Swift, Inns, Prices, Conciliation Hall, O'Connell.

**Old Dublin Inns

A. Peter (1927)**

In the olden days Dublin had no lack of inns or taverns. In those days the tavern or inn was in many cases the club and social rendezvous of its frequenters at a period when conversation was the chief means by which news was disseminated. Cocoa-houses, chocolate and coffee houses were also used in such fashion, and answered the same purpose, but the taste for stronger beverages, then as now, doubtless drew many clients to the various wine-shops scattered over the smaller city of Dublin.

In the Life of Archbishop Ussher by Dr. Carr we are told that at that time - the early portion of the 17th century - Dublin was undoubtedly not clean, neither was it sober; the numerous brewers’ carts were a great nuisance, and the excessive number of taverns in the city made a special feature regarding it. There were, he records, whole streets of taverns

• the brewers being principally women, strange to say; and we know that to this day we own a street-Winetavern Street, Vicus tabernariorum vini - dating from the 14th century, which owes its title to the number of taverns there located, which caused it also for a period to be known as “Taverners’ Street”, but its old reputation has changed.

Many of the old names of the inns and taverns of Dublin were quaint and curious. The “Dog and Duck” inn belonged in the 18th century to Francis Magin, and was situated near “Pudding Row”, now Wood Quay. “The Old Sots’ Hole” was at Essex Gate, and the “House of Blazes” on Aston’s Quay still retained its sinister appellation far on into the 19th century. “The Salmon ” was situated in Thomas Street and “The Bagino” could be found in Essex Street. “The Queen’s Head” was a well-known establishment patronised by respectable travellers, and was situated in the then fashionable locality of Bride Street; while for those persons who desired a sojourn at the seaside we find mention made of the “Sign of the Prince Frederick Privateer” at Ringsend.

At the upper end of Jervis Street was the house known as “The Three Pigeons”, while a “Black Lyon” could be found in Temple Bar and a “White Hart” in Porter’s Row, a place which we now know better as Bedford Row, but got its first designation, as Mr. M’Cready tells us, “from being opposite a porterage or ferry”. “The Rose and Bottle” tavern in Dame Street was doubtless well frequented in the middle of the 18th century, when that portion of the city was not so devoted to business establishments as it is at present, and “The Golden Sugar Loaf ” in Abbey Street was flourishing at the same period. “Tom of Lincoln” was to be found at the upper end of Smithfield, then as now a great marketplace, and “The York Minster” was located in Capel Street as we spell it to-day, but our predecessors made it Caple. “The Cock” was in Werburgh Street! has it not been immortalised by Le Fanu? and the “Robin Hood” in Dame Street was a near neighbour.

“The Rose Tavern” was close by in Castle Street, while “The Sun” was not far off in “St. Thomas, his Streete”. “The Orange Tree” was likewise in Castle Street, and “The Glibb” near to “The Sun”. “The Parrot” was in “Hell” and “The Prince’s Head ” in Bachelors’ Walk. “The Cock and Punch Bowl” was in “The Strand” (now Beresford Place and Amiens Street). “The Holy Lamb” was in the old Corn Market, and “The White Cross” was at Bridge Street. There are many more of these old titles to be met with in the records of Dublin, but the foregoing examples will show how large a part they must have played in the social and business life of the metropolis.

“The Awful Dean of St. Patrick’s”

The common idea of Jonathan Swift is usually expressed in such words as “odd”, eccentric”, “clever, but he died mad”. Such in brief is the summing up of what most of us know, or fancy we know, of one who was a leading spirit in the days of Queen Anne and afterwards.

To understand properly the work and character of a person, the time in which he lived must be glanced at, as also the circumstances and the state and tone of the society in which he mixed. That Dr. Swift was an original element in the great London world in which he found himself cannot be denied, but that an individual either thoroughly unamiable, or objectionably rude, would have been tolerated by persons above him in rank would have been as unlikely in the society of his day, as in that of our own. Swift was a genius, and mediocrity invariably allows to such many privileges; but probably too much stress has been laid on isolated instances of the brusqueness, and absence of urbanity on certain occasions, that has handed down to posterity a false impression of the habitual temperament of the Irish Dean.

His ability was undoubted, and his assistance was eagerly sought for by those in high places, while his pen, dipped in satire of the strongest, was employed to confound the enemies of his party; but politicians of the 20th century are not guiltless of similar devices, and would hail with gladness so skilful an advocate.

In society the great world warmly welcomed the witty cleric, and the houses of the wealthy and noble were honoured when they had him as a guest. If the rude speeches and peremptory demands that are ascribed to Swift really took place, may we not assume that they were taken in good part, and were not so bad when uttered as they appear after the lapse of years, devoid of the circumstances under which they occurred? Dr. Johnson was often as rude as Swift, and perhaps as dictatorial towards the women he met in company as “the awful Dean of St. Patrick’s”. And Thomas Carlyle, too, of our own day, had a sharp tongue and wrote with much bitterness.

Comparisons, however, are not to the point, and it is in the life-deeds of the man himself we wish to discover something of his real personality. Putting aside all preconceived notions on the matter, let us consider any aspects of his career that make for amiability. It is perhaps not worth recording that in his first clerical days, when living at Laracor, he made a point of paying his mother a visit once a year, a journey that in those times meant a good deal of time and fatigue We may pass by, if we so wish it, the innumerable acts of kindness done by him in London for those seeking place or position, and who but for the influence he used with the men in power would have had small chance of success. He wrote earnestly and often on behalf of applicants who needed commendation, and no one was more warm and wholehearted in praise when he thought it was deserved. When Swift asked Mr. Pilkington to preach for him in St. Patrick’s, and invited him with his wife to supper afterwards at the Deanery House, he slipped into Mrs. Pilkington’s hand not only the cost of the coach in which they had come, but also returned the amount they had both given in the offertory.

To the poor of the district in which his cathedral was situated his charity was generously given, and to the servants in his employment he was a beloved, if perhaps peculiar, master.

To recount in full the various ways in which Swift sought to do good to those around him would fill many pages, and the gallant stand he made for Irish rights gained him the love and devotion of the people. The period in which “the Dean” lived was a rougher and coarser age than that of the present day, and if we make allowance for this, we will find that his words and actions were on a par with those of his contemporaries; but he stands out as a man full of concern and thought for the needs of those of his generation in a manner far in advance of his compatriots.

In a romance dealing with the story of his life, written some years ago, we get a picture of the little children round St. Patrick’s Close plucking at his gown, as he passed on his way through the narrow streets surrounding his cathedral, with the women at the doors of their dwellings saying softly, “Good evening, Mr. Dane”, as he went by; there is no reason why the sketch should not be a true one. When we remember the reunions at Delville and other places where he was ever a welcome guest, we may be sure it was no sharp, bitter visitor that came, but the most original thinker and talker of his day; and that his friends knew the deep feeling of his heart, sometimes obscured by caustic wit or satire, but which never permitted him to fail to do yeoman service for those who claimed his help.

The numerous stories that are told of parsimonious habits only show how he realised that to help the poor he must deny himself; and, never a rich man throughout all his life, he yet benefited the church livings with which he was connected, and left a lasting boon to those who came after him in the Asylum so long known by his name.

“The learned and candid Grainger” bears testimony to the character of Dean Swift in these words: “When you consider his (Swift’s) strict truth, his fortitude in resisting oppression and arbitrary power, his fidelity in friendship, his sincere love and zeal for religion, his uprightness in making right resolutions, and his steadiness in adhering to them, his care of his church, its choir, its economy, its income, his remarkable attention to the interests of his successors preferably to his own present emoluments, his very various, well-devised, well-judged and extensive charities throughout his life, and his whole fortune conveyed to the same Christian purposes at his death, charities from which he could enjoy no honour, advantage, or satisfaction of any kind in the world. When all these and others are considered,” writes Grainger, “the character of Swift’s life will bear to be reconsidered and re-examined, and new excellences will be discovered on every examination.” Conscious of great powers of intellect, and conscious, too, that his rewards had not equalled his deserts, Swift gave himself a latitude of language on occasions that rendered him an enemy to be feared but we claim that the good predominated over the evil, and that if they were counted up the benefits that he bestowed deserve to be best remembered.

It is 257 years since the birth in Dublin of Jonathan Swift; he passed away in this city 77 years later, and we can at this distance of time repeat the words that were them spoken: “He lived a blessing, he died a benefactor, and his name will ever live an honour to Ireland”. He died October 19; 1745.

Conciliation Hall

Fifty years is not a very long time, and yet the changes that it makes are sometimes very wonderful. A little more than half a century ago the name of Conciliation Hall was a most familiar one in Dublin. It was the rendezvous of the foremost politicians of the Irish party, the great scene of O’Connell’s power and influence, the meeting-place of all who were interested in the questions of the day so far as they affected the workings of the Parliamentary parties, and possibly the lounge and resort of numbers who went from curiosity. And yet now we can imagine the majority of the present generation only hearing of it for the first time. Ancient history, as it would be called, has withal few votaries, and O’Connell has been dead half a hundred years, and two generations of men have been born since 1847. However, the old historic hall is now turned to a new use, and the goddess of music and harmony will preside over a building that we fear did not always echo sweet sounds, for, in the latter days of O’Connell’s career a “young band of patriots disputed his sovereignty with him, and discord frequently reigned in the building on Burgh Quay”.

When O’Connell started his Repeal Association the need of a fixed meeting-place was soon felt, and the handsome and commodious building near the Corn Exchange was erected for this purpose. It bears the date on the outside of 1843, and was an imposing edifice. An English visitor, in the year 1846, thus relates his impressions:

“I had heard so much of Conciliation Hall that my curiosity was greatly excited. I had always wondered in England what it was like. I had no idea what it was like and I could find nobody to tell me. As for the speeches made there - the eloquence and vigour of the orators - the quiet moral kingship of O’Connell’s influence, with plenty of jocular and sufficiently stale allusions to the “rint”, these and other matters are only known in England as subject of fun or fear or indignation or doubtful authenticity; but of the people who assemble at Conciliation Hall, of the men who make the meeting as well as of the place where they meet, I certainly had not the remotest knowledge, and could obtain no sort of account. I pictured to my imagination a huge misshapen building - half hall, half barn - with great folding barn doors set wide open, long benches, chiefly for standing upon and hurrahing, a dilapidated platform or stage for the speakers, and a broken roof, with plenty of sky and cloud to be seen, or room for rains and winds to come down within, and then a loose tile or brick upon the heads of the roaring mob below. The whole place I pictured to myself as crowded with hundreds, nay thousands, of the lowest and raggedest class of the Irish poor-redheaded Paddies, in ragged coats and frock, with shillelahs and forks and potato spades, and whisky bottle filled with genuine poteen - and hundreds more of those who could not range themselves within the walls, but who had come fresh from the green grass fields of Bacnascorneo, the muddiest part of the banks of the Shannon, the wildest bogs of Connemara, or the wretched stone and mud hovels of half-starved, stony Galway. Oh, what a yelling and hullabaloo I expected to hear, and what a mad scene I anticipated beyond all the songs of weddings at Ballyporeen or the fairs of Donnybrook or Ballinasloe. Nothing whatever of the kind did I find. How was I surprised! Conciliation Hall is a large, new building, very plain, but quietly elegant and commodious, and extremely like a very large chapel of the wealthiest class of our Dissenters in England. The resemblance also holds good in other respects besides the fact of the congregation being very strong Dissenters. It has a resemblance with respectability and perfect order of the crowds that attend. The different classes are ranged in different places, according to the amount of subscriptions to the Repeal rent. About one-third of the members appear to be respectable tradesmen, one-third the better class of mechanics and operatives, and one-third women - many very pretty young women, too - of which latter a great portion are ladies manifestly of good condition. The hall is lit by 12 bronze candelabra, each containing two lamps of ground glass ranged round the panels of the gallery, and a row of 12 or 13 more candelabra, each having one lamp, extends round the walls above the gallery. Upon the ceiling are three very large and beautiful rosettes of pale green and gold containing the shamrock in low relief, with a harp in the one in the centre. The seat and desk of the chairman, with the large desk of the secretary below and the seats and long desk of the committee, are all raised a little above the desks of the reporters, and the framework of the whole is of mahogany.”

On the occasion here alluded to Mr. Daniel Callaghan, M.P., was in the chair, and owing to Mr. O’Connell having, at the last day of meeting, requested the Repeal members for Irish constituencies to attend, more than usual interest was attached to the assembly. Letters were read from some members apologising for their non-attendance. Mr. Roche excused himself on the plea of illness of both his parents. Mr. Magee wrote saying that he was obliged to be in Limerick on that day. Another gentleman sent his subscription of 10s. Mr. O’Connell then moved that the Repeal members should meet at Raby’s Hotel on the following Friday to take into consideration the proposal of the *Evening Mail *for the establishment of an Irish party. Mr. H. Grattan, M.P., made a speech, in which he alluded to a recent remark attributed to a Royal Duke that “diseased potatoes mixed up with grass would make excellent food for the Irish people”. Mr. John O’Connell read a letter from Nova Scotia, enclosing a remittance from Irish residents. The great Daniel finally addressed the meeting, and after a splendid speech, in which he referred to Lord John Russell and the “parcelment union”, and the threatened American war and many other subjects, he concluded amid the most vehement applause.

Before the meeting adjourned the “rent” for the week was counted, and the amount was announced as £367:3:11. In 1843 Thomas MacNevin says: “Dillon wrote me a letter, and he is sick of the abomination of desolation on Burgh Quay. I am glad Davis does not go to the association. I shall not go when I return.” Sir C. G. Duffy remarks: “The periodical meetings of a political body when the business is only to receive subscriptions and the debate in effect a monologue will necessarily become monotonous, and Dublin had been familiar for more than 20 years with a kindred meeting on Burgh Quay”

Another writer, who was personally acquainted with O’Connell, thus writes:

“Let the reader imagine a tall man of massive shape, with broad shoulders, large chest, a full good-humoured face, fresh complexion, the expanded forehead, broad chin, and compressed mouth indicating command, but the rather short nose not quite in keeping. The glance of his eye was keen, but it had a somewhat cunning expression. He wore a wig, and generally appeared abroad in a large military cloak. In the days of his prime and vigour he strode along the street with a bold, firm step; but in 1848 time and toil had told upon his constitution, his limbs had grown stiff, his step infirm, and his figure slightly stooped. On Mondays he might be seen regularly about the same hour proceeding from his residence in Merrion Square to Conciliation Hall at the Corn Exchange, Burgh Quay, accompanied by one or two of his sons or some intimate friends.”

At this time the hall was generally crowded to excess. At the head was the chair, in an elevated position on the right, and in front a platform for the speakers and leading actors in the movement, in the midst of whom appeared pre-eminent the bulky and commanding figure of the chief himself, to whom all looked up with admiration and deference. Under the chair in front was a place for the secretaries and reporters, and at each side benches for the audience.

Mr. O’Connell would move some gentleman to the chair, and then read the voluminous correspondence, handing in the abundant remittances, uttering compliments to the writers and contributors with admirable tact as he went along. After these preliminaries were disposed of, he would deliver the speech of the day. His language at this time did not flow as smoothly and freely as it had done in former days, when his marvellous eloquence, varying from the tenderest pathos to the most withering sarcasm, came forth with an ease and force which proved him to be the most powerful and inexhaustible, though not the most graceful or finished orator of the day.

Among the many distinguished visitors to Conciliation Hall we find that Thomas Carlyle was there in 1846. He went with Sir C. G. Duffy and other friends while on a visit to Dublin, and he mentions the incident in some of his letters. The thing that impressed the famous writer and thinker most was the celebrated headgear that O’Connell wore. This was the Repeal cap that had been presented to him on the Rath of Mullaghmast, and which he promised to wear to the end of his life. It was in shape like a Milesian crown, and was composed of rich green velvet, ornamented with Irish devices. Carlyle used ever after, in alluding to O’Connell and his proceedings, to speak of them as “Green Cappery”.

In the interval that has elapsed since these stirring scenes were enacted within its walls Conciliation Hall for some time served the humble but useful purpose of a corn and flour store, but in the closing years of the last century it once again became a place of public resort. Old Conciliation Hall, where thousands listened to one man “whose tones were melody, and the music of his voice associated itself with every mood of his mind as if it were created for that special purpose ”, is now familiar to Dubliners as the Lyric Hall.

Cost of living in Dublin 100 years ago

At the present time, when the price of food and the cost of living generally is uppermost in the minds of all households, it is of interest to look back a century and see what our ancestors were paying then for the ordinary commodities of life.

From an account-book kept by a citizen of Dublin, in which each item is entered carefully every day, we are enabled to form some comparisons. The gentleman in question occupied a respectable position, and had an official salary and some private means. He had three children, so that, together with his wife and three servants (two maids and a manservant), a family of eight had to be catered for.

Dealing with the year 1816, we notice that in the month of August fresh butter was 1s. 4d. a lb., and the same price in December. Eggs varied from 9d. to 1s. 2d. a dozen, a turkey could be got for 5s., and a goose for 3s. 4d. Potatoes, 10d. a stone. Mutton was 61 d. a lb., a hare cost 2s. 2d., and a dozen “oisters” 1s. 6d. Bacon was 10d. a lb., and a large piece of beef weighing over 27 lbs. seems to have been obtained at the low price of 5d. a lb. Bread was expensive, the lowest amount paid on any day being 1s. 11d., apparently for two loaves. There are, however, other entries showing loaves obtained were 5d. each. Beer for the week came to 3s. 6d. A week at Bray in November 1818 ran away with close on a ten-pound note, during which time the servants were allowed 30s. for board wages. In the accounts for each month there is an entry: “James (evidently the manservant), tea money, 5s.” This would be the price of 1 lb. of tea. The laundry account varied from 20s. to 30s. per month. A cow that cost £9 7s. supplied the family with ample milk. A pair of chickens cost 2s. 8d. and a calf’s head 1s. 8d. This seems reasonable enough, as also two soles for 2s. 1d., and a York ham was only 1s. 1d. a lb. When milk had to be bought it was 4d. a quart. Eels cost 8d. each, and a lobster could be had for 1s. Vegetables, such as cabbages or cauliflowers, were sold at much the same price as at present, but “cellery ” was apparently dear, as it figures frequently at 1s. 8d., but the quantity is not stated. Quarter of a stone of “flower” cost also 1s. 8d.

Servants’ wages were low compared with today - the cook got ten guineas a year and the housemaid the same, which was to include tea money; but the nurse received £12 as wages and was also found in tea and sugar. James, the man, got a present of £3 when leaving, having also received a pair of strong shoes which cost 9s. 9d., and a new coat, vest, and breeches during his term of service, which cost £4.

Twopence-worth of-turf was occasionally bought, and the sweeping of the kitchen chimney cost 20d., but a load of turf was got for 4s. 2d. A stone of oatmeal was 1s. 8d., and a lb. of mould candles 1s. Four John Doreys figure in the account for 8d., while six whiting were 10d. A supply of rush lights came to 1s. Wine and spirits for the year came to £34, coal and candles for the same period mounting to £31. It cannot be said that there was extravagance in newspapers, for the amount mentioned weekly is only 1s. 1d. The hire of a coach cost 1s. 8d., and a visit to the playhouse ran to 22s. 9d.! So human nature was in those olden times not very different from what it is today with regard to the creature comforts of life, but our fathers were fortunate in respect of such items as gas, and telephones, motors, and telegraphs, and the thousand other things now regarded as indispensable.

General Contents. .