Fleet Street to Stafford Street

ROUTE IV

Fleet Street - D’Olier Street - Sackville Street - Marlborough Street - Upper Buckingham Street - Great Charles Street - Mountjoy Square - Great Denmark Street - Great George’s Street, North - Great Britain Street - Cavendish Row - Rutland Square - Granby Row - Dorset Street - Henrietta Street - Great Britain Street - Lower Dominick Street - Stafford Street.

Starting from College Green we pass up Westmoreland Street. The first turning on the right is **

FLEET STREET. **

50 Fleet St.gif (9955 bytes)At **No. 50 **(pictured, right) lived **John Foster, **Speaker of the Irish Parliament, whose emotion on the occasion of the last vote on the Union is described by Barrington :- “When he had pronounced the fatal sentence ‘The ayes have it,’ for an instant he stood statue-lie. Then, indignantly and with disgust, flung the Bill upon the table and sunk into his chair with an exhausted spirit. ”

He declined to surrender the mace of the House of Commons, declaring that “until the body that entrusted it to his keeping demanded it, he would preserve it for them.” It is held by his descendants, the Massereene family.

Though not eloquent, Foster is said to have had a calm, clear, and forcible delivery. He died in 1828, at the age of 87. Foster was living here at the date of the incident above recorded.

At the end of Fleet Street, on the left, is **

D’OLIER STREET.

At No. 9, **(pictured, below) as we learn from the Catalogue of the Royal Academy Exhibition for 1832, **Samuel Lover **was living, in that year. Writing of him, in 1827, Bayle Bernard says: “His reputation was now established as one of the leading miniature painters in Dublin. He had made a pleasant mark in literature; he was growing popular as a songwriter, with steadily increasing income, many friends, and with personal qualities which made him I a favorite with all.”

9 D'Olier St.gif (6797 bytes)In that year he married, and “his house became a re-union ion for much of the wit and talent of the city.” Symington, in his Life Sketch of Lover, remarks, “The thought that the author of Rory O’More was a painter at all is at the present day known by very few; on the other hand his Irish peasant stories, overflowing with tender affection and natural pathos, sparkling with wit, and beaming with kindly humour, innocent fun, and cordial geniality, are universally appreciated.”

The same writer describes him as “‘always abstemiously temperate and keeping early hours, . . honest, honourable, and dowered with practical common sense, with a rare capacity for persistent work, which enabled him to carry through and master whatever he resolved to attempt warm-hearted and pure-minded, tender and true, joyous and brave.”

One of his witty retorts may be quoted: “A lady of great beauty and attraction, who was an ardent admirer of Ireland, crowned her praises of it, at a party, by saying ‘I think I was meant for an Irishwoman.’ ‘Cross the Channel, Madam,’ Lover replied, ‘and millions will say you were meant for an Irishman.”’

A miniature of Paganini which Lover produced, and which was exhibited at the Royal Academy in London, in 1834, added greatly to his reputation as an artist, and in that year he removed to London. Subsequently he travelled in the United States with his entertainment, which was also a standing attraction for some time in London. He died in 1868, at the age of 71.

We now cross the “O’Connell” or “Carlisle”’ bridge to **

LOWER SACKVILLE STREEL**

7 Lr. Sackville St.gif (7134 bytes)At No.7, (pictured, right) on the east side, of which two shops now form the lower storey, Percy Bysshe Shelley lodged in 1812, on a visit to Dublin, having, as he informs us, “selected Ireland as a theatre, the widest and fairest, for the operations of the determined friends of religious and political freedom.” To carry out his designs he published a pamphlet* *entitled, An *Address to the Irish People,” *with an advertisement a on the title page declaring it to be the author’s “intention to to awaken in the minds of the Irish poor a knowledge of their real state, summarily pointing out the evils of that state and suggesting means of remedy.”

“In first-floor C rooms, at No. 7 Sackville Street” writes Professor Dowden, “a house belonging to a Mr. Dunne, a woollen draper, Shelley and his party speedily found lodgings. Standing on the balcony (removed, Professor Dowden states, in 1884) outside his window, he could see and almost hear the Liffey gliding under its bridges, and survey the widest avenue in Dublin-an unbroken vista from the Rotunda, the northern end, to the late house of Parliament beyond the river to the south.

Having breakfasted, Shelley sallied forth to put into a printer’s hands the manuscript of *An Address to the Irish People. *It was intended for the poor, and at first Shelley intended that it should be printed in large sheets to be stuck about the walls of Dublin.

The plan of printing the address on a broad sheet was abandoned, and the price of the pamphlet, of which 1,500 meanly-printed copies were struck off, was fixed at the modest sum of a five-penny bit” (Life of Shelley).

As Drummond (*Life of A. H. Rowan) *remarks, “It is probable that Shelley soon discovered that Ireland was not so favourable a theatre for his operations,’ nor the Irish people of a temperament so combustible as his own ardent imagination had led him to expect.”

“Until some days after the appearance of his ‘address,’ on February 25th,” says Professor Dowden, “Shelley had lived in comparative seclusion, occupied in drawing up his second pamphlet… Though few visitors came, the days went quickly by in the Sackville Street lodgings.” Shelley and his wife occupied themselves in throwing down copies of the pamphlet to the passersby. “I stand at the balcony of our window,” he wrote, “and watch till I see a man *who looks likely, *I throw a book to him.” Shortly after this Shelley removed to lodgings in Grafton Street. (See Route II).

We turn up Earl Street, to the right of the Nelson Column, to **

MARLBOROUGH STREET.

Tyrone House, **(pictured, below) on the right hand, going north, forms the south-west wing of an extensive range constituting the National Model Schools, and was the first private edifice built of stone in Dublin, being erected by the Earl of Tyrone 1740.

Tyrone House.gif (8550 bytes)It was the birth-place of Lord **George Beresford, **Archbishop of Dublin (see Route II) and Primate of Ireland. He was the son of the first Marquis of Waterford and Earl of Tyrone, whom Barrington calls “the automaton of Lord Clare, possessed of very plain manners, an open countenance, a slothful and uncultivated mind, and unsusceptible of any refined or patriotic feeling.”

The third Marquis, whose whimsical and extravagant escapades formed a prolific source of gossip in the middle of the present century, was also born here, in 1811. He was killed by a fall from his horse at Corbally, in 1859.

The meetings of the National Education Board took place here in Archbishop Whateley’s time, and possibly do so still, and it is said that for many years after his retirement from the Board a hole used to be pointed out in the carpet the -result of the oscillations of his chair while resting on its hind legs, thrown backwards; while his feet rested on the table.

A favourite amusement of the Archbishop’s, at these meetings, was to study the phrenological developments of his comrades; and on one occasion, referring to the peculiarly flat-topped head of a neighbour, he propounded what he called the “new phrenological test ” :- ” Take a handful of peas, drop them oh the head of the patient; the amount of the man’s dishonesty will depend on the number which remain there. If a large number remain, tell the butler to lock up the plate.”

The first turning on the right, going north - Mecklenburgh Street - leads, at a distance of a third of a mile, to our next point of interest: if it be desired to omit it, the following point will be more quickly reached from Tyrone House, by passing up Marlborough Street into Great Britain Street, and going eastward to Rutland Street. **

UPPER BUCKINGHAM STREET. **

At* ***No. 36 **lived, at the close of his life, **John O’Donovan, **the distinguished Irish scholar and -antiquary, who “may be said to be the first historic topographer that Ireland ever produced” *(Webb’s Irish Biography). The Annals of the Four Masters, *the great work of his life, appeared in 1848-51, the Irish type for which was cut from designs drawn by George Petrie.

In 1839 he had been engaged under Petrie in the Ordnance Survey (see Petrie, next section.) In Stokes’ *Life of Petrie *we have an account of him from Wakeman, a fellow-member of the staff: “At this time O’Donovan was about thirty years of age. As in the case of almost every man who has risen to distinction, he was an unwearied worker, never sparing himself, and evidently holding his occupation a labour of love. With all employed in the office he was a general favourite, and in the intervals between his most serious business, would often give us some of his experiences as a traveller, telling his tale in a rich, emphatic manner peculiarly his own.”

“As the years passed over,” we read in Webb, “he fell into a condition of fixed depression and despondency.”

He died in 1861, at the age of 52.

In O’Donovan’s time his and the adjoining house stood alone on that side of the road above Meredyth Place.

Passing on to the top of Upper Buckingham Street, we turn to the left in Summer Hill, and, by Rutland Street, to **

GREAT CHARLES STREET. **

At No. 21, (pictured, below) a few doors to the east of the corner, about 1835-50, lived George Petrie, **LL.D., **“painter, musician, antiquary, and man of letters, . . one of the most interesting men of the age.” *(Dublin University Magazine, *1839.)

21 Gt. Charles St.jpg (9886 bytes)It is well known that his researches have been accepted as conclusive of the Christian origin and ecclesiastical uses of the Round Towers. Petrie was head of the topographical department of the Ordnance Survey, and in Stokes’ *Life of Petrie *we have an “interior” picture supplied by Mr. Wakeman, one of the staff, the scene being “the little back parlour in Great Charles Street” where “we used to meet daily. By we I mean John O’Donovan (see Upper Buckingham Street, above), Eugene Curry, Clarence Mangan (see Route II), E. O’Keefe, J. O’Conner, besides two or three more.”

In an article contributed to the Dublin daily press, and reprinted with others in pamphlet form as *Old Dublin, *the same writer says of Mangan: “He had in our room a large unpainted deal desk, about breast high, supported upon four legs, and to match, an equally plain stool or seat, both being his own property, and of his own introduction. Upon the desk, when he worked at all, ha would copy documents as required. He had nothing else to do, so that his training as a scrivener made the task all the more easy. At times he would be very dull and silent, but at times he would make puns and jokes. He generally had some awful story of a supernatural character to tell as he was sipping his tar water, a bottle of which he always carried with him.”

One of the most remarkable features of Petrie’s character, says Stokes, “was the interest he felt for animated nature in general, and especially for-all domestic animals… During Petrie’s residence in Charles Street the kitten of his favourite cat had its leg broken, when he rushed out for one of his friends, then a practising surgeon, but failed to find him; he then called in another, but had hardly knocked at the door when, for the first time, the singularity of the position struck him; for a moment he thought of leaving the door, but waited to apologise for calling. The door was opened, he was forced to come in; the candles were lit in the study, and the servant, regardless of Petrie’s remonstrances, ran upstairs for his master, who was in bed. In a few minutes the surgeon caine down, carrying his boots in his hand, and assuring him that no apologies were necessary, he donned his hat and cloak and accompanied him to the house when Petrie, almost dumb with confusion, at last took courage to tell the nature of the case. The good-humoured answer was, ‘Well, let me see the patient at all events.’ He was brought to the kitten, the limb was carefully put up, and the surgeon, refusing his fee, promised to call next day; but as Petrie went to show him to the door, the old cat, who watched the entire proceeding, sprang on the table and carried her kitten to a corner of the room. She then proceeded to undo all the bandages*, *deliberately taking out pin by pin while Petrie watched in amazement, and the splints being removed, she commenced licking the part, and thus continued with hardly an intermission, for some days and nights, when a cure was effected without the slightest deformity.” In 1851 Petrie went to live at Rathmines Road. (See Petrie, Route III.)

Returning along Great Charles Street, we proceed to the south side of **

MOUNTJOY SQUARE.**

At No. **38 **lived, until March of the present year, **Richard Dowse, **Baron of the Court of Exchequer. *The Times *in an obituary notice of March 15th, says:

“Mr. Baron Dowse was a self-made man, who, without social advantages, forced his way by his own merit to the eminent position which he occupied… He gave at all times free and vivid utterance to his thoughts, without waiting to examine critically the terms in which he should mould them. These were often quaint and graphic, with a dash of wit and humour, which, if a little wanting in dignity, . . .gave emphasis and force to an argument or comment.”

Baron Dowse died suddenly while on circuit, at Tralee. **

No. 2, **on the west side of the square, was the last residence of Chief Justice **James Whiteside. He **was living here at the time of his elevation to the Bench in 1866. Two years before, a writer in *Temple Bar *says of him: “The character of Whiteside’s face is entirely Milesian: it is pale, or rather the colour of that material upon which he has so often written as an able conveyancer - parchment; and his face is as free from a blush as it is from a beard. He strides or stalks across the hall with the bustling air of a man of business and the port of a self-reliant, able man… He has some peculiar tones that arrest attention-deep, guttural notes-harsh, grating, short, rough grunts or snarls-that have a singular effect in his mode of rendering some passages. His scorn is withering, his sarcasm bitter, blighting, blistering ; his love of the ridiculous irrepressible. He is, without doubt, the wittiest and most humorous man at present at the Bar in Ireland.” He died in 1876, at the age of 72.

Grenville Street, at the south-west corner of the Square, leads into Temple Street, going north in which we reach the eastern extremity of **

GREAT DENMARK STREET.

At No. 3, John Toler, Lord Norbury, **lived during the last twenty years of his life, when in Dublin. He resigned the Chief Justiceship in 1827, at the age of 87. A year previously, having fallen asleep on the Bench during a trial for murder, he had received a hint to resign, which, however, came to nothing at the time, owing, it was said, to his indignation being so much aroused that he threatened the emissary of the Lord Lieutenant with a challenge to fight.

“The Castle-hack he sends me,” he said, “shall be his proxy. I’ll have his life, or mine The hair-triggers are ready as in the days of Tandy and Fitzgerald.”

“Curran,” says O’Flanagan, “often raised a laugh at Lord Norbury’s expense. The laws, at that period, made capital punishment so general, that nearly all crimes were punished with death by the rope. It was remarked Lord Norbury never hesitated to condemn the convicted prisoner to the gallows.

Dining in company with Curran, who was carving some corned beef, Lord Norbury inquired, ‘Is* *that beef hung, Mr. Curran?’ ‘Not yet, my lord,’ was the reply, ‘you have not yet tried it.’

While charging the jury after his usual fashion - now a reference to the parties in the suit, ‘how he knew the plaintiff’s father, and loved him, and of what a respectable family the defendant was’ - then a quotation from a play, or a pun upon a witness, making an *olla podrida *of most incongruous materials - Lord Norbury’s address was drowned by the braying of an ass. His lordship, not guessing the cause of the interruption, impatiently inquired, ‘What noise is that?’ ‘Merely an *echo of the Court, *my lord,’ was Curran’s sarcastic reply.” *(Irish Bar.)

Wills (Irish Nation) *says Lord Norbury “had a country house at Cabra, but few ever saw the inside of it, though from the apparent heartiness of the invitations, one would have believed him a most hospitable man.

A story is told of a worthy old gentleman and his wife having responded to the usual good-natured question, ‘When will you pass a few days at my place?’ by going there with bandboxes and portmanteaus. They were booked in their own minds for a week at least, but had reckoned with out* *their host. Lord Norbury had his wits about him, and on seeing the preparations for their sojourn, immediately came to the hall-door. ‘Now, my dear friends, this is so kind of you. I’ll really take no excuse, you must positively oblige me by staying to dinner.”

Of Lord Norbury’s appearance Phillips, in *Curran and His Contemporaries, *says:” The chivalry of Quixote was encased in the paunch of Sancho Panza. Short and pursy, with a jovial visage, and little, grey, twinkling eyes, be had a singular habit of inflating his cheeks at the end of every sentence, and, with a spice of satire was called ‘Puffendorf’ in consequence.”

It was Toler’s favourite boast that he commenced his legal career with fifty pounds in cash and a pair of hair-trigger pistols. “His whole bearing and aspect,” says Shiel,” breathed a turbulent spirit of domination. His voice was deep and big, and in despite of the ludicrous associations connected with his character, when it rolled the denunciations of infuriated power through the court, derived from the terrible intimations it conveyed an awful and appalling character.” (Sketches Legal And Political.)

Writing of him at the period of his elevation to the Bench, Wills *(Irish Nation) *says: “His name had hitherto been prominent for carrying the law severely into operation against the United Irishmen, and now … his ambition seemed to aspire to no higher position than to be regarded as a compound of Calcraft and Joe Miller. Thenceforward the press seldom published a newspaper without a paragraph entitled *Lord Norbury’s Jokes. *The *bon mots *attributable to him are innumerable… The leading practitioners of the court proved no mean corps of actors in the ‘broad farce.’ . . The scenes which occurred, the hard hits dealt between the Bar and the Bench, were such as no other tribunal ever presented before or probably ever will again. Imagine a counsel saying to a judge: ‘I hope your lordship will for once in your life, have the courage to non-suit.’ The word courage stirred up the Toler blood in the veins of the Chief Justice He repeated the word ‘courage.’ I tell you what, Mr. Wallace, there are two kinds of courage - courage to shoot and courage to non-shoot, and I hope I have both, but non-shoot I certainly will not.’ . . The well-known pun of the ‘Daily Freeman’ was made on the occasion of a young barrister of very gentlemanlike address opening the pleading before him. ‘A very promising young man,’ exclaimed his lordship, ‘Jackson, what ‘s his name?’ ‘Mr. Freeman, my lord.’ ‘Ah, **of the county of Cork, I know it by his air. Sir, you are a gentleman of very high pretensions. I protest I never heard the money counts stated in a more dignified manner in all my life. I hope I shall find you, like the paper before me, a *Daily Freeman *in my court…

On the action brought against an individual named Paul, several letters addressed to him were put in evidence. The jury expressed a wish to see them. ‘By all means,’ replied his lordship, ‘send up to the jury those Epistles of Paul.’

One day a gentleman on circuit meeting Lord Norbury at dinner, was entertaining him with several sporting anecdotes. Among other extraordinary feats, he mentioned having shot 31 hares before breakfast. ‘I don’t doubt it,’ replied his lordship, ‘but you must have fired at a wig.”’

He was born in 1740 and died in 1831.

Returning a short distance in Great Denmark Street we pass down **

GREAT GEORGE STREET, NORTH.** **

No.44 **was from 1807 the residence of **Sir Arthur Clarke, **who, then an apothecary merely, - removed hither from Gardiner’s Place. The following year he married Olivia Owenson, who, as the story goes, had, like her sister, Lady Morgan, vowed never to change her name, except for a title.

The amiable Viceroy, the Duke of Richmond, whose *penchant *for bestowing titles was satirised by Lever in *Charles O’Malley, *did the same good service for Clarke that he had already done for Mr. Morgan, and the apothecary became Sir Arthur, and in 1813 a member of the Royal College of Surgeons. Mr. Fitzpatrick, in Friends and Foes of Lady Morgan quotes an obituary notice of Clarke: “Small as he was - and a man of more Lilliputian dimensions, with the exception of Tom Moore, never trod our pave-he will be greatly missed in **Dublin… The late Judge Day was one of the oldest and steadiest of his friends. Sir Arthur and he were at one time almost inseparable, and it was a standing joke with the wags of Dublin some thirty years ago to liken the great colossal judge and his diminutive companion to the 21st of June, inasmuch as they jointly constituted *the longest Day and the shortest night.” *In 1820 Clarke opened a medicated bathing establishment in Lower Temple Street, and used to say, punningly, “I was a Knight Bachelor, I am now a Knight of the Bath.

He died in 1887, aged 84. His father-in-law, George Owenson, died here (see Route I, Dame Street.)

At **No.20 **resided *Sir Samuel Ferguson, author of Hibernian Nights Entertainments, Lays of the Western Gael, *and the famous pasquinade, *Father Tom and the Pope. *“He married, August, 1848, Mary Catherine Guinness, and for many years he and his wife practised an open, generous, and delightful hospitality towards every one in Dublin who cared for literature, music, or art, at their house in North Great George Street.

As a poet he deserves recollection in Ireland, for he strove hard to create modern poetry from the old Irish tales of heroes and saints, and histories of places.”

Dr. Mahaffy, in the *Atheneum, *August, 1886, says he was a man who loved his country from pure affection and as a moral duty,” and “who never lent his poetic talent to increase the volume of Irish discontent.” “I remember asking him,” he writes, “how he, a very secular young barrister had gathered the theological lore scattered through this brilliant piece of fun *[Father Tom and the Pope] *and he told me that when living in very modest lodgings in Eccles Street he often had friends with him on Sunday evenings. This persuaded two rich and pious ladies in the drawing-room floor that he was a Roman Catholic in need of conversion, and they accordingly bribed his servant to leave controversial tracts upon his table. Here were the materials for the dialogue, which he himself spoke of very slightingly, but which showed the world one side of the man - his genuine wit and humour.”

He died in 1886, at the age of 76.

At the southern end of Great George Street is **

GREAT BRITAIN STREET. **

At No.141, as we gather from an article recently contributed to a daily paper, the **Reverend Charles P. Meehan **was born in 1812, his father carrying on business there as a house decorator. (See Route I, Exchange Street)

The next turning to the left is **

CAVENDISH ROW.

6 Cavendish Row.gif (6894 bytes)At No. 3**,  lived **John Thomas Troy, **Catholic Archbishop of Dublin (1786-1823), dying in the latter year, at the age of 84. Webb *(Irish Biography,) *says : “Of all Irish Catholics lie was the most instrumental in helping to carry the Union, throwing all his influence into the Government scales.”

D’Alton speaks of him as “truly learned and zealous pastor, . . a lover and promoter of the most pure and Christian morality and vigilant in the discharge of his duty.” **

At No.6, (pictured, right) for nearly 30 years, lived the eminent chemist and geologist, Richard Kirwan. **Educated abroad, he originally destined for Catholic priestliood, and at one time contemplated retirement as a monk.

The fascinations, personal or pecuniary, of a daughter of the Dowager Lady Blake, however, proving too strong for his celibate tendencies, he married in 1787, and became a widower eight years later. He lived happily, we are told, with his wife, chiefly in London, but part of the time with his mother-in-law at Menlo, who used to object to the pursuit of his studies in the early hours of the morning, telling him that “she never intended her daughter to be the wife of a monk,” on which Mr. Kilwan, a little ruffled, made some unlucky allusion to the champagne he drank on the evening he proposed for the lady.”

Michael O’Donovan, who imparts these items of domestic information in his Memoir* ***of Kirwan in vol. iv. of the Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy (of which Kirwan was president) tells us further that “about 1787, Mr. Kirwan’s health becoming delicate, he was compelled to relinquish the splendid life he led in London… During that year he returned to Dublin, and soon after he took the house No. 6 Cavendish Row, where he continued all the rest of his life.

He there resumed his literary and scientific career. He was intimate with Doctors Magee, Graves, Elrington. and others, then fellows of the College, and on terms of friendship with Lord Norbury, Speaker Foster, and Lord Charlemont.

On Wednesdays, at six o’clock, he received his friends. “At seven the knocker was removed from the hall-door, and this was the signal that he was not to be seen, for he felt disinclined to disturb his guests with introductions or the noise of the knocker.”

Kirwan was found on these occasions reclining on a couch rolled in a cloak, with another cloak covering his lower limbs, and wearing a hat, and with a blazing fire in the room at all seasons He was allowed to wear his hat even in a court of justice and “so consistently anxious was he to keep up the supply of caloric, that if accosted in the street by the Viceroy himself, he would eagerly push on, and unless his friend joined him at the same rapid pace, there was no chance of one word of conversation.

His food was taken for the most part in a liquid form, owing to a complaint of the throat which made swallowing-difficult, and he took his meals alone both when at home-and on a visit, the consciousness that the act of eating was accompanied by distressful convulsions of the face and neck rendering him naturally intolerant of com** **panionship at those seasons.

“Like Domitian,” says Donovan, “Mr. Kirwan had a great abhorrence of flies, and he allowed his servants a small premium per dozen for killing them… He never lost his priestly aspect, and to the end of his long life was always to be seen wrapped in a sacerdotal coat. This he did not relinquish even in the house, no more than his hat - a strange cross between Guy Fawkes’ and Dr. Troy’s.”

Like Dr. Johnson, who, by the way, met his match in Kirwan in respect of erudition, Kirwan had no pleasure in the “concord of sweet sounds,” and it is said on one occasion when Lady Morgan was singing for him to her harp, he forcibly took her hand from the instrument, comparing the performance to the howl of an expiring dog.

As a conversationalist he was delightful, sustaining without monopolising the flow of talk, and always bright and genial. Ladies were only admitted as visitors on a Thursday - which was his “shaving day.” He died here in 1812 at the age of about 70: the year of his birth is uncertain.

Cavendish Row forms part of the east side of **

RUTLAND SQUARE. **

At its northern end stands the gloomy-looking stone mansion, now the General Register and Census Office, known as Charlemont House (pictured, below).** **This was the residence of **James Caulfield, Earl of Charlemont, **who built it in 1773. For about ten years previously he had a house in London. He now lived more constantly in Ireland, and Charlemont House became the great centre of attraction among the educated and upper classes, and exercised in its turn an elevating influence on society.

Charlemont House.gif (8705 bytes)Beauclerk, writing to him from London soon after his settling in Dublin, and urging him to attend the meeting of the club, says: “If you do not come over here I will bring all the club over to Ireland to live with you and that will drive you here in your own defence. Johnson shall spoil your books, Goldsmith pull your flowers, and Boswell talk to you; stay then if you can.”

The younger Grattan, in the *Life and Times of Henry Grattan, says: “Lord Charlemont was the most accomplished man of his *day, the most polished and the most agreeable. He was, in these respects, superior to any person that had yet appeared in Ireland… His society was charming. He was fond of humour, and liked sometimes to be severe, and occasionally indulged in sarcasm, but never on his company. He was full of spirit, of integrity, and of public virtue. He possessed ambition, a great love of fame, and a great contempt for money. From a highly interesting article in the *Irish Times *of September, 1886, we learn that Lord Charlemont was “never at school or college… . He seems to have got into dissipated society, so common at that period, and was taken off to travel abroad under the care of a travelling tutor, Edward Murphy… He spent five whole years in Italy, then a country of intrigue. It was said he had been poisoned there by an Italian lady through jealousy. He was always more or less ailing from this cause. He was greatly bent. His eyes were affected, and sea-bathing he found most beneficial.”

Then we have a picture of him taking his solitary break-fast of a cup of cocoa at Charlemont House with a tame mouse for his only companion; an account of how Miss Mary Hickman commiserated his loneliness and made him an admirable wife, though “after his marriage he adhered to his solitary breakfast.”

“He had no great costly dinners, but was so hospitable that no one knew who would dine there, for he asked whom he would on the instant. He led the life of an invalid - had mint teas and other slops… . He detested new clothes especially a new hat, and great arts were used to substitute a new one. In riding he used to fling his arms about, so that the street boys would cry out after him, ‘Where are you flying to, my lord?”’

He died here in** **1799, aged seventy-one, “in a room on the north or side’ next Granby Row.” (See Marino, North-East Suburb). **

GRANBY ROW. **

No.7 was the residence of **James Whiteside, *afterwards Chief Justice, at the time of his memorable defence of O’Connell, in 1842. “As a young man,” says a writer in Temple Bar. *1864, “he had a capacious forehead, long, progressive-looking nose - that is, a nose indicative of strength of character and a determination to follow anything he undertook; his shoulders were broad, and his figure, though tall and commanding, looked best when attired in the forensic gown.” Some other notes from the same source are given under his - later residence in Mountjoy Square. (See earlier in this chapter).

Granby Row leads into **

DORSET STREET.

No. 12 **is one of the most memorable of Dublin houses as the birth-place of Richard Brinsley Sheridan, in 1751. The bare fact alone can be recorded. Of no eminent man are details of the private life, not infancy and youth, but of his entire career, so scanty. He died in 1816, at the age of 65. **

HENRIETTA STREET.**

At **No. 6, **until shortly before his death, lived **Patrick Duigenan, LL.D., King’s Advocate and Judge of the Prerogative Court of Ireland. “Almost as famous in the House of Commons for his antiquated bob-wig and Connemara stockings as he was for his anti-Catholic proclivities” (Dictionary of National Biography).

Wills *(Irish Nation) *says he was “no orator, but he was the next thing - a speaker in earnest. He had much learning, sagacity, and experience.” He was a warm advocate of the Union, and though a deadly opponent of the Roman Catholic religion, put no restraint on his wife’s professed adherence to that creed, but kept a Roman Catholic chaplain in his house for her spiritual benefit.

Barrington *(Rise and Fall) *says: “He was hospitable and surly, sour and beneficent, prejudiced and liberal, friendly and inveterate… He was an honest man with an outrageous temper and perverted judgment… His strong, sturdy person, and coarse, obstinate, dogmatic, intelligent countenance indicated many of his characteristic qualities.

He died in London in 1816, at the age of 81. **

No. 11**,** next to the Law Library, on the south, was the **residence of **Henry Boyle, Earl of Shannon, **in his untitled days Speaker of the House of Commons, and “of such power,” says a writer in the *Irish Times *(Nov. 19, 1886), that no one dared to contest a borough or a county without ascertaining how the Speaker was inclined.”

In appearance the Earl was- the reverse of attractive, as may be seen from his portrait in the National Portrait Gallery, with red hair and grey eyes. He died in 1764.

At No. 9 lived Arthur **Moore, **Second Justice of the Common Pleas 1815-38. The writer in the *Irish Times, quoted in the previous paragraph, says: “He had a *hard head (for port wine), a rich brogue, and *a good-natured, leering address; he . . travelled in his carriage-and-four (as was then customary) in his *red robes - to strike the more awe;” and tells the following anecdote of “Judy Moore,” as he was nicknamed:

“Once, when Judy Moore was trying sheep-stealers (for whom there is no mercy at the hands of a jury of Kilkenny farmers), the evidence being clear, the foreman of the jury was signing the issue paper, when the prisoner, addressing Moore, who was standing up on the bench with his hands in his breeches-pockets, said, ‘My lord, I’m innocent;’ Moore answered him, looking at the jury and then at the audience with a humorous leer. ‘My man, the jury will give you their opinion on that immaydiately,’ amid the laughter of the whole court.”

A former tenant of No. 9, as we gather from the article quoted above, was Thomas **Carter, **Secretary of State and Master of the Rolls, 1734-54, who is supposed to have built it in the first-named year. 1763 is assumed to be the date of his death. **

No. 10 **(pictured, below) has a double interest, associated with death and marriage; the first, that of the lying-in-state of the Viscountess Mountjoy, in 1814, whose husband was two years later to become Earl of Blessington; the second, the presentation to his friends, by the Earl, of 10 Henrietta St.gif (7762 bytes)the late relict of the deceased Captain Farmer, who met his death in a drunken brawl in the Fleet Prison, as the newly wedded **Marguerite, Countess of Blessington; **whose house in London was afterwards to become the centre of literary and artistic attraction, and of whom Mirabeau wrote: “She will draw wit out of a fool; she strikes with such address the chords of self-love that she gives unexpected vigour and agility to fancy, and electrifies a body that appears non-electric.”

This latter event took place four years after the former, and midway in the interval, Mr. Madden tells us of “a dinner party at the house in Henrietta Street,” at which Thomas Moore was a guest, whenhis lordship seemed to have entirely recovered his spirits.” Probably his grief for the loss of his first wife was not to be measured by the cost of her funeral ceremonial – between £3,000 and £4,000 - when one of the principal rooms was fitted up for the occasion at an enormous cost, the body having been brought from London, attended by six *professional mourners *who “remained in attendance in the chamber in becoming attitudes admirably regulated,” while visitors were introduced by “the London undertaker” to walk round the catafalque, . . covered with a velvet pall of the finest texture embroidered in gold and silver.”

“This great exhibition of extravagant grief, and the enormous outlay made for its manifestation,” says Madden, “was in the bright and palmy days of Irish landlordism, when potatoes flourished, and people who had land in Ireland lived like princes.”

The stay of Lady Blessington here after her marriage appears to have been very brief. She went with her husband to London, after a visit to the Tyrone estates, and thence to Italy.

Lord Blessington died in 1829, and Madden says the house was sold in*** ***1837 to Tristram Kennedy for £1,700. “Blessington House,” writes Mr. Prendergast, in the *Irish Times *of August, 1886, “has undergone great changes since it passed from the representatives of the Earl of Blessington.

It was Mr. Kennedy that closed up the *porte cochere *about twenty-five years ago, and made the present hall-door entrance in the middle of the mansion - thus destroying the finest dining-room, as is evident by the beautiful cornice now seen in portions in different rooms. This alteration suited Mr. Kennedy’s purpose, as he turned the mansion into barristers’ chamber.

King’s Inn Street, nearly opposite to Henrietta Street, off Bolton Street, leads us again into **

GREAT BRITAIN STREET. **

At No. 176 - now, with the adjoining house, a grocer’s - during the first twenty years of the century lived **John Brenan, M.D. **“As an excellent classical scholar,” says the writer of the notice of him in Webb’s *Irish Biography, *“a man of talent and humour, his sallies were long remembered. As editor of the *Milesian Magazine *he unhappily prostituted his talents by ridiculing for pay the Catholic leaders of his day, and abusing the members of his own profession.”

Bayle Bernard, in his *Life of Samuel Lover, *says: “Of the well-known Dr. Brenan, whose vivacious but somewhat personal and reckless magazine was so long the terror and delight of Dublin, he records this piece of satire:

There was a rich physician of the time who never asked a friend to dinner, and in the columns of Brenan’s obituary was announced the loss of the doctor’s cat, as having died in her accouchement of ‘a cold caught in the kitchen grate.”’

Brenan was known as “the wrestling doctor,” being ardently devoted to gymnastics. It is said that he occasionally showed symptoms of mental disorder. He died in 1830, aged about 62.

Retracing our steps a short distance, we pass up **

LOWER DOMINICK STREET.

At No. 45 James Sheridan Le Fanu was born in 1814, his father being the Reverend J. P. Le Fanu. (See **Merrion Square, Route 3) **

No. 57 **was the residence in 1798 of Leonard MacNally, Curran’s junior in most of the State trials consequent on the rebellion of that year. Phillips *(Curran and his Contemporaries) *thus describes him:

“His very appearance fixed attention; not actually deformed, he seemed so. He had had the misfortune, at one time or other, to have every bone in his body broken… Both his legs and his arms totally differing from each other: he limped like a witch. His eye and voice pierced you through like arrows, and served him well in a cross-examination.”

O’Flanagan *(Irish Bar) *says: “Mr. MacNally was a man of varied talent. He wrote several comedies, farces, and operas, all of which, with the exception of *Robin Hood, *were remorselessly damned. Being admonished by Lord Loughborough ‘to abandon the muses and stick to the law,’ he gave up the idea of succeeding as a playwright, and henceforth devoted himself to his professional duties. He also fought duels, and was nearly shot by Sir Jonah Barrington, whose ball was fortunately arrested by the buckle of MacNally’s suspenders. He fell to the ground, exclaiming, ‘I’m hit!’ The surgeon in attendance, on examination, found he was more frightened than hurt. Then, discovering the cause of his patient’s providential escape, exclaimed, ‘By Jove! man, you are the only rogue I ever knew *saved by the gallows (a *common term in Ireland for suspenders).

MacNally died in 1820 at the age of 78. (See Harcourt Street, Route II.)

Returning down Dominick Street on the east side, No. 1 (pictured, right) is notable as the residence of Archibald Hamilton Rowan in 1794, and the scene of his adventurous escape from the custody of the authorities of Newgate, where he was confined on a charge of 1 Lr. Dominick St.gif (6571 bytes)disseminating seditious addresses among the Volunteers. The writer has failed to find any definite reference to the house in existing accounts of the occurrence, but a search in the Registry of Deeds disclosed the fact that the lease of the house No. 1, “bounded on the west by Dominick Street and on the east by Stable Lane,” was assigned by William Gilbert, Bookseller, on behalf of Rowan, on the 30th of May - a month after Rowan’s escape – to William Cunningham Plunkett, for 891 years, at a rental of £80 per annum.

The story is thus summarized in Mr. Curran’s Sketches of the Irish Bar from Mr. Rowan’s own account: “Having discovered [on the 28th of April] the extent of the danger in which he was involved, he arranged a plan of flight to be put in execution on the night of the 1st of May. He had the address to prevail upon the under-gaoler of Newgate, who knew nothing further of his prisoner than that he was under sentence of confinement for a political libel, to accompany him at night to Mr. Rowan’s own house.

They were received by Mrs. Rowan, who had supper prepared in the front room of the second floor. The supper over, the prisoner requested the gaoler’s permission to say a word or two in private to his wife in the adjoining room.

The latter consented on the condition of the door between the two rooms remaining open. He had so little suspicion of what was meditated, that instead of examining the state of this other room, he contented himself with shifting his chair at the supper-table, so as to give him a view of the open doorway.

In a few seconds the prisoner was beyond his reach, having descended by a single rope which had been slung from the window of the back chamber; The rope was too short by some feet, and his descent into the area caused a sprain in one of his ankles, the pain of which was for a moment excessive, but it quickly subsided. In his stable he found a horse ready saddled, and a peasant’s outside coat to disguise him?’

By the assistance of his attorney, Mathew Dowling, and a friend, Mr. Sweetman, living on the north side of Dublin Bay, he was enabled to cross to France, whence he went to the United States. (See Leinster Street,** **Route III.) **

William Cunningham Plunket was 30 years of age when he took the lease of I Dominick Street. His name does not appear in the Directory as residing in it until 1796. (See Plunkett, **Route II.)

Again passing westward along Great Britain Street, we reach **

STAFFORD STREET.

At No. 44 Theobald Wolfe Tone **lived as a lad with his parents. Madden *(United Irishmen) *says: “It is stated in the Annual Register that Theobald, the eldest son of Peter Tone, was born in Stafford Street in 1763. But in the Dublin Directory the address of ‘Peter Tone, coachmaker, 44 Stafford Street,’ appears only from 1770 to 1781, and in the intermediate period for a short time the family resided at 27 Bride Street, or lodged there.”

In his own *Life and Adventures *Tone says: “The school was in the same street where we lived (Stafford Street),” and goes on to say that his father, “meeting with an accident of a fall down-stairs, by which he was dreadfully wounded in the head, so that he narrowly escaped with life,” retired to the country, “placing me with a friend near the school, where he paid for my board and lodging.”

In Barrington’s *Personal Sketches *Tone is referred to as having an ‘unfavourable’ person and a thin and sallow countenance. A brief reference to the circumstances attending the close of the career of this able and courageous member of the United Irish Association may be admissible. Being taken, with some French prisoners, on board a French vessel, in which he bad taken part in the fight with an English ship, he was tried by court-martial and condemned to be hanged.

To avoid the ignominy of this form of execution he pierced his throat with a penknife in his cell. The surgeon had closed the wound and stated that four days must elapse before the result could be pronounced upon.

On the morning of the 19th November, 1798, undoubted symptoms of approaching death appeared. The surgeon remarked to those about him that if he attempted to move or speak he must expire instantly.

Tone took the hint thus inadvertently given and made a slight movement, saying: “‘I can yet find words to thank you, sir; it is the most welcome news you could give me. What should I wish to live for,” and with these words he expired. The house in Stafford Street is now in a very dilapidated state, a gateway takes up two-thirds of its width at the level of the street.

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