, and I won't go." The student answered that he would not get out, and the driver might as well get on at once. The carman threatened to pull him out. The student replied that if the driver laid a finger on him, he would resist as well as he could, and prosecute for an assault. The carman changed his tactics. He urged that it was unreasonable to ask a man to go to such a place even in the daytime, for there was nothing but murder and robbery on that road. The student said he would call at a house on Summer Hill and get firearms for himself and his companion, and with two cases of pistols he feared no robbers. The carman grumbled but mounted his seat and drove on. When they came to Summer Hill he was told to pull up. The two alighted, assuring him they would procure the arms and resume their journey. As soon as they were inside the hall door, the jarvey plied his whip and rattled off, congratulating himself that he had escaped a drive to Santry, leaving the two scamps to enjoy the joke of a gratuitous jaunt from Harcourt Street to Summer Hill.

39. Tobacco smuggling seizure aboard 'The Hope' from New Brunswick

    Dublin · city · Dublin · 1852

    In summer 1852 the brig 'The Hope', arriving in Dublin from St John's, New Brunswick, was found by Customs officers to be smuggling Cavendish tobacco concealed beneath cabin floorboards. The master was fined £200 or six months' imprisonment, separating him from his pregnant wife.

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    As to the infractions of the Customs laws, my cases all consisted of tobacco or brandy, and the seizures were, in almost every instance, effected immediately on the arrival in port of the respective ships. I believe that the intelligence of smuggling ventures being on board was almost always furnished by those from whom the contraband articles were purchased, or by the attendants in taverns or liquor shops, before whom unguarded conversations might have occurred, and in some instances from both sources. According to my recollection, the great majority of detections occurred on board vessels coming from places belonging to the British Crown. Jersey contributed largely to the contraband traffic, Gibraltar afforded an occasional venture, and the timber ships from the British provinces in North America were frequently made available to the illicit importation of tobacco. A fine brig from St. John's, New Brunswick, named, as well I can remember, "The Hope," arrived in Dublin in the summer of 1852. She was boarded in the bay by some officers of Customs, to whom the master stated that his cargo was exclusively timber. No other description of goods was mentioned in the vessel's papers. The officers proceeded to raise some boards at the foot of the cabin stair, and took out a large quantity of Cavendish tobacco. They then entered the cabin and removed some other boards, finding an abundance of tobacco, which had been there concealed. The master was arrested, and having been brought before me, I remanded the case, by the wish of all parties, for a week. The revenue authorities did not institute any proceedings involving the condemnation of the brig, but they sought the conviction of the master, who was adjudged by me to pay two hundred pounds, or in default of such payment, to be imprisoned for six months. His wife had been the companion of his unfortunate voyage, and their separation, on his committal to prison, was extremely sad. He was a fine-looking young man; I think his name was Harris, and he stated that he belonged to St. John's. The wife was also a native of that place, and I never beheld a woman who, in my opinion, surpassed her in personal beauty. Moreover, she was very near the time when to the designation of "wife" the term "mother" would be added. Whilst I condemned the man I deeply commiserated the woman, and all who witnessed their parting sympathized in her affliction. At the Richmond Bridewell, he was treated with much kindness, and was frequently allowed access to the gardens, to which, as well as to his prison-room, his wife was constantly admitted. There was a young man confined at that time at the instance of some of his relatives. He was a very extraordinary person. In him great literary attainments were combined with imaginative power: he had a mind which could

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 31

    As the companion tells it

    As you pass through Dublin, you are in the port city where, in the summer of 1852, a fine brig called The Hope arrived from St John's, New Brunswick. Customs officers boarded her in the bay. The master declared his cargo was nothing but timber, and the ship's papers said the same. But the officers lifted boards at the foot of the cabin stair and pulled out a large quantity of Cavendish tobacco. More was found hidden beneath the cabin floor. The master, a young man named Harris from St John's, was arrested and brought before the police magistrate, who remanded the case for a week. He was fined 200 pounds, or six months in prison if he could not pay. His wife had sailed with him, and she was near her time to give birth. All who saw their parting felt for her. He was sent to Richmond Bridewell, where he was treated with kindness and allowed into the gardens, and his wife could visit him there.

40. Daughters' carman refuses fare at Leinster Street on learning father is the magistrate

    Leinster Street · street · Kildare

    Porter's daughters took a covered car from Mary Street to No. 14 Leinster Street; on learning their father was the police magistrate, the carman fled rather than accept even the disputed fare, preferring a gratuitous drive.

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    Two of my daughters had gone to make some purchases at the establishment of Messrs. Todd and Burns, in Mary Street. They were engaged to spend the afternoon at a house in Leinster Street. Rain was falling, and the elder beckoned to the driver of a covered car who happened to be passing. They got into it, and desired him to go to No. 14 Leinster Street. When they arrived, the elder let her sister pass before her into the house, and then she offered a sixpence to the carman. He declined to take it, and said that she should give "the father or mother of that." She asked how much did he demand? and the reply was "a shilling at least." She then said that she would get half-a-crown changed in the house, and bring him a shilling, but she added "that she would speak to papa about it." "Musha, who is papa?" said he. "Mr. Porter," was the reply. She went in, got the change, and came back with the shilling, but he was gone. He preferred giving her a gratuitous drive to having my opinion elicited in reference to the transaction.

    A cavalry regiment, if I recollect rightly it was the "Scots Greys," occupied the barracks at Island Bridge in 1854. One day an outside jaunting-car was waiting in the barrack-yard, and the driver was standing on the step. He was a few yards from the quarters of a Captain B----, who was reputed to have a private income of £15,000 per annum. The officer was amusing himself with a little gun, which discharged peas and leaden pellets by detonating caps with greater force than the captain was aware of. He shot at the carman, and the pellet passed through his overcoat and reached his back, giving him a smart blow, but without penetrating the skin. The driver was looking round, and expressing his displeasure, when he received a second shot, which, striking the calf of his leg, lodged in the flesh. He instantly whipped his horse, drove rapidly away, and betook himself to the Meath Hospital, where the shot was extracted. He summoned the officer before me, and when the facts were stated, I expressed an opinion that the act was most unjustifiable, that a wanton and very severe assault had been committed, but that I thought it originated more in a spirit of foolish fun than in any wish to injure the complainant, and as it was a misdemeanor, the parties might come to an understanding, which would render further proceedings unnecessary.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 17

    As the companion tells it

    This is Leinster Street, in Kildare. The story comes from the recollections of Mr. Porter, who was the police magistrate. Two of his daughters had gone to make purchases at the establishment of Messrs. Todd and Burns, in Mary Street. They were engaged to spend the afternoon at a house in Leinster Street. Rain was falling, and the elder beckoned to the driver of a covered car who happened to be passing. They got into it, and desired him to go to No. 14 Leinster Street. When they arrived, the elder let her sister pass before her into the house, and then she offered a sixpence to the carman. He declined to take it, and said that she should give "the father or mother of that." She asked how much did he demand, and the reply was "a shilling at least." She then said that she would get half-a-crown changed in the house, and bring him a shilling, but she added that she would speak to papa about it. The carman said, "Musha, who is papa?" The reply was, "Mr. Porter." She went in, got the change, and came back with the shilling, but he was gone. He preferred giving her a gratuitous drive to having Porter's opinion elicited in reference to the transaction.

41. Elizabeth Jones lodges in Nicholas Street and marries at St. Nicholas church

    Nicholas Street · street · Dublin · 1847

    Deceived by an officer with a false promise of marriage, Elizabeth Jones invented a fictitious Welsh inheritance to trick him into marrying her; she lodged in Nicholas Street, Dublin, and the private wedding took place at the church of St. Nicholas within a week.

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    He seized her hand, her struggle was slight, his arm encircled her waist, and on her lips he imprinted the seal of his future truth and of her present forgiveness. In two days Elizabeth Jones was lodging in Nicholas Street, Dublin, and in about a week Richard Gilmore was married to her in the church of St. Nicholas. The wedding was very private and quiet, the only witnesses being the man in whose house they lodged, his wife, and two young persons whose attendance they procured.

    Three or four days elapsed, and Richard Gilmore accosted his bride. "Lizzy," he said, "I cannot delay my return to duty beyond another week. I have already made application for an exchange; but before I return to the country, I think it would be well if I went over to Wales and regulated the future receipt of your rents, and also ascertained how the money due by Deacon and Morgan is circumstanced. If they pay five per cent, punctually, we shall be very comfortable. I have calculated that, with my pay, we shall have near £600 a-year. I shall buy a nice jaunting-car and----"

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 29

    As the companion tells it

    A Dublin street, Nicholas Street. In 1847, Elizabeth Jones had been deceived by an officer, Richard Gilmore, with a false promise of marriage. She answered with a fiction of her own: a Welsh inheritance of rents and debts owed by Deacon and Morgan. In two days she was lodging in Nicholas Street, and in about a week Richard Gilmore married her in the church of St. Nicholas. The wedding was very private and quiet. The only witnesses were the man in whose house they lodged, his wife, and two young persons whose attendance they procured. Three or four days later, Richard Gilmore spoke to his bride about returning to duty. He proposed going over to Wales to regulate the receipt of her rents and to find out how the money due by Deacon and Morgan stood. If they paid 5 per cent punctually, he said, they would be very comfortable. He had calculated that with his pay they would have near £600 a year. He meant to buy a jaunting-car.

42. Magistrate's Duties at Exchange-court Head-Office

    near Exchange Court · street · Dublin · 1840–1861

    Porter recalls his twenty years as a police magistrate in Dublin, covering offences from minor public-order lapses to searches for concealed pikes or firearms and issuing warrants for treason-felony. He describes the Head-Office in Exchange-court as the site of these magisterial duties before his retirement.

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    After my return from Gibraltar, I found the tenor of my life in Dublin forming the greatest contrast to the twenty years during which I had been engaged in magisterial duties of a multifarious nature, extending from the cognizance of lapses from sobriety or neglect of sweeping a footway, to authorising a search for concealed pikes or firearms, or taking informations and issuing warrants for treason-felony. I regarded my release from any further attendance at the place in Exchange-court, dignified by the appellation of the Head-Office, as a most agreeable and healthful change; but I often regretted the cessation of my functions at the branch-court in Kingstown, where I enjoyed the ventilation of a pure atmosphere through cleanly and elevated premises, whilst the bench which I occupied commanded a view of almost the entire Bay of Dublin. I also derived from my official position a free passage, by first-class carriage, on the Dublin and Kingstown Railway, and occasionally received passes on the Great Southern and Western Line, enabling me to visit Cork or Killarney. All these advantages terminated on my retirement. Persons sometimes came to my house, supposing that I still had sufficient authority to take declarations or attest signatures; and when informed that my functions had ceased, expressed their disappointment at finding that I was "no longer of any use." My next-door neighbour was a Rev. Dr. Browne; and a gentleman who had some business with him, but did not exactly know his residence, pointed out my door to a cabman, and desired him to "try there." Cabby replied, "No, sir, that is where Porter, the _decayed magistrate_, lives." I do not believe, however, that in the use of such an expression any wilful disrespect was intended. I have often heard owners and drivers of public vehicles declare that they regretted my retirement.

    The Italians have a very current phrase,[19] which attaches delight to the total absence of employment. I never could appreciate idleness as pleasurable; and I believe that numerous instances of mental aberration have originated in the want of occupation. I am disposed to insert in these pages a few productions of my first year of unrelished leisure. If their perusal is pleasing to a reader, they require no apology; and if they are considered unworthy of attention, they may serve as a warning to others against being induced to waste their time in similar attempts.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 95

    As the companion tells it

    Somewhere about Exchange Court stood the Head-Office, where Porter spent twenty years as a police magistrate in Dublin. His duties ranged from the minor to the grave. He dealt with lapses from sobriety and neglect of sweeping a footway. He also authorised searches for concealed pikes or firearms, took informations, and issued warrants for treason-felony. When he retired, he called his release from the place a most agreeable and healthful change. But he regretted leaving the branch-court in Kingstown, where the premises were clean and elevated and the bench commanded a view of almost the entire Bay of Dublin. His position had given him a free first-class passage on the Dublin and Kingstown Railway, and occasional passes on the Great Southern and Western Line, so he could visit Cork or Killarney. All of that ended with retirement. People still came to his house, supposing he had authority to take declarations or attest signatures. When told his functions had ceased, they expressed disappointment at finding that he was, in his words, "no longer of any use." His next-door neighbour was a Rev. Dr. Browne. A gentleman who had business with Browne but did not know his residence pointed out Porter's door to a cabman and told him to try there. The cabman replied, "No, sir, that is where Porter, the decayed magistrate, lives." Porter did not believe any wilful disrespect was intended. He had often heard owners and drivers of public vehicles say they regretted his retirement. He never found idleness pleasurable, and believed instances of mental aberration had originated in the want of occupation.

43. Mary Tudor Sent to Kilmore, County Wexford to Separate Lovers

    Kilmore · town · Wexford

    To keep her away from Christian Wilson, Mary Tudor's father sent her to relatives at Kilmore in County Wexford, from where she wrote of visiting the Saltee Islands, St. Patrick's Bridge, and Lady's Island.

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    Three or four weeks elapsed, and Tudor mentioned, in answer to some kind enquiries, that Mary was enjoying herself wonderfully at Kilmore, in the County of Wexford, and that she had written him a very interesting description of the Saltee Islands, St. Patrick's Bridge, and the Lady's Island. She was very comfortable with a worthy cousin and his wife, both arrived at an age which made them appreciate a life of quietude. They were very kind to her, and they had no family or nearer relations than himself and Mary. Her visit was likely to lead to considerable advantages. He would never have disclosed his daughter's temporary residence if he had not believed Kilmore to be as difficult of access to Christian Wilson as Madeira or Malta would be to a gallant of the present time. The lover was a youth of very peculiar character--clever and active, but rash and inconsiderate. Having ascertained that the smacks which traded between Wexford and Dublin, if favoured by a fair wind, could make the run in a few hours, he determined on seeing Mary Tudor. His father had allowed him as a perquisite the profits arising from making "balloon guineas" into rings, and he had thereby acquired a few pounds, as it was a very prevalent custom for females of the humbler classes to invest a guinea in a ring, and carry their money on their fingers. Savings-banks were then unknown.

    Christian informed his father that he wished to go, for a few days, to a friend in Drogheda, and obtained his consent. He left home in the evening, ostensibly to go by the mail, but he sojourned to Hoey's Court, and was seen there in company with some young men whose characters were unknown, or worse. They left Hoey's Court about ten o'clock, and Wilson betook himself to Sir John's Quay, and went out of the river in the smack "Selskar," of Wexford, on the night-tide. After midnight Dick Tudor's workshop was robbed; but the guilty parties did not all escape. Two were apprehended leaving the premises, and were recognised as having been seen in Christian Wilson's company in Hoey's Court for some time after his own father supposed him to have left Dublin for Drogheda. A letter was posted to the latter place, and, to old Wilson's astonishment, he received a reply that his son had not gone there. Where was he?

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 5

    As the companion tells it

    Kilmore, in County Wexford, is a town the road passes through. A father once sent his daughter Mary Tudor here to separate her from a young man called Christian Wilson. She stayed with a worthy cousin and his wife, both old enough to appreciate a quiet life, and they were kind to her. They had no family or nearer relations than Mary's father and Mary herself. She wrote home with descriptions of the Saltee Islands, Saint Patrick's Bridge, and Lady's Island, and was enjoying herself wonderfully. Her father would never have disclosed where she was if he had not believed the place was as hard for Christian Wilson to reach as Madeira or Malta would be for any gallant. But Wilson was clever and active, though rash and inconsiderate. He learned that the smacks trading between Wexford and Dublin could make the run in a few hours with a fair wind. He had a few pounds from making balloon guineas into rings, a common practice among women of the humbler classes who carried their savings on their fingers, as savings-banks were then unknown. Christian told his father he was going to a friend in Drogheda and left home in the evening, supposedly by the mail. Instead he went to Hoey's Court and was seen with young men of unknown or worse character. They left about ten o'clock. Wilson made his way to Sir John's Quay and went out of the river on the night-tide in the smack Selskar of Wexford. After midnight, Dick Tudor's workshop was robbed. Two men were caught leaving the premises and were recognised as having been in Wilson's company at Hoey's Court. A letter was posted to Drogheda, and to his father's astonishment the reply came back that his son had never arrived there.

44. Seine-net fishermen at Kilronan harbour catch an unfamiliar salmon

    Kilronan · village · Galway

    Five men drawing a seine net near the entrance to Kilronan harbour caught herrings, flat fish, whiting, pollock, and a twelve-pound salmon, a fish they claimed never to have seen before and sold cheaply to the author.

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    I believe that there is not a salmon fishery in Great Britain or Ireland more abundant than the one at Galway. I have there seen from the bridge the fish in such numbers as I should have considered incredible if described. These myriads of salmon entered Galway Bay from the Atlantic, and passing the islands, proceeded about thirty miles to the river where they appeared in such enormous quantities. I therefore think that I should mention a most extraordinary fact, that whilst I was at Arran, I saw, in a morning stroll, five men drawing a seine net at the entrance to Kilronan harbour. They took some herrings, a few flat fish of various kinds, some whiting, some pollock, and a salmon of about twelve pounds weight. I was desirous of purchasing the latter, and they readily sold it to me for two shillings; but they all assured me that they did not know what kind of fish it was, and that they had never seen one before.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 120

    As the companion tells it

    The village of Kilronan lies on Arran. The author of this account notes that Galway has one of the most abundant salmon fisheries in Great Britain or Ireland, having seen from the bridge there fish in numbers he would have found incredible if merely described. These salmon entered Galway Bay from the Atlantic, passed the islands, and travelled about thirty miles to the river where they appeared in enormous quantities. He mentions what he calls a most extraordinary fact. During a morning stroll he saw five men drawing a seine net at the entrance to the harbour. They took some herrings, a few flat fish of various kinds, some whiting, some pollock, and a salmon of about twelve pounds weight. He wanted to buy the salmon and they readily sold it to him for two shillings. But all five men assured him they did not know what kind of fish it was, and that they had never seen one before.

45. Street-preacher prosecuted for obstruction in Parliament Street

    Parliament Street · street · Dublin

    A fanatical street-preacher named Dowling was charged with collecting a crowd and causing a great obstruction in Parliament Street, Dublin, and refusing to move on when required by police. He was discharged on promising not to repeat the offence, but was charged again the next day in the northern division.

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    When I returned to Dublin, I found that one of the magistrates of the northern division was only waiting for my appearance before making an application for leave of absence; and his request having been acceded to, it was arranged that I was to do duty in the northern court on two days in each week, namely, Tuesdays and Thursdays. I was sitting in my own court on a Wednesday, when a constable preferred a charge against a man named Dowling, for collecting a crowd, causing a very great obstruction in Parliament Street, and refusing to move on when required. He was a street-preacher, who appeared to be extremely fanatical, insisting that he had a special mission to announce the glad tidings of salvation to the benighted people of Dublin. On hearing the evidence, I stated that his conduct was a nuisance, and that I should send the case for trial, unless the constable withdrew the complaint on the express promise of the accused party that the offence should not be repeated. To this the prosecutor agreed, and the preacher said "he would shake the dust off his shoes as a testimony against me, but that I should never again have to investigate such a complaint against him." He was discharged; but on the following day, I had to dispose of a similar charge against him in the northern court. He manifested very little displeasure against his prosecutor, but seemed to reserve all his indignation for me; and when I reminded him of the promise he had made on the previous day, he replied that he had made himself acquainted with the bounds of my division in the south of the district, and did not intend ever to raise his voice there again, but that I was not satisfied to get rid of him, _but had followed him_ to the northern division, to continue an unworthy persecution of a zealous but humble laborer in the vineyard of salvation. I was highly amused, as were many of the persons present, at the tendency attributed to me to pursue the street-preacher; and when he declared that he would leave Dublin, I suggested to the police constable the withdrawal of his charge, to which he readily acceded, and the accused party was discharged. In about six weeks after this incident I went to Liverpool with a near relative who was about to proceed to Australia, and having gone into the police-courts there when the morning business was about to commence, one of the clerks told the magistrate (Mr. Rushton) that I was present, and he most courteously offered me a seat on the bench. The first charge on the sheet was for obstructing the thoroughfare, by collecting a crowd, and refusing to desist from preaching there; and Dowling was the delinquent. He did not wait for the constable to be sworn or the charge stated, but at once exclaimed that he despaired of obtaining any justice, when they had _imported me from Dublin_ to sit in judgment on him there. His excitement and indignation produced great merriment, especially when Mr. Rushton told him that I was not there in any official capacity, but as a private individual who had not interfered, directly or indirectly, in any matter coming before the court. He was discharged with a caution. I have never seen him since: and I mention the case of this street-preacher only to show how accidental circumstances may produce, in some minds, the most unfounded conclusions.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 61

    As the companion tells it

    Parliament Street in Dublin was where a man named Dowling was charged with collecting a crowd and causing a very great obstruction, refusing to move on when required by police. He was a fanatical street-preacher who insisted he had a special mission to announce the glad tidings of salvation to the people of Dublin. The magistrate stated that his conduct was a nuisance and he would send the case for trial unless the constable withdrew on the express promise that the offence would not be repeated. The constable agreed, and Dowling said he would "shake the dust off his shoes as a testimony against me," but that the magistrate would never again investigate such a complaint. He was discharged. The following day, the same magistrate faced a similar charge in the northern court. Dowling showed little displeasure toward his prosecutor but reserved his indignation for the magistrate. When reminded of his promise, he said he had learned the bounds of the magistrate's division and did not intend to raise his voice there again, but accused the magistrate of following him to the northern division to continue "an unworthy persecution of a humble laborer in the vineyard of salvation." The magistrate was amused, and when Dowling declared he would leave Dublin, the charge was withdrawn and he was discharged. About six weeks later, the magistrate visited Liverpool and sat in a police court there. The first charge was for obstructing the thoroughfare by collecting a crowd and refusing to desist from preaching, and Dowling was the delinquent. He exclaimed he despaired of justice when they had "imported me from Dublin" to sit in judgment on him. Rushton told him the visitor was there as a private individual. Dowling was discharged with a caution, and the magistrate never saw him again.

46. Typhus Mistaken for Cholera near Roundtown

    Terenure · townland · Dublin · 1849

    Near the author's residence at Roundtown, a servant alarmed the household with reports that cholera had struck cottages near a quarry. A police sergeant investigated and found it was in fact typhus fever, not cholera.

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    My residence at Roundtown was not far from a range of small cottages occupied by the laboring class. One of our female servants alarmed my family by stating that the cholera was very nigh, for that she had seen five poor people taken off to hospital from the cottages near the quarry. I mentioned her statement to a police sergeant, and requested him to enquire if it was correct. In about half an hour, he returned and said, "Your worship, I have good news for you. The cholera has not come near you: it is only the typhus fever."

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 52

    As the companion tells it

    Somewhere around here in 1849, a residence at Roundtown stood not far from small cottages occupied by laboring people. A female servant alarmed the family, saying the cholera was very nigh, for she had seen five poor people taken off to hospital from the cottages near the quarry. The author told a police sergeant and asked him to enquire. In about half an hour, the sergeant returned and said, "Your worship, I have good news for you. The cholera has not come near you: it is only the typhus fever."

47. Austrian officer recalls author from Nenagh Assizes

    Nenagh · town · Tipperary

    An Austrian captain named Scully, met on a bridge at Mentz, recognised the author from having seen him at the assizes of Nenagh. He was a 'Tipperary boy' born near the Devil's Bit Mountain who had emigrated into Austrian military service.

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    During my stay at Wiesbaden, I visited Mentz, or Mayence, several times. On the first occasion, I was crossing the bridge from the right bank of the Rhine, and met a young officer in Austrian uniform. At that period Mentz was termed a Confederate town, and its garrison was composed of an equal number of Prussian and Austrian troops. I had seen enough of them at Wiesbaden to satisfy me that an inquiry on the part of a stranger would receive a kind and polite reply. I consequently accosted the gentleman in French, being quite destitute of German beyond the name of the place to which I wished to go, which was the Music Garden. To my surprise and great gratification, he said, "If it is the same thing to you, Mr. Porter, to speak English, I shall give you any information in my power." I told him that I wanted a direction to the Music Garden, and he replied, "I have to leave an order with the officer on guard at the Cassel end of the bridge, and then I shall return to my quarters, and the Music Garden is on the way, I shall show it to you in a few minutes." During our walk, I asked him how he knew my name, and was informed that he remembered seeing me at the assizes of Nenagh; that he was a "Tipperary boy," born and reared within sight of the Devil's Bit Mountain, and his name was Scully. He was a captain in an infantry regiment, and appeared to be perfectly contented with his position and its attendant prospects. We thoroughly fraternized, and I never again went to Mentz without calling at his quarters. He expressed an intention of visiting Ireland, and promised to favor me with a renewal of our friendly intercourse in Dublin; but my hopes of seeing him have not been realized, and I fear that he has not escaped all the disastrous combats in which, since 1851, the Austrian forces have been engaged.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 58

    As the companion tells it

    As you pass through Nenagh, it's worth knowing this town gave its name to a court session an Austrian soldier never forgot. The author of these recollections, a Mr. Porter, was crossing the bridge at Mentz on the Rhine when a young officer in Austrian uniform stopped him and addressed him by name. The officer explained he had seen Porter at the assizes of Nenagh, and that he was a "Tipperary boy," born and reared within sight of the Devil's Bit Mountain. His name was Scully, and he held the rank of captain in an Austrian infantry regiment. Mentz at that time was a Confederate town with a garrison split between Prussian and Austrian troops. Scully showed Porter the way to the Music Garden, and the two fraternised thoroughly. Porter called on him whenever he returned to Mentz, and Scully promised to visit him in Dublin. He never did. Porter feared he had not survived the disastrous combats the Austrian forces were engaged in since 1851.

48. Corpus Christi procession at Rathmines chapel amuses English visitors

    near Rathmines · population centre · Dublin · 1845

    English visitors to Dublin stopped their car on Rathmines Road to watch the Corpus Christi religious procession outside the Roman Catholic chapel, prompting an exclamation the carman wittily misconstrued.

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    One of the clerks in the police-court of Liverpool got leave of absence in, as I best remember, 1845. He came to Dublin with some other young Englishmen for a few days of recreation. Curiosity induced him to visit our police-courts, where our clerks received him with fraternal courtesy. He told Mr. Cox that he and three others took an outside car, for a suburban drive. It happened to be on _Corpus Christi_ day, and they were going along Rathmines road, just as the religious procession incident to the festival was moving round the extensive court outside of the Roman Catholic chapel there. They directed the driver to stop, and then stood up on the seats to obtain a full view. Almost immediately one of them exclaimed, "Well, that beats the devil!" The carman touched his hat to the exclaimer and replied, "Yes, your honor, that's what it's for." I have heard the late Judge Halliburton (Sam Slick the clock-maker) say, that he asked a carman what was the reason for building the Martello towers? and that the interrogated party told him, "he supposed it was, like the round towers, _to puzzle posterity_."

    The Spaniard, who described the rain as so heavy, that "it wetted him to the marrow," was not so poetical or forcible in his hyperbole as some of our jarveys have been. I recollect reading in a little work, published many years ago, and entitled "Sketches of Ireland," that when a gentleman complained of the choking dust of the Rock road, and declared that he did not think it possible for a road to be so dusty, his driver remarked, "It's thrue for yer honor! but this road bates all others for dust, for, _by all accounts, there was dust on this road the day after Noah's flood_." A lady who resided at Chapelizod was wont to give a carman whom she frequently employed a glass of grog, along with his fare, at the conclusion of each engagement. However, she became too sparing of the spirits, or too generous of the water, but the grog eventually became so weak, that its recipient criticised it, of course with an oath, by asserting, that "if you threw half-a-pint of whisky over Essex Bridge, you might take up as strong grog as that at the Lighthouse."

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 19

    As the companion tells it

    Rathmines saw a brief encounter between two nations in 1845. A clerk from the Liverpool police court came to Dublin with other young Englishmen for recreation. He visited the Dublin police courts, where clerks received him warmly, and told a Mr. Cox what happened on a suburban drive. It was Corpus Christi day. They were going along Rathmines road as the religious procession of the festival moved round the court outside the Roman Catholic chapel. They told the driver to stop and stood on the seats for a full view. One of them exclaimed, "Well, that beats the devil!" The carman touched his hat and replied, "Yes, your honor, that's what it's for." The magistrate who recorded this noted that Irish carmen had a gift for such replies. He had heard Judge Halliburton, known as Sam Slick the clock-maker, ask a carman why the Martello towers were built. The carman supposed it was, like the round towers, "to puzzle posterity." Another driver, when a gentleman complained that a road could not possibly be so dusty, said there had been dust on that road the day after Noah's flood. A lady at Chapelizod gave her carman a glass of grog with his fare, but grew so sparing with the spirits that the grog grew weak. The carman said that if you threw half a pint of whisky over Essex Bridge, you might take up as strong grog as that at the Lighthouse.

49. Drunken sailor from La Hogue frigate arrested at Kingstown

    near Dún Laoghaire · town · Dublin

    A sailor from the frigate La Hogue came ashore at Kingstown, got drunk, and resisted arrest, requiring several constables to subdue him. Brought before the magistrate, he was discharged but restricted to his ship for the remainder of its stay.

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    About twenty years have elapsed since "La Hogue" frigate came into Kingstown. One of the crew, as fine-looking a young man as ever I saw, came on shore and indulged too freely in strong potations. It required two or three constables to effect his capture and lodgment in the station-house. Next morning he was brought up before me, and the circumstances of his intoxication and resistance were in course of statement by one of his captors, who occupied the witness box, whilst the prisoner stood directly opposite to the bench, with the ship's corporal, who had been sent ashore to look after him, standing close beside him. I said to the sailor, "If you wish to put any question to the constable, you are at liberty to do so, and if you feel disposed to say anything for yourself, I am ready and willing to hear you." He stood silent and downcast, when the ship's corporal nudged him and said quite aloud, "Speak up for yourself like a man, the magistrate is a good gentleman, and is ready to hear you." The prisoner replied in a desponding, but perfectly audible tone, "It's no use, that fellow (pointing to the policeman) will swear anything, and the old chap will believe him." There was loud and general laughter at the estimate formed by the tar of the constable and of the magistrate. I discharged him, without prejudice to informations and a warrant, and told the ship's corporal that the warrant should not be sent on board. I consequently restricted the sailor to remain in his vessel during her stay at Kingstown, which was for about another week.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 28

    As the companion tells it

    Dún Laoghaire was called Kingstown when the frigate La Hogue came into the harbour, about twenty years before the magistrate set down his recollections. One of her crew came ashore, a fine-looking young man, and indulged too freely in drink. It took two or three constables to subdue him and lodge him in the station-house. Next morning he was brought before the magistrate. A constable stood in the witness box giving his account, while the prisoner stood opposite the bench. Beside him was the ship's corporal, sent ashore to look after him. The magistrate told the sailor he was free to question the constable or speak for himself. The sailor stood silent and downcast. The ship's corporal nudged him and said aloud, "Speak up for yourself like a man, the magistrate is a good gentleman, and is ready to hear you." The sailor replied in a desponding but audible tone, "It's no use, that fellow will swear anything, and the old chap will believe him." The court broke into laughter at the tar's estimate of both the policeman and the magistrate. The magistrate discharged him, without prejudice to informations and a warrant, and told the ship's corporal the warrant would not be sent on board. He restricted the sailor to remain aboard the vessel during her stay at Kingstown, which lasted about another week.

50. John Sargeant's forgery conviction tried at Green Street courthouse

    Green Street · street · Dublin · 1844

    Years after his earlier crimes, John Sargeant (alias John Sharkey) was finally sentenced to transportation for forging a bank bill of exchange, with the sentence handed down at the Green Street courthouse in Dublin.

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    In two or three months after the trial of this swindler, I returned to Ireland, and engaged in professional pursuits, to which I devoted my attention for about twelve years. I then became a magistrate of police. In 1844, I was doing duty in College Street Police Court for the late Alderman Tyndall, who was suffering from severe indisposition. An application was made to me by a director and secretary of one of the principal banks in the city, I think it was "The Royal." They were accompanied by their solicitor, and it appeared that a bill of exchange for £100, purporting to be the acceptance of a gentleman of high position in the county of Wicklow, had been tendered for discount on the previous day, and that they had ascertained it to be a forgery. A close description was given of the accused, who had been told to call at the bank at two o'clock. An information was sworn and a warrant issued, and the delinquent was apprehended in the vestibule of the bank, whither he had the audacity or folly to proceed on his nefarious design. On being placed before me, he stated his name to be John Sharkey, and that he had recently returned from Oporto, where for several years he had been employed as a clerk in an English house engaged in the wine trade. I remanded the case for the production of the alleged acceptor, and during the intervening time very conclusive evidence was obtained as to the body of the bill having been written by the prisoner. At his final committal, I told him that, although I never before had any magisterial cognisance of him, I had no difficulty in recognising the person whom I had seen convicted at the Old Bailey, and who had previously been an inmate of Kilmainham, after having the sentence of capital punishment commuted to transportation. The latter punishment was subsequently awarded to him in Green Street, and thus, as far as I am aware, was closed the career of Mr. John Sargeant.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 32

    As the companion tells it

    In 1844, Green Street courthouse in Dublin was where John Sargeant's career finally closed. The case began at College Street Police Court, where the magistrate was covering for the ill Alderman Tyndall. A director and secretary of one of the city's principal banks, likely the Royal, arrived with their solicitor. A bill of exchange for £100, purporting to bear the acceptance of a gentleman of high position in county Wicklow, had been tendered for discount and found to be a forgery. The accused had been told to return to the bank at two o'clock. A warrant was issued, and the man was arrested in the bank's vestibule. He gave his name as John Sharkey, claiming he had recently returned from Oporto, where he had worked as a clerk in an English wine-trading house. The case was remanded, and conclusive evidence emerged that the prisoner had written the bill himself. At his final committal, the magistrate told him that although he had never had any magisterial cognisance of him before, he had no difficulty recognising the person he had seen convicted at the Old Bailey, who had previously been an inmate of Kilmainham after having a sentence of capital punishment commuted to transportation. Transportation was subsequently awarded to him in Green Street, and thus, as far as the magistrate was aware, was closed the career of Mr. John Sargeant.

51. County Dublin Militia stationed at Waterford barracks

    Waterford · city · Waterford

    Porter's son, a lieutenant in the County of Dublin Militia, was stationed with the regiment at Waterford, where the wife of a delinquent soldier pleaded for leniency at a court-martial, comparing Waterford's discipline unfavourably to Dublin's.

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    My eldest son was a lieutenant in the County of Dublin Militia, which, soon after being embodied, was stationed at Waterford. One morning he was crossing the barrack yard from his quarters, to serve on a regimental court-martial, before which some disorderly or insubordinate characters were to be brought, when he was accosted by the wife of one of the delinquents. She earnestly besought him not to be very severe on "poor Larry," and that it would be a hardship if he got worse treatment in Waterford than he'd get in Dublin for a little spree. She added, "The owld gentleman, your father, long life to him, never put the poor fellow up for more than a week at a time."

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 77

    As the companion tells it

    The County of Dublin Militia was stationed at Waterford after being embodied. Porter's eldest son, a lieutenant in the regiment, was crossing the barrack yard one morning to serve on a regimental court-martial for disorderly soldiers. The wife of one of the delinquents stopped him. She begged him not to be hard on poor Larry, saying it would be a hardship if he got worse treatment there than he would in Dublin for a little spree. She said, "The owld gentleman, your father, long life to him, never put the poor fellow up for more than a week at a time."

52. Failed Dublin Metropolitan Police Consolidation Bill of 1850

    Dublin · city · Dublin · 1850

    A 1850 parliamentary bill sought to consolidate and simplify seven existing statutes governing the Dublin Metropolitan Police into a single code. Despite police support, it was delayed and ultimately failed to pass, following objections including a Corporation alderman's condemnation of its punitive penalty provisions.

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    In the session of Parliament of 1850, a bill was brought in by the Government for the revision and consolidation of the acts regulating the Dublin Metropolitan Police. It was printed, and a considerable number of copies were circulated in Dublin. We regarded it as a most desirable measure, for it would, if passed, have substituted, a simplified code for an involved and complicated hotch-potch of seven statutes containing about four hundred sections. The police authorities were extremely anxious for the success of the proposed bill, but it was objected to by others, delayed, and ultimately, at the close of the session, became one of the sufferers in the "Massacre of the Innocents." Whilst it was pending, an alderman made it the subject, at a meeting of the Corporation, of a most condemnatory speech. He stigmatised it as unconstitutional and tyrannical, and dwelt at considerable length on a section which would impart power to a divisional magistrate, in case dealers in certain commodities neglected or refused to comply with a notice to produce any article in their possession, alleged to have been stolen, to inflict on the person so neglecting or refusing, a penalty of _twenty pounds_, and in default of payment of such penalty, to commit the offender for _two months_. He indignantly demanded from what region of despotism had such a tyrannical proposition been imported, and declared that it would disgrace any legislature to enact, or any executive to enforce, such unconstitutional severity. He was spared the mortification of seeing such power imparted to a police magistrate. The obnoxious bill was not passed, and the law remained unaltered. By it the tyrannical penalty is only _fifty pounds_, with an alternative imprisonment of merely _six months_. I do not believe, however, that there has ever been an instance of such a penalty being exacted or such imprisonment inflicted.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 55

    As the companion tells it

    As you pass through Dublin, you are travelling through a city that in 1850 nearly got a simplified police code. The Government brought in a bill that session to consolidate seven statutes, about 400 sections, into one clear code. The police authorities were extremely anxious for it to pass. But an alderman at a Corporation meeting attacked it as unconstitutional and tyrannical, singling out a section that would let a divisional magistrate impose a 20 pound penalty, or 2 months imprisonment, on dealers who refused to produce goods alleged to have been stolen. He demanded to know from what region of despotism such a proposition had been imported. The bill was delayed and finally died at the close of the session, among what the author calls the massacre of the innocents. The old law stayed in force, which carried, the author notes, a penalty of 50 pounds and 6 months, far harsher than what the alderman had denounced. He adds, though, that he did not believe such a penalty was ever exacted or such imprisonment ever inflicted.

53. Overnight Detention at the Chancery Lane Station-House

    Chancery Lane · street · Dublin · 1846

    After being wrongly accused of passing a false coin, Lacy was held in custody at the station-house in Chancery Lane over the weekend while his horse and cart were sent to a livery stable, before his discharge on Monday morning when the coin was proven genuine.

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    In the year 1846, the Ribbon association, or fraternity, prevailed very extensively in the city of Dublin, and in the counties of Dublin, Wicklow, Kildare, and Meath. I believe that religious opinions or political tendencies had very little influence on their deliberations or proceedings. All the information that I acquired in reference to them led me to the conclusion that their temporal interests actuated them throughout. Threats, menaces, and even murderous violence were used without hesitation to deter competition with a ribbon-man in affairs of tenancy, traffic, or employment. I notice these tendencies merely as being connected with a most extraordinary incident at the time. A man named Lacy held a small farm somewhere between Brittas and Blessington, and at an early hour on a Saturday morning, he left home, bringing, with a horse and cart, various commodities for sale in Dublin. Having disposed of his goods, he was about to start for home in the evening. He stopped at a shop in Bride Street to purchase some groceries, and tendered in payment a crown-piece. It was a coin of George the Third's reign, was rather worn, and had acquired a dark and very questionable appearance. The proprietor of the shop pronounced the crown to be base, and used some expressions which irritated Lacy, who replied to them in vituperative terms. The grocer observed a constable passing, and having called upon him, charged Lacy with tendering a base coin. The man was taken to the station-house in Chancery Lane, his horse and cart were sent to a livery stable, and he remained in custody until Monday morning, when the charge was laid before me. Mr. Stuart, of Dame Street, a silversmith, was examined, and in my presence tested the crown. He pronounced it to be perfectly genuine. I accordingly directed the accused party to be discharged from custody, and I was not surprised at his expressions of indignation for having been detained and locked up amongst thieves and disorderly characters, and his horse and cart sent to livery, whilst his family could not but feel alarmed for his safety when he failed to return at the expected time. I directed his horse and cart to be given to him, and that the livery should be defrayed from the police funds. Scarcely had I disposed of the case when Lacy's wife arrived in an indescribable state of joyful excitement. She clasped him in her arms, exclaiming, "You're safe, all is right, thanks to God." She manifested no resentment towards the grocer, but wished him good luck and prosperity. The cause of her delight may be briefly explained, but it is not the less extraordinary. Her husband had incurred the resentment of the ribbon-men of his vicinity, by offering for land against one of the fraternity. On the Saturday night an armed party entered his house for the purpose of killing him, but their diabolical design was thwarted by the circumstance of their intended victim being in custody of the Dublin Police, upon an unfounded, but certainly not an unfortunate accusation. His family had communicated with the constabulary, lest the intended assassination might be perpetrated on his journey home, and early on Monday morning his wife started in search of him with the result which has been stated.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 42

    As the companion tells it

    A station-house on Chancery Lane in Dublin, where a man was once held over a weekend in a case that turned out to have saved his life. In 1846, a man named Lacy held a small farm somewhere between Brittas and Blessington. On a Saturday morning he set out for Dublin with a horse and cart, bringing goods to sell. After he had disposed of them, he stopped at a shop in Bride Street to buy groceries and paid with a crown-piece. It was a coin from the reign of George the Third, worn and dark in appearance. The shopkeeper declared it base, and words were exchanged. A constable was passing. The grocer called him over and charged Lacy with tendering a false coin. Lacy was taken to the station-house, his horse and cart sent to a livery stable, and he remained in custody through the weekend. On Monday morning the charge came before the magistrate. Mr. Stuart, a silversmith of Dame Street, tested the crown and pronounced it perfectly genuine. Lacy was discharged, indignant at having been locked up among thieves and disorderly characters while his family had no idea what had become of him. His horse and cart were returned and the livery costs defrayed from police funds. Then Lacy's wife arrived in a state of joyful excitement, clasped him and said, "You're safe, all is right, thanks to God." She bore no resentment towards the grocer. The reason for her relief was extraordinary. Lacy had drawn the anger of the ribbon-men by offering for land against one of their fraternity. That Saturday night an armed party had entered his house to kill him. The assassination was thwarted only because their intended victim was in custody in Dublin on a false charge.

54. Portrane Charity Intervenes for the Alley Child

    Portrane · street · Dublin

    After dining at Portrane, Porter told George Evans about the Cole Alley child, and Evans's sister Mrs Putland, known for her charitable works, offered to place the girl in one of the institutions she supported.

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    I at once stated to "the deputation" that I should do my utmost to realize their wishes, and that they might leave the child to my care. They embraced her most affectionately, and with the warmest thanks for my compliance, they departed. The Poor Law Unions had not been organized at the time, and I sent the child on a remand committal to the worthy matron of Grangegorman Prison, Mrs. Rawlins, with a note explaining the circumstances, and requesting that the little girl should be kept apart from the juvenile delinquents. My wishes were strictly complied with. On the following day, I dined at Portrane with the worthy George Evans. I mentioned the transaction to him, and he communicated it to his sister, Mrs. Putland. That lady was an impersonation of charity, and at once offered to have the "child of the alley" placed in one of the many institutions which she contributed to support. I regret that I am unable to state any further results, having omitted to make ulterior enquiries, but I have always considered the earnest application, perhaps I might fairly term it the _supplication_, of the Cole Alley "unfortunates" as the strongest acknowledgment, offered sincerely and spontaneously, by VICE of the superiority of VIRTUE.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 48

    As the companion tells it

    Portrane is where a police magistrate dined one evening with George Evans. The magistrate had dealt with a little girl from Cole Alley. A deputation had come to him about the child, and he told them he would do his utmost to realize their wishes. They embraced the girl affectionately and left her in his care. The Poor Law Unions had not yet been organized, so he sent the child on a remand committal to Mrs. Rawlins, the matron of Grangegorman Prison, with a note asking that the little girl be kept apart from the juvenile delinquents. His wishes were strictly complied with. The next day he dined with George Evans and mentioned the transaction. Evans told his sister, Mrs. Putland, who was, in his words, 'an impersonation of charity.' She offered at once to have the 'child of the alley' placed in one of the many institutions she supported. He regretted not making further enquiries. He always considered the earnest plea of the Cole Alley unfortunates — perhaps, he said, fairly termed a supplication — as the strongest acknowledgment, offered sincerely and spontaneously, by vice of the superiority of virtue.

55. Sailor's theft from shipmates aboard the Ajax at Kingstown

    near Dún Laoghaire · town · Dublin

    A sailor from the warship Ajax, stationed at Kingstown, stole clothes and other items from his shipmates. He was caught ashore with some of the property and summarily convicted, receiving six months' hard labour.

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    During the considerable time in which I discharged magisterial duties at the Head Office and also at Kingstown, I cannot recollect that more than five or six charges were preferred before me against sailors. When the Ajax was stationed at the latter place one of the crew stole some clothes and other articles from several of his shipmates. The thief was detected on shore with some of the property in his possession, and was summarily convicted before me, and imprisoned, with hard labor, for six months. I notice this case on account of the discontent which, I was credibly informed, the treatment of the delinquent produced amongst the crew. It is generally believed that the abolition of corporal punishment was anxiously desired by our sailors; but in reference to the instance of thieving which was disposed of by me, it was regarded on board the ship as almost tantamount to the forgiveness of the delinquent. The opinion was most freely expressed that the fellow should have been sent on board, tried by court-martial, and _flogged_. It was the only offence of a mean and disgraceful nature that I ever knew to be charged against a blue-jacket.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 28

    As the companion tells it

    Dún Laoghaire was Kingstown when the warship Ajax lay stationed here. A sailor aboard her stole clothes and other articles from several of his shipmates. He was caught on shore with some of the stolen property in his possession, summarily convicted, and sentenced to six months' imprisonment with hard labour. The magistrate who heard the case noted that in all his time at Kingstown and the Head Office, he could not recall more than five or six charges ever brought against sailors. He remarked that this was the only offence of a mean and disgraceful nature he ever knew to be charged against a blue-jacket. What stayed with him was the crew's reaction. He was credibly informed that the punishment caused discontent on board. The men felt six months' hard labour was almost the same as forgiving the thief. The opinion was freely expressed that the fellow should have been sent back on board, tried by court-martial, and flogged.

56. The Branch Police-Court at Kingstown

    Kingstown · townland · Dublin

    Porter fondly recalls presiding at the branch-court in Kingstown, noting its pleasant, elevated premises overlooking Dublin Bay, contrasted with his less pleasant duties at the Dublin Head-Office. He lost this position, along with associated railway travel privileges, upon retirement.

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    After my return from Gibraltar, I found the tenor of my life in Dublin forming the greatest contrast to the twenty years during which I had been engaged in magisterial duties of a multifarious nature, extending from the cognizance of lapses from sobriety or neglect of sweeping a footway, to authorising a search for concealed pikes or firearms, or taking informations and issuing warrants for treason-felony. I regarded my release from any further attendance at the place in Exchange-court, dignified by the appellation of the Head-Office, as a most agreeable and healthful change; but I often regretted the cessation of my functions at the branch-court in Kingstown, where I enjoyed the ventilation of a pure atmosphere through cleanly and elevated premises, whilst the bench which I occupied commanded a view of almost the entire Bay of Dublin. I also derived from my official position a free passage, by first-class carriage, on the Dublin and Kingstown Railway, and occasionally received passes on the Great Southern and Western Line, enabling me to visit Cork or Killarney. All these advantages terminated on my retirement. Persons sometimes came to my house, supposing that I still had sufficient authority to take declarations or attest signatures; and when informed that my functions had ceased, expressed their disappointment at finding that I was "no longer of any use." My next-door neighbour was a Rev. Dr. Browne; and a gentleman who had some business with him, but did not exactly know his residence, pointed out my door to a cabman, and desired him to "try there." Cabby replied, "No, sir, that is where Porter, the _decayed magistrate_, lives." I do not believe, however, that in the use of such an expression any wilful disrespect was intended. I have often heard owners and drivers of public vehicles declare that they regretted my retirement.

    The Italians have a very current phrase,[19] which attaches delight to the total absence of employment. I never could appreciate idleness as pleasurable; and I believe that numerous instances of mental aberration have originated in the want of occupation. I am disposed to insert in these pages a few productions of my first year of unrelished leisure. If their perusal is pleasing to a reader, they require no apology; and if they are considered unworthy of attention, they may serve as a warning to others against being induced to waste their time in similar attempts.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 95

    As the companion tells it

    Somewhere around here was the branch police-court in Kingstown, where a magistrate named Porter presided. He described it as cleanly and elevated premises, with the bench commanding a view of almost the entire Bay of Dublin. After returning from Gibraltar, Porter found his life in Dublin a great contrast to his twenty years of magisterial duties. Those duties had ranged from dealing with lapses from sobriety or neglect in sweeping a footway, to authorising searches for concealed pikes or firearms, and taking informations and issuing warrants for treason-felony. He was glad to be released from attendance at Exchange-court, called the Head-Office. But he often regretted the cessation of his functions at the Kingstown branch-court, with its pure atmosphere and that view across the bay. His position also gave him free passage by first-class carriage on the Dublin and Kingstown Railway, and occasionally passes on the Great Southern and Western Line, so he could visit Cork or Killarney. All of these advantages terminated on his retirement. Afterwards, people sometimes came to his house, supposing he still had authority to take declarations or attest signatures. When told his functions had ceased, they expressed disappointment that he was, in their words, "no longer of any use." His next-door neighbour was a Rev. Dr. Browne. A gentleman who had business with Browne but did not know his residence pointed out Porter's door to a cabman and told him to try there. The cabman replied, "No, sir, that is where Porter, the decayed magistrate, lives." Porter did not believe any wilful disrespect was intended. He had often heard owners and drivers of public vehicles say they regretted his retirement.

57. A Dinner Party at Leopardstown, Stillorgan

    near Leopardstown · street · Dublin

    The magistrate attended a hospitable dinner at Anthony Hawkins's house in Leopardstown, Stillorgan, where guests jested that their host magistrate would go easy on any drunken misdeeds committed afterward.

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    I was frequently invited to the hospitable and joyous table of my cousin, the late Anthony Hawkins of Leopardstown, Stillorgan. On one occasion he entertained about a score of guests, of whom I was unquestionably the senior. Choice viands and generous wines sustained and stimulated the utmost hilarity; and when some of the company expressed apprehensions that further indulgence might bring them under the cognizance of the police, the host remarked that they would have a _friend in court_, for it could not be supposed that the jolly old magistrate would lean heavily in the morning on those who had been his boon companions on the preceding evening, and that each of them would get off for _a song_, which he would suggest to be given in advance. Two young fellows, reminded me that they lived on Merchants' Quay, and as that was in my division, they entertained no fears. The company separated in time to avail themselves of the latest train to Dublin, and the two sparks travelled in the same carriage with me. Neither of them was in the slightest degree "the worse for liquor;" and when we parted at Harcourt Street Station we shook hands, and one said, "Good night, your worship, I hope you'll not be hard on us to-morrow." Next morning I was on duty at Exchange Court, and when the charge sheets from Chancery Lane were laid before me, I was astonished beyond description to find my companions who had bespoken my leniency brought forward on an accusation of FELONY. A constable stated that he had seen one of the prisoners get on the shoulders of the other, and pull down a large gilt salmon, which formed the sign over the door of a fishing-tackle establishment on Essex Quay. On taking down the salmon, they were crossing over to the quay wall when he intercepted them, and with the aid of another policeman and a civilian, he captured and brought them to the station-house. Another witness proved that the prisoners stopped at the door over which the sign was suspended, and that one of them said, "Let us give the poor salmon a swim." This evidence induced me to believe that the transaction was not a deliberate theft, but a wanton, mischievous freak. The proprietor of the shop expressed the same opinion, and urged a summary adjudication. They offered to pay for the sign, as it had been broken by an accidental fall; and the court was convulsed with laughter when the proprietor observed that the salmon had been taken "out of the lawful season." The spree cost the two delinquents the moderate sum of six pounds. The subsequent banterings which they had to endure amongst their festive associates completely deterred them from any further manifestation of fishing propensities.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 37

    As the companion tells it

    Somewhere about Leopardstown, a man named Anthony Hawkins once hosted a dinner for about 20 guests, and among them was his cousin, a police magistrate. The wine flowed freely, and when some guests worried they might fall foul of the police afterward, Hawkins assured them the "jolly old magistrate" would go easy — so long as they sang him a song first. Two young men from Merchants' Quay, which fell under the magistrate's division, travelled home with him on the last train. Neither was the worse for drink, and as they parted at Harcourt Street Station, one shook hands and said, "Good night, your worship, I hope you'll not be hard on us to-morrow." The next morning at Exchange Court, the charge sheets brought an astonishing surprise: his two dinner companions stood accused of felony. A constable had watched one climb on the other's shoulders to pull down a large gilt salmon sign from a fishing-tackle shop on Essex Quay. Their explanation was simply, "Let us give the poor salmon a swim." The magistrate took it for a wanton prank rather than a deliberate theft, and the shop owner agreed, noting the salmon had been taken "out of the lawful season." The spree cost the two young men six pounds, and the teasing from their friends cured them of any further fishing propensities.

58. Jarvey's hyperbole about dust on the Rock Road

    Rock Road · street · Dublin

    A jarvey humorously claimed the Rock Road was so dusty that dust had lain on it since the day after Noah's flood, in response to a gentleman's complaint.

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    The Spaniard, who described the rain as so heavy, that "it wetted him to the marrow," was not so poetical or forcible in his hyperbole as some of our jarveys have been. I recollect reading in a little work, published many years ago, and entitled "Sketches of Ireland," that when a gentleman complained of the choking dust of the Rock road, and declared that he did not think it possible for a road to be so dusty, his driver remarked, "It's thrue for yer honor! but this road bates all others for dust, for, _by all accounts, there was dust on this road the day after Noah's flood_." A lady who resided at Chapelizod was wont to give a carman whom she frequently employed a glass of grog, along with his fare, at the conclusion of each engagement. However, she became too sparing of the spirits, or too generous of the water, but the grog eventually became so weak, that its recipient criticised it, of course with an oath, by asserting, that "if you threw half-a-pint of whisky over Essex Bridge, you might take up as strong grog as that at the Lighthouse."

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 19

    As the companion tells it

    A stretch of road in Dublin, the Rock Road, drew a famous complaint from a gentleman about its choking dust. He declared he did not think it possible for a road to be so dusty. His jarvey answered him, "It's thrue for yer honor! but this road bates all others for dust, for, by all accounts, there was dust on this road the day after Noah's flood." The tale comes from a little work called Sketches of Ireland, published many years before the recollections of an Irish police magistrate that record it. The writer compared the jarvey's hyperbole favourably to a Spaniard who said rain wetted him to the marrow. The same passage tells of a lady at Chapelizod who gave her carman a glass of grog with his fare after each engagement. She grew too sparing with the spirits or too generous with the water, until the grog was so weak the carman swore that if you threw half a pint of whisky over Essex Bridge, you might take up as strong grog as that at the Lighthouse.