The author first placed in office by Lord Westmoreland—Made king’s
counsel by Lord Clare—Jealousy of the bar—Description of
Kilkenny Castle—Trial of the Earl of Ormonde for outrage at
Kilkenny—Acquitted—Author’s conduct—Distinguished and liberal
present from the Earl of Ormonde to the author, of a gold box,
and his subsequent letter.
In December, 1793, the secretary, Lord Buckinghamshire, wrote to say
that he wished to see me at the Castle. I immediately attended, when he
said, “Barrington, I am about to depart from Ireland: and,” continued
he, after my sincere expressions of regret, “as you have heretofore had
nothing from us but convivial intercourse, it is just you should now
have fare somewhat more substantial; with the approbation of the Lord
Lieutenant, therefore, I have managed to secure for you a very handsome
office,—the ships’ entries of the port of Dublin.”
At the name and nature of this office I rather demurred; whereupon Lord
Buckinghamshire smiled, and said, “You have no objection to a good
sinecure, I suppose, the emoluments payable every Sunday morning by the
deputy: the place was lately held by Mr. George Ponsonby, and is at this
moment enjoyed by Serjeant Coppinger; but I have negotiated to give him,
his son, and his wife, an annuity of £800 a year, to resign it to you:
we were bound to provide for him as an old servant of thirty years, and
this is a convenient opportunity for doing so!”
This, so far, was agreeable: but still, _professional_ advancement being
the object next my heart, I neither felt nor looked totally satisfied.
Lord Buckinghamshire then said, “You are a grumbling fellow: but I
anticipated your grumbling, and the Lord Chancellor (Lord Clare) has
consented to your being at the same time appointed one of the king’s
counsel;—thus at once giving you a step over the heads of all your
circuit seniors, except Sir Frederick Flood, who is not, I fancy, very
formidable.”
This arrangement altogether met my wishes. I hastened to Lords
Westmoreland and Clare, to thank them most cordially; and the fifth year
after becoming a barrister, I found myself at the head of my circuit,
and high up in the official rank of my profession. Practice generally
follows the fortunate: I was immediately considered as on the high-road
of preferment; the attorneys pursued me like a flock of rooks! and my
business was quadrupled.
I purchased a fine house in Merrion Square, from Mr. Robert Johnson,
then counsel to the revenue, (afterward judge,) who at that period felt
himself going down hill; and here I launched into an absolute press of
business; perhaps justly acquiring thereby the jealousy of many of my
seniors. This jealousy, however, gave rise to one of the most gratifying
incidents of my life.
John, Earl of Ormonde, resided, like a true Irish nobleman, in the
utmost splendour and hospitality, in his fine ancient castle at
Kilkenny. He scarcely ever went even to the Irish metropolis—his entire
fortune being expended in his own city; whereby every shopkeeper and
trader experienced the advantages of his lordship’s residence. His
establishment was ample—his table profuse—his friendship warm and
unbounded. The very appearance of his castle (though only a portion of
the old duke’s) was still such as to remind the spectator of its former
magnificence. Proudly towering over the river Nore, from which it was
separated only by the public walk, a high and grand rampart on that side
conveyed the idea at once of a palace and a fortress; whilst towards the
city an old princely portal, flanked by round towers, opened into a
spacious court, within which were preserved two sides of the original
edifice, and a third was, at the period I allude to, rebuilding, in a
style, however, far too modern and ordinary. The exterior mouldings of
the castle exhibited the remains of the gilding which had formerly been
laid on with a lavish hand.
The interior of this noble edifice, with the exception of one saloon and
the picture-gallery, was not calculated to satisfy expectation: but both
those were unique—the one with respect to its form, the other to its
prospects. The grand saloon was not shaped like any other, I believe,
existing—oval in its figure, and not large;—but the wall, twelve feet
thick, admitted of recesses on the sides, which had the appearance of
small rooms, each being terminated by a large window, and its sides
covered with mirrors which reflected the beautiful and varied prospects
of city, country, wood, river, and public promenade. When I was at the
castle, in fact, every thing appeared to me delightful.
Walter, the late Marquess of Ormonde, though my junior in years, had
been my intimate friend and companion; as was also his cousin, Bryan
Cavanagh. We lived together at Temple, and Lord Ormonde was then the
finest young man I ever saw. He had quite a cross private tutor
(Rankin), who was with his lordship at Oxford, and then came to reside
at Lincoln’s Inn with his cousin Bryan, till his father had provided for
him—an interval of nearly a year.
Lady Ormonde, mother of Walter, was the only child of Earl Winderford,
and, as lady of the castle, was careful to keep up her due importance.
It is not impossible for women or men either to mistake form for
dignity. True pride is accompanied by an amiable condescension: mere
ceremony is the result of false pride, and not of dignity. I thought
(perhaps erroneously) that her ladyship made this mistake.
The Earl John, my friend’s father, was rather in the opposite extreme.
He was well read and friendly; indeed, a truer friend or more honourable
person could not exist: yet he was a _hard-goer_ (as it was called), and
an incessant talker. His lordship occasionally adjourned to a kind of
tavern in the city, of which a certain widow Madden was the hostess, and
where one Mr. Evans, surnamed “Hell-cat,” together with the best boozers
and other gentlemen of Kilkenny, assembled to amuse his lordship by
their jests and warm punch, and to emulate each other in the devouring
oysters and lobsters—the best which could possibly be procured. Hither,
in fact, the company from the castle often repaired for amusement.
These boozing-matches sometimes proceeded rather too far; and, one
night, Mr. Duffy, a sharp, smart, independent-minded apothecary of
Kilkenny, who had offended the Ormonde family on some very sensitive
point, being alluded to, a member of the party, with more zeal than
prudence, proposed as a toast, “a round of rascals!” taking care to
designate Doctor Duffy as belonging to that _honourable_ fraternity. On
departing from the tavern, far more full of liquor than wit, some wild
young man in company suggested the demolition of the doctor’s windows:
no sooner said than done!—the piper played, the stones flew, and Duffy’s
shivered panes bore ample testimony to the strength of the widow’s
beverage. No personal injury however ensued, and the affair _appeared_
to have terminated.
A glazier was sent early next morning by command of my lord to repair
the windows; but this the doctor refused to allow; and in due form
applied for and obtained a criminal information in the King’s Bench for
the outrage, against Lord Ormonde, his son Walter, James the present
Marquess, Lord Thurles, and others. The information was, in due legal
form, sent down to be tried at the spring assizes very soon after I had
been appointed king’s counsel.
None felt more jealousy at my promotion than Mr. William Fletcher,
(since judge of the Common Pleas,) many years my senior at the bar and
on circuit. Lord Ormonde directed briefs to be sent to me and to
Fletcher, with fees of fifteen guineas each. I never loved money much in
my life, and therefore thought it quite enough; or rather, I did not
think about it.
The defendant’s case fell of course to me as leading counsel. At this
circumstance Fletcher felt sore, and ran sulky; and the sulkier he got
the more zealous became I. We had but a bad case of it: the
cross-examination of the irritated apothecary, who grew after awhile
quite ferocious, fell to my lot. I performed my duty, and it then
devolved on Fletcher to speak to the evidence. This however he declined
to do. I pressed him; but he peremptorily refused. I exclaimed—“Nay,
Fletcher, you took a fee: why not speak?”—“Yes,” answered the angry
barrister, “just enough to make me hold my tongue!”—“Do speak,”
persisted I. “I _won’t_,” replied he. “Then I must do it for you,” was
my rejoinder. My zeal was enkindled, and I felt myself in earnest and
interested. I persevered till I saw the jury smile, to do which, they
only wanted a good pretence. I held on my course till I saw them
pleased; and the result was an acquittal of Lord Ormonde, and a
conviction of all the others.
To his lordship this acquittal was invaluable. The conviction of the
Earl of Ormonde for a nocturnal outrage in his own town, would have been
to him a source of the utmost dismay. I knew this, and acted
accordingly. He had heard of the conversation between Fletcher and me;
but he thanked both without distinction, and made no partial remarks. I
was hurt for a moment at this apparent neglect, but thought of it no
longer, and his lordship never mentioned the circumstance.
On the ensuing summer assizes Lord Ormonde invited the judges,
barristers, several of the grand-jury, and the principal gentlemen of
the county, to a magnificent dinner at the castle. It was a long table,
and every thing in the grandest style. A judge sat on each side of Lady
Ormonde at the head, and Fletcher and myself were their next neighbours.
After the cloth was removed, and Lady Ormonde had retired, his lordship
stood up, and, in a loud voice, said,—“I have waited with impatience for
this public opportunity of expressing to Mr. Barrington the high sense I
entertain of his important and disinterested services to me at the last
assizes: I now beg his acceptance of a small testimonial of my gratitude
and friendship.”—And he immediately slid along the table a magnificent
gold snuff-box, with his arms, &c. and the following inscription:—
A Token of Friendship and Gratitude from the Earl of Ormonde and
Ossory to Jonah Barrington, Esq., one of His Majesty’s Counsel
at Law. August, 1794.
I was utterly astonished by this distinguished and most unexpected
favour conferred in so public and honourable a manner; and
_involuntarily_, without a moment’s thought, (but certainly with the
appearance of ill-nature,) I triumphantly handed round the box for the
inspection of my brother-barristers. Fletcher, confused as might be
supposed, slightly shoved it back to me:—his conduct on the trial having
been known, a sensation became visible amongst the company, which I
would almost have given up the box to have avoided exciting. His
countenance, however, though not usually subject to be much impressed by
kind feelings, clearly acquitted me of any intentional insult: in truth,
I really felt as much as he did when I perceived my error, and wished to
pocket the prize without its creating further notice. But this was
impossible: I was obliged to return thanks, which ceremony I went
through very badly. Fletcher did not remain long, and I also adjourned
at an early hour to the bar-room, where the incident had preceded me. I
now tried my best to put all parties into good humour, and finished the
night by a much deeper stoup of wine than I should have indulged in at
Lord Ormonde’s.
Next morning I found a billet from the earl, enveloping a bank-note for
100_l._, with these words:—
“Dear Sir,
“My attorney did not do you justice; you will permit me
to be my own attorney on this occasion.
“Your friend and humble servant,
“ORMONDE and OSSORY.”
From that time to the day of his lordship’s death, I experienced from
him, on every occasion within his reach, the utmost extent of kindness,
civility, and friendship. His successor, with whom I had been so long
and so very intimately acquainted, was whirled at an early age into the
vortex of fashionable life and dissipation. Having lost his best guide
and truest friend, his cousin Bryan Cavanagh, many of his naturally fine
qualities were absorbed in the licentious influence of a fashionable
female connexion; and thus became lost to himself and to many of those
friends who had most truly valued him.
I have mentioned Walter, Marquess of Ormonde, the more particularly,
because, extraordinary as it may appear, it certainly was to that fatal
connexion of his (where I am sure he had not been the seducer) that I
owe several of the most painful and injurious events of my life. Of the
existence of this connexion I had irrefragable proof; and of its having
operated as a bar to the chief objects of his life and ambition, and of
my own also, I have equal reason to feel convinced.
His lordship married his own god-daughter, a most amiable young lady;
but too late: and never have I remarked, through the course of a long,
observing life, any progress more complete from the natural levities of
youth to confirmed habits of dissipation, from the first order of early
talent to the humblest state of premature imbecility, than that of the
late Marquess of Ormonde, who had, at one period of our intimacy, as
engaging a person, as many noble, manly qualities, and to the full as
much intellectual promise, as any young man of his country.