Actors and murders

**

Miss Olga Nethersole.

**The professors of the drama have to regulate their meal hours to suit the convenience of their profession. Late dinners are impossible. They usually breakfast later than other people, have a kind of mixed luncheon and dinner about two o’clock, and a late and substantial supper.

On one occasion I was invited by Miss Olga Nethersole, an ornamentt of the stage, to sup with her in the Shelbourne Hotel, Dublin. She enquired was there any particular dish that I would like, and I replied that supper was not a meal I cared much for, but that if I were ordering one in my own house, and only for myself, it would simply be a bowl of warm bread and milk. “That is exactly the kind of supper,” said Miss Nethersole, “that I usually have.”

Miss Nethersole’s supper party was a large one, and the menu differed but little from that of a dinner. There were soup, fish, entrees, sweets, hock, champagne, etc. Miss Nethersole and myself confined ourselves to our bowls of bread and milk to the evident amusement of the other guests.

Miss Nethersole’s stature is much above the average. She is endowed with a profusion of hair, which has one of the most pleasing shades of red. She is much interested in the prevention of tuberculosis. **

William Gorman Wills.**

William Gorman Wills was a cousin of my wife’s, and- a great friend of mine. He was a poet, a novelist, and a painter, as well as a dramatist. His father, the Rector of Durrow, Queen’s County (where his grandson is now rector), wrote the lives of distinguished Irishmen in ten volumes - a work indicating immense research. Wills was a true Bohemian. He set no value on money, and died on the f4th December, 1891, in a London hospital. On one occasion when he was staying with me, Dr. R. Y. Tyrrell, S.F.T.C.D., the distinguished author of many works on the classics, dined with me. During dinner I said to Dr. Tyrrell, “What a curious man is our friend Wills! He has passed all the examinations for the degree of Bachelor of Arts of the University of Dublin, but has not got the certificate of the degree.” Dr. Tyrrell suggested that he should go next day along with him to Trinity College, and arrange to get it. Wills assented, but failed to enter an appearance.

One cannot but wonder that a literary man, who produced works for publication, would not care to have the letters B.A. on his productions His brother, the Rev. Freeman Wills, whose play of “The Only Way,” which Mr. Martin Harvey has made so well known in Dublin, was not so careless. He is a graduate of the University of Dublin.

William Gorman Wills wrote the greater number of the plays which Sir Henry Irving preferred to appear in. It may be fairly claimed for him that he was the greatest dramatic writer of his period. No fewer than three of his plays were on the stage at the same time: “Faust,” “Olivia,” and “Vanderdecken.”

Wills’ drama of “Faust” was played continuously for two years in the Lyceum Theatre, London. He wrote some successful novels, and a poem of considerable length, ‘Melchior.” The favourite song, “I’ll sing thee songs of Araby,” was his production.

One of the charms of Wills’ plays is the elegance of the language which distinguishes so many of them, recalling some of the fine passages in Bulwer Lytton’s “Lady of Lyons.” His plays are numerous, and comprise, amongst others, “The Man o’ Airlie,” “Eugene Aram,” “Jane Shore,” “Sedgmoor,” “Nell Gwynne,” “Charles I.,” and “Claudian.”

Wills was a man of many sides. He was an artist, and most successful in the execution of pastels.

The following appreciation of Wills’ work is from the pen of Dr. Tyrrell, than whom no one is a more competent critic or appreciator of literary labours:-

“I welcome the opportunity you will have of calling back to the memory of lovers of literature the name and the fame of W. G. Wills. For he was a man of letters to the finger tips. Many a delightful talk have I had with him and my old friend, Professor Graham, in my college rooms more than 40 years ago. I hold his two ballads, ‘Old Graf Brom’ and the ‘Countess of Gay Report,’ to be examples of the most perfect reproduction of the spirit of the old ballad poetry, not surpassed even by the skill of that prince of literateurs, the great Sir Walter Scott. They were published in early numbers of Kottabos’ under my editorship, and have been greatly admired. They are republished in ‘Echoes from ‘Kottabos” (Hanna & Neale, Nassau Street). ‘The Man of Airlie’ deserves a high place in the history of the Victorian drama, and some of his novels are excellent, especially ‘Notice to Quit’ and ‘The White Feather.’ The late Sir Henry Irving had a great admiration for Wills’ ‘Faust’ and ‘Charles I.,’ as well as his stage version of ‘The Vicar of Wakefield,’ one of his last works. The very last, I believe, did not meet with the appreciation which in my judgment it deserved. ‘Melchior’ has for me a strange, subtle charm, and shows a new facet of the many-sided genius of W. G. Wills, who deserves to rank as one of the jewels in the crown of Trinity College, Dublin. Though he is not a graduate, he passed all the required tests, but never presented himself at the conferring of degrees. In a certain negligence of temperament and lack of worldly wisdom, as well as in some aspects of his genius, he often reminds us of another great son of Trinity, the charming and versatile Oliver Goldsmith.”

Wills told me the following anecdote: He received a communication requesting his attendance at Osborne to take the portraits of some of the junior members of the Royal Family. He was engaged at the time in writing one of his-plays, and was about to say that he was very busy, but would go to Osborne as soon as he could spare the time. Before he had despatched his letter he was visited by his great friend and relative, the Hon. David Plunket, now Lord Rathmore.

When Mr. Plunket learned what Wills’ intention was, he told him that the invitation to Osborne was a “command,” and that he should at once obey it. Wills accordingly departed to Osborne, and proceeded to paint the portraits of some of the juvenile Royalties. The Princess Louise, who is very artistic, both in painting and sculpture, one day asked Wills for his opinion of the portrait of a boy which she had painted. He asked the Princess did she desire to have his candid opinion, and she replied “Certainly.” “Then,” said Wills, “the face is more like a monkey’s than a boy’s.” The attendants of the Princess were shocked, and the Princess appeared to be surprised at the criticism. She said that he was not complimentary and did not think much of her art.

Wills, having momentarily enjoyed the situation, which he had purposely created, explained that he was really highly praising the portrait, which, he observed, was that of a boy at one of the lodges, whose face was really like that of a monkey. In fact, the Princess was true to nature. After this explanation everyone present was pleased. **

The Wildes.**

In the early ‘sixties I was a constant visitor at the house No. 1 Merrion Square, in which resided Sir William and Lady Wilde. Sir William was an oculist, an antiquarian, and a man of many sides. He was the author of the statistics of disease in the Irish Census of 1841. His wife was a poet of some repute, and wrote under the pseudonym of “Speranza.” They were celebrated for the number of the dinner parties which they gave and the remarkable people who were at them.

Wilde was untidy in his costume, and was often late at his dinner parties. It is said that he proposed marriage to the great tragedienne, Helen Faucit, who refused him on the ground that he did not keep his hands clean.

Lady Wilde was of great stature and large proportions. As the crinoline was at its height, she seemed always to be distant from one. She occupied separate apartments from Sir William, and corresponded with him by notes, but still they were good friends.

There were two well-known “diners out” at that time who, like myself, were always invited to the Wildes’ dinner parties, namely, the Rev. Charles Tisdall, D.D., and Dr. Thomas Beatty, an obstetrician in large practice. Beatty was the only medical man who had been president of both the Royal College of Physicians and the Royal College of Surgeons. The reverend and medical doctors had excellent voices. Their habit was to meet in Wilde’s study and then to ascend the stairs very slowly, singing a duet, to the drawing-room.

The Wildes had three children-a charming little girl, who died young, and two sons, William and Oscar - the latter called after the King of Sweden, who had conferred the Order of the North Star on his father. They were small boys in those days. Oscar became a celebrity. William, after a short career at the Bar, where he was a favourite, went to London and became a journalist. He was a most amusing man and a good performer on the pianoforte, but he was an advanced Bohemian. He married an American widow, who divorced him, and after a chequered career died in London. Of the career of Oscar Wilde it is unnecessary to write: it had a sad termination.

It was said of Sir William Wilde that he was Wilde in name and wild by nature. He was certainly a rough specimen of humanity, but better the rough diamond than the polished paste. Once, whilst he and the late Professor Haughton, Senior Fellow of Trinity College, were on their way to London, an amusing incident occurred. At Holyhead Haughton informed the guard that Wilde was a dangerous lunatic he was in charge of, and that it would be safer not to allow anyone into the same compartment with him except himself, his keeper.

From Holyhead to London Wilde and Haughton had the exclusive use of a compartment.

I heard many amusing stories at the Wildes’ dinner parties, hut I shall only repeat one of them. Dr. Evory Kennedy, an eminent obstetrician, and at one time Master of the Rotunda Hospital, often dined with the Wildes. On one occasion he told us that in the early days of his practise a gentleman called upon him to engage his services for his wife, and to enquire the amount of his fee. Dr. Kennedy said “Ten guineas.” The gentleman observed, “I suppose that is ten pounds” but the doctor repeated “ten guineas.”

In due time the doctor was sent for, performed the required services, and, being winter, took up his position in front of the fireplace. The gentleman appeared and said, “Your fee is ten pounds, doctor?” “Oh, no; ten guineas, as I have already told you.” The gentleman smiled, left the room, and on returning paid the doctor his fee.

He placed his hands behind his back and felt only ten coins wrapped in paper. He slipped them into his pocket, and threw the paper into the fire. On his return he found ten shillings in his pocket, and regretted that he had burned a £10 banknote.

A Miss Travers was a constant visitor to the Wildes. Having alleged that Wilde was too familiar with her whilst she was under the influence of chloroform, she brought an action against him, which proved unsuccessful. Miss Travers’ father lectured on medical jurisprudence in Trinity College and the Ledwich School of Medicine, and was assistant a librarian in Archbishop Marsh’s library.

He was a man of great erudition, and had an extensive acquaintance with *black-letter *books. He was not particular as regards his costume, and in warm weather sometimes regarded stockings as superfluities; but inside his unornamental exterior might be applied to him the words of the poet-

“Ingenium ingens,

Inculto latet hoc sub corpore.”

At a dinner party I happened to make some remarks about Dr. Travers costume to a lady who was sitting next to me. “Oh,” she said, “I know all about his peculiarities, as I happen to be his wife.” Her avowal was made in such an off-hand way, a broad smile irradiating her pleasant face, that my confusion was soon dispelled. However, the incident made me ever after very cautions in conversing with people with whom I was but slightly acquainted. **

“The Agricultural Review.”**

in 1859, Mr. David Rogerson, Mr. Emerson Dawson (both now gone over to the great majority), and myself started a weekly paper, “The Agricultural Review and Country Gentleman’s Newspaper.” It lasted for a few years. I edited the paper, and gave as much time to its interests as I could spare from my professional work.

At that time a penny stamp was affixed to every newspaper. My partners and I attended at the Custom House to register the paper and arrange about the stamp. Having ascertained that a Mr. Murphy was the official to whom we should apply, we entered his office. We found him seated before a fire reading a newspaper. To attract his attention I gave a gentle tap on the counter, of which he took no notice. I then gave a louder tap, upon which he held up his hand, but did not look at us. We understood by the gesture that we should keep quiet until he had finished reading what apparently interested him in the newspaper.

In order to bring him to attention I gave the counter a violent blow with my walking-stick, and shouted, “Is this the way business is transacted in this office?” Mr. Murphy then rose from his chair, and, advancing to the counter with leisurely gait, enquired what our business was. The matter we came about was then arranged. I subsequently became on friendly terms with this gentleman, and found him an agreeable acquaintance. Being far above the average stature, he was nicknamed “Long Murphy.”

On leaving the Custom House we proceeded to the Four Courts, where I had to enter into recognisances, before a Baron of the Exchequer, for my proper conduct as editor and part proprietor of the newspaper. My two partners had also to enter into recognisances in the capacity of my sureties. A nice young man took charge of us, prepared the necessary documents, and introduced us to the Baron. In acknowledgement of his courtesy, we invited him to adjourn to the Angel Hotel, hard by the Four Courts, to join us in a champagne libation to the new literary venture.

He surprised us by saying that although he had been three months in office, our business was the only transaction in which he was engaged! This young gentleman, whose name I forget, was, I believe, the son of a former “Master” attached to the Law Courts.

During the 53 years which have elapsed since these occurrences, I have no doubt the Treasury remembrancers have recommended that some vacancies in public appointments need not be filled up; one certainly was, namely, that ancient sinecure the “Clerk of the Pipe.”

After a few years’ existence, the “Agricultural Review” copyright was purchased by the proprietors of the “Farmers’ Gazette.” **

Annie Laurie’s House.**

Mr. David Rogerson resided in that beautiful villa, “Olney,” Terenure, now occupied by the Right Honourable Thomas W. Russell, M.P. “The Agricultural Review” was posted on Friday evening in each week, and on the same day I generally dined at “Olney.” There I made the acquaintance of Mr. Rogerson’s brother-in-law, Lieutenant John Kennedy, whose regiment, the 4th Light Dragoons, was stationed in Portobello Barracks.

The Lieutenant invited me on several occasions to dine with the officers of his regiment I have a vivid remembrance of one of those dinners. A noble Irish Earl, a fellow-guest, succumbing to the influence of Morpheus, or Bacchus, or both, fell asleep. On awakening he found that his face had been decorated by the aid of a partially burnt cork.

One of the officers was the Hon. Frederick George Ellis, eldest son of Lord Howard de Walden, at that time British Minister at Brussels. Captain Ellis insisted on seeing me home, and ordered his gig to be brought out. He drove at a furious pace along the wrong side of the canal between Portobello Bridge and Leeson Street Bridge, narrowly escaping several times from going into the water. Although grateful for his courtesy, I felt relieved when I bade him good night.

Lieutenant Kennedy invited me to accompany him to his home in Thornhill, Dumfriesshire, as he had to take part in a county ball which was to be given to signalize the marriage of a member of the ducal house of Buccleuch. I accepted the invitation, and on arrival in Thornhill was cordially received by my friend’s family.

Mr. Kennedy’s father was one of the best known men in Scotland. He had extensive tracts of grazing lands, especially in Invernesshire, and possessed more sheep than any other man in Scotland.

I was informed that Mr. Kennedy’s handsome mansion had been the home of Annie Laurie, of the famous song. The bedroom assigned for my use was, according to tradition, Annie’s apartment.

A resident in Thornhill gave me the following version of the origin of the song “Annie Laurie,” the author of which is unknown:- Annie fell in love with a handsome groom in her father’s service. They eloped, but were pursued and captured. Annie being under age, her clothes were, in law, her father’s property. At that time theft involved the penalty of death. The groom was indicted for stealing her clothes, condemned, and hanged. A wandering minstrel composed the song “Annie Laurie,” but his name has not been preserved.

In the early part of the last century petty thefts were often punished by death. A young woman, left destitute by her husband having been taken by a “press gang” of sailors, stole a piece of cloth from a London shop. For this offence she was executed at Tyburn. She was permitted to carry her babe with her on her way to the gallows. The event created a great sensation, and probably helped to have the barbarous criminal laws amended.

An Oxford don was hanged for forgery, and an Irish clergyman for having set fire to his own house.

During my stay in Dumfriesshire, I had the honour of being introduced to the eminent historian, lames Carlyle. His home at that time was in Chelsea, but he paid frequent visits to Dumfriesshire, in which he had so long resided. He has been described as a brusque man, but I found him very agreeable. **

The Actual Cautery.**

When I was a medical student the *actual cautery *was becoming obsolete in surgical practice. It is an instrument with a steel,. iron, or platinum blade, which is heated to a high temperature in a fire or a gas or spirit lamp flame.

My hospital education was carried out in the Meath Hospital and County Dublin Infirmary, but I occasionally witnessed operations in other hospitals. In one of thes - Dr. Steevens’ - I had friends on the teaching staff, and in 1857 I became Professor of Chemistry in its Medical College. A Mr. Cusack was one of the surgeons to this hospital, and had an extensive practice.

In one of the wards an old army pensioner was a patient, suffering from gangrene in one of his legs. Mr. Cusack determined to use the actual cautery in the case. The patient declined the use of chloroform or ether. Mr. Cusack applied the actual cautery to the diseased part of the leg, passing it rapidly down from the knee to the ankle. ”Oh,” said the patient, “that’s barbarous.” “This is worse,” said Cusack, quickly passing the cautery upwards from the ankle to the knee in the front part of the leg.

The old-fashioned actual cautery is superseded by instruments in which black, red, and white heat is produced by electricity, concentrated solar rays, internal combustion, etc.

Mr. Cusack’s operation was successful. When the patient was convalescent he said to him, “Do you feel weak?” “Do I what?” said the old man. “Wake, wake,” repeated the doctor, with altered pronunciation of the word. “Yes, doctor, powerful wake,” replied the ancient warrior. Mr. Cusack then said to him that he would order for him any delicacy that he would like, to which the old man responded by requesting ” a pig’s face resting on a bolster of cabbage.” This *delicacy *was accordingly supplied to him.

Dr. Steevens’ Hospital was founded in 1720, and was endowed by Dr. Steevens and his survivor, Madame Steevens. It is popularly known as Madame Steevens’ Hospital. The popular idea that her face resembled a pig’s arose from her habit of wearing a veil when dispensing her numerous charities in order that the recipients thereof should not recognise their benefactress. **

Johnny Roche’s Castle**

For many years the Royal Agricultural Society of Ireland performed most useful work. In 1888, owing to the land agitation and other causes, it was deemed expedient to wind it up and transfer its property to the Royal Dublin Society.

The Royal Agricultural Society held annually a show in some provincial town. On those occasions it was usual to have a banquet and a tall. I went to several of those shows, because I was Analyst to the Society, and also, but only for a few years, the Editor and part proprietor of the Agricultural Review and Country Gentleman’s Newspaper.

In 1861 I attended the Society’s show at Cork, where I met a friend, the Tate Mr. John Harold Barry, of Ballyvonare, near Buttevant, County of Cork. I accepted an invitation to stay for some time with him before returning to Dublin. Mr. Barry’s father I found to be a jovial, portly old gentleman who took a great interest in young people, especially lovers. He pointed out to me a shady avenue which he designated “the lovers’ walk.”

I greatly enjoyed my visit to the Barry’s. They were most hospitable people, as every day during my stay with them, they had guests at luncheon and dinner. Many of those guests invited me to visit them. Surely in no part of the world are there more hospitable people than are to be found in the South of Ireland!

On the lawn of Ballyvonare are the ruins of Kilcolman Castle, where Edmund Spencer, one of the greatest poets of the Elizabethan period, lived for many years. In it he wrote, in great part, and probably altogether, his *Fairie Queene. *I was much amused by the efforts made by the elder Barry to restore part of the castle. For this purpose he employed an Italian, who was accustomed to modelling, but the material used for the restoration was plaster of Paris!

One morning young Mr. Barry enquired had I heard of Johnny Roche’s Castle. I replied that I had not. “Then,” said he, “we shall pay it a visit.” We drove to the place, a distance of six miles. I found a miniature castle, resembling many of those built by the Normans in Ireland. Outside the gate there was a horn attached to a hook. Mr. Barry blew a loud blast on it, which brought the castellan to a window. “Is that you, Mr. Barry,” shouted the castellan, who was Johnny Roche himself. “I’ll let you in.” The gate was opened, and we were admitted. I was introduced to Johnny Roche, who received me politely.

It was with the greatest astonishment that I learned that Johnny had, unaided, halt the castle. He quarried the stones with which it was erected. The internal fittings and furniture were made by him without any help.

This extraordinary castle was about 45 feet in height, and consisted of three stories, surmounted by two turrets, on one of which floated a flag. The castle was 27 feet in length, and 17 feet broad, and was lighted by 13 windows. The heavy door or gate had some curious carving work decorating it.

Johnny Roche I found to be a man of many sides and of a romantic nature. There were few things that a single man could fabricate that he could not produce. He played on several instruments, made by himself, but chiefly on the violin, with which he used to enliven the festivities of the country people for miles around. He built a little mill in which oats and wheat were ground.

In early life he parted from his wife in America, and lived alone in his castle.

The River Awbeg, the *Mulla *of Spencer’s *Fairie Queene, *runs close to the castle. Johnny pointed out to me a tiny islet in the river on which he had constructed an Aeolian harp. “It is there,” he said, “I desire to be buried, and the Aeolian harp will sound my elegy.” I understand that when he died in 1884 his relatives disregarded his wish and buried him where his ancestors were interred.

The view of Johnny Roehe’s Castle is from a photograph taken by T. J. Roche, Esq.

A portrait and memoir of this remarkable man appeared in the *Journal of the Cork Historical and Archaeological Society, *No.16, Vol.11, 2nd Series, 1896.

Mr. James Byrne, J.P., Coroner for the County of Cork, of Wallstown Castle, Castle Roche, near which Johnny Roche lived, informs me that the castle still exists, but is uninhabited. Mr. Byrne was the most valued of the contributors to the *Agricultural Review, *and still wields his pen with as much vigour as he did in the days of the journal, half a century ago. **

My Experiences Of Trials For Murder**

For eleven years I acted as an expert for the Government :in cases where bloodstains had to be examined and human viscera analysed for the detection of poison.

In those days the assize judges did not leave for their districts on the same day, as, practically, they do now. A fortnight usually elapsed between the day the first assize opened and the departure of the last judge from Dublin.

Owing to this fact, and to arrangements made by the Crown solicitors of the counties, I was enabled to give evidence in many cases in different parts of Ireland during the assizes. I often went down by the night mail to Ennis or Tralee, or other southern assize town, gave my evidence the following day, returned by the night mail, and next morning went to a northern or some other assizes.

During the period that I acted as an expert in certain criminal trials it was difficult in the South and West of Ireland to secure convictions in murder cases where the guilt of the persons seemed to be clearly proved. In the case of the county juries there was a disinclination to send a man to the gallows, even when no political or agrarian elements entered into the case. Knowing this unwillingness to find a verdict which entailed death to the accused, the Crown prosecutors were generally willing to receive a verdict of manslaughter instead of murder.

In eases of sheep-stealing, county juries were so anxious to convict that many Crown solicitors only prosecuted when they were absolutely certain of the guilt of the accused.

In a case in which there was a conviction on what I thought was unconvincing evidence, I mentioned my doubts to a member of the jury. “Very likely,” he said, “he did not steal that particular sheep, but I am sure he stole many another one.”

At Kilkenny Assizes a man was tried on a charge of manslaughter. In a fight at a fair be had fractured a man’s skull. Dr. Lyster, who had made the post-mortem examination, stated that the deceased’s skull was unusually thin; whereupon the prisoner shouted, “What right had a man witth a thin skull to go to a fair!” **

The Longest Murder Trial On Record In Ireland.**

On the 22nd July, 1873, J. H. Montgomery, Sub-Inspector Royal Irish Constabulary, was arraigned at Omagh Assizes for the murder of William Glass, a banker. Two juries had disagreed in previous trials, but the third found him guilty, and he was executed on the 26th August.

Three days before Montgomery’s trial commenced, James Moore was placed on trial at Maryborough Assizes charged with the murder of Edward Delany. He was found guilty on the 9th September, 14 days after the execution of Montgomery. The jury in this case were kept 46 days virtually in confinement. They were allowed a jaunt into the country under police escort, but practically they had no exercise.

They were placed upon a good diet, a liberal supply of whiskey, and provided with packs of playing cards. It was noticed that under these conditions some of the jurors increased in weight. On their enlargement one of them found a very youthful addition to his family, another juror lost one of his. Several became bankrupt, due, they alleged, to their prolonged absence from business.

The Crown was represented by the Solicitor-General, Mr. Hugh Law, who subsequently became Lord Chancellor; Mr. Pakenham Law, and Mr. Dames Longworth. The prisoner was defended by Mr. John Adye Curran (now a County Court Judge) and Mr. Constantine Molloy. The judge was Chief Baron Pigott.

There were 70 witnesses for the prosecution, of whom I was one. The case was about one month going on when I was examined on a Saturday. I was tired of it, although a paid expert witness, for the atmosphere of the court was unpleasant, and I was residing at Bray at the time. I was walking on the Bray esplanade on the following day, when I saw a sergeant of the Royal Irish Constabulary approaching me. He informed me that soon after I had been examined, the Chief Baron wished to ask me a question, hut it was found that I had just left by train for Dublin. The next day I appeared before the Chief Baron, who mildly reproved me for departing without his leave, and made some trivial enquiry. He then informed me that my presence was necessary until the termination of the trial, as he might want to put a question to me. I had to attend every day until the end of the trial, but was not asked any further questions.

The weather was very warm, and owing to the crowded condition of the courthouse, the atmosphere could be distinctly smelled. The Chief Baron complained of the unpleasant atmosphere, and asked me what could be done to improve it. I suggested limiting the number of persons admitted to it, but he said that the Queen’s Court must remain open to all who sought admission to it. I then suggested that besides the half-hour the court was empty during the adjournment for luncheon, it would be desirable to have it unoccupied for five or ten minutes twice a day This suggestion was adopted, and the doors and windows fully opened. It helped to improve the state of the air.

The long continuance of the trial, the unusually warm weather, and the vitiated condition of the air of the court, inspired on the average for seven hours daily, had an injurious effect upon the health of the persons engaged in it. The Crown Solicitor, Mr. Thomas Gerrard, suffered from blood poisoning. All the counsel engaged in the case were more or less affected. Mr. Adye Curran and Mr. Molloy had to go abroad to recruit their health. The Chief Baron never tried another case.

Fifty-three days after Moore’s trial commenced, and near midnight, a verdict of guilty was found, and the prisoner was sentenced to death. He made a severe, but only verbal, attack upon the Chief Baron, informing him that he would rather die a thousand deaths than be tried before him again, and, winding up, shouted to the judge that he would be dead before him (the prisoner).

This scene seems to have had a most unpleasant effect upon the Chief Baron. I was told by Lord Justice Barry that the Chief Baron called upon the executive authorities and induced them to recommend the Lord Lieutenant to reprieve the prisoner.

His reason for intervention was that he felt he should have told the jury that it was open to them to find a verdict of manslaughter if they so desired. The Chief Baron died soon after the trial, but Moore lived for many years a prisoner for life.

The speeches of the counsel and the charge of the judge occupied much time. The concluding speech of the Solicitor-General went on for seven days, Mr. Adye Curran’s address on behalf of the prisoner five days, and the Chief Baron’s charge three days.

I went from Bray to Maryborough every day from the 18th July, when the Grand Jury sat to hear ex parte cases, to the 9th September, Sundays excepted. The days numbered 48*. *The distance from Dublin to Maryborough by rail is about 50 miles, Bray to Kingsbridge 14 miles-total, 64 miles. I, therefore, travelled 128 miles daily for 48 days, or a total of 6,144 miles.

It is a curious coincidence that whilst the trial of Moore was going on in Ireland, the longest trial in England, that of the Tichborne claimant, was slowly progressing all the time and long after.

Death during the lat~ 39 years has removed the judge, the jury, the two solicitors, and four of the five counsel engaged in this case. Judge Adye Curran still lives, and is one of the most able of the County Court Judges. **

“A Mean Defence.”**

The late Lord O’Hagan, Lord Chancellor of Ireland, when Attorney-General and in Parliament, got an Act of Parliament passed which greatly increased the number of petty jurors. The first case tried after the passing of the Act was one of attempted murder. It was held at the summer assizes in Ennis, County of Clare.

The prisoner was charged with shooting at Mr. Creagh, a country gentleman and landowner, with intent to kill him. Mr. Creagh identified the prisoner as the man who fired at him. The gun used for the purpose exploded, and blew either a finger or a thumb (I forget which) off the assailant.

An unusually large number of jurymen appeared, by far the greater number having only a short time previously been placed on the list of jurors. When the sheriff’s officers called out in front of the courthouse, So and so, “come and appear on pain of five pounds,” many of the jurors mistook the word ”pain” for “pay,” and forthwith vanished from the scene.

There were scores remaining. Occasionally, when a juror was called, instead of proceeding to the jury-box he moved towards the dock, whereupon one of the Counsel remarked, “That is the place he is accustomed to go to.” To the Crown solicitor and the prisoner’s solicitor by far greater number of the new jurors were unknown. Very many of them were ordered to “stand aside” by the “Crown.” An unlimited number of jurors may be directed by the “Crown” to “stand aside,” and those so directed may be recalled.

The prisoner’s right is confined to “challenging” 20 jurors peremptorily, that is, without assigning any cause for the challenge, and as many more as he can show good cause for their disqualification. A small minority of the jurors wore neckties, but all who had them and were called were objected to by the prisoner’s solicitor. Ultimately the jury who tried the case were wholly unprovided with neckties. Although the judge charged strongly against the prisoner, and all but gave them a direction to convict, yet the jury, after a somewhat long consultation, acquitted him. The thumb or finger lost by the man who fired at Mr. Creagh had been found, was preserved in spirits of wine, and was produced in Court. Its custodian enquired what was to be done with it, and the judge directed it should be given to its owner, the prisoner.

Late on the day of the trial I was walking down the principal street in Ennis in the company of the Crown solicitor, the late Mr. Alexander Morphy, when we met one of the jury who had tried the case. “So you let that man off today?” said Mr. Morphy to the juror. “Well, your honour, we were nearly letting him swing.” “Oh,” said Mr. Morphy, “I am glad to know that you hesitated about acquitting him, for you know very well he was guilty.” “It was not on that account, your honour,” the ex-juror replied. “It was the mean defence his counsel set up for him.”

The mean defence was to the effect that the prisoner had no intention to kill Mr. Creagh, but wished to warn him of the danger he ran if he did not treat his tenants better. He, therefore, did not aim at Mr. Creagh. It was this defence, made by his counsel, the late Mr. Denis Caulfield Heron, K.C., which made the jury hesitate about acquitting him. If his counsel had not put forward that plea, the jury would probably have acquitted him without leaving the box.

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