Irish Judges. Lord Kilwarden. Robert Emmet.

Chapter XXXVII.

Anecdotes of Irish Judges.

**Baron Monckton - Judge Boyd-Judge Henn - Legal blunder of a judge, and Curran’s bon-mot thereon - Baron Power - His suicide - Crosby Morgal’s spirit of emulation - Judge William Johnson - Curious anecdote between him and the author - Judge Kelly - His character and bon-mots - Lord Kilwarden - His character - Murder of him and his nephew, the Rev. Mr. Wolfe - Mr. Emmet executed - Memoir of that person - Judge Robert Johnson - Arrested in Ireland, and tried in London, for a libel written on Lord Redesdale in Ireland, and published by Cobbett - Doubts of the legality of his lordship’s trial - He is found guilty.

Before and for some time after I was called to the bar, the bench was in some instances very curiously manned as to judges. The uniform custom had previously been to send over these dignitaries from England, partly with a view to protect the property of absentees, and partly from political considerations; and the individuals thus sent appeared as if generally selected because they were good for nothing else. In truth, till the judges of Ireland were made independent of the Crown in 1784, no English barrister who could earn his bread at home would accept a precarious office in a strange country, and on a paltry salary. Such Irishmen also as were in those days constituted puisne judges, were of the inferior class of practising barristers, on account of the last-mentioned circumstance.

A vulgar idea, most ridiculous in its nature, formerly prevailed in Ireland, of the infallibility of judges. It existed at an early period of my observations, and went so far even as to conceive that an ignorant barrister, whose opinion nobody probably would ask, or, if obtained, would act upon, should lie by interest, subserviency, or other fortuitous circumstances, be placed on the judicial bench, immediately changed his character - all the books in his library pouring their information into his head! The great seal and the king’s patent were held to saturate his brain in half an hour with all that wisdom and learning which he had in vain been trying to get even a peep at during the former portion of his life, and the mere dicta of the metamorphosed barrister were set down by reporters as the infallible, but theretofore inexplicable, law of the land, and as such handed round to other judges under the appellation of precedents, entitled to all possible weight in judicial decisions.

This old doctrine of the infallibility of dicta and precedents, which presented, in fact, an accumulation of enigmas and contradictions, was at one time carried to great lengths, I believe partly from a plausible system of making legal decisions *uniform, *whether right or wrong, and perhaps partly from the inability of the adapters to make any better sort of precedent themselves. A complaisance so ridiculous has of late been much relaxed.

To shew the gradual and great improvement of the Irish bench, and the rapid advance in the administration of justice in the law courts of that country, I will subjoin a few illustrative anecdotes.

Baron Monckton of the Exchequer, an importation from England, was said to understand *black *letter and *red *wine better than any who had preceded him in that situation. At all events, being often *vino deditus, *he on those occasions described the segment of a circle in making his way to the seat of justice! This learned baron was longer on the bench than any other in my recollection. I have also in later days enjoyed the intimacy of a very clever well-informed man, and a sound lawyer, who, like the baron, rather indecorously indulged in the juice of the grape, and whom Lord Clare had made a judge for some services rendered to himself. The newspapers eulogised this gentleman very much for his singular *tender-heartedness, *saying, “So great was the humanity of Judge Boyd, that when he was passing sentence of death upon any unfortunate criminal, it was observable that his lordship seldom failed to have ‘a drop in his eye!’”

I remember a barrister being raised to the Irish bench, who had been previously well known by the ingenious surname of Counsellor *Necessity, *because *“necessitas non legem habet;” *and certainly to do him no more than justice, he consistently merited the cognomen after his elevation as well as before.

Old Judge Henn, a very excellent private character, was dreadfully puzzled on circuit, a bout 1789, by two pertinacious young barristers, arguing a civil bill upon some trifling subject, repeatedly haranguing the court, and each most positively laying down the “law of the case” in *direct *opposition to his adversary’s statement thereupon. The judge listened with great attention until both were tired of stating the law and contradicting each other, when they unanimously requested his lordship to decide the point.

“How, gentlemen,” said Judge Henn, “can I settle it between you? You, sir, positively say the law is *one way, *and you,” turning to the opposite party, “as unequivocally affirm that it is the other way. I wish to God, Billy Harris,” to his registrar who sat underneath, “I knew what the law *really *was!”

“My lord,” replied Billy Harris most sententiously, rising at the same moment, and casting a despairing glance towards the bench, “if I possessed that knowledge, I protest to God I would tell your lordship with a great deal of pleasure!”

“Then we’ll *save the point, *Billy Harris,” exclaimed the judge.

A more modern justice of the Irish King’s Bench, in giving his *dictum *on a certain will case, absolutely said, “he thought it very clear that the *testator *intended to keep a *life-intererest *in the estate to *himself” *The bar did not laugh outright; but Curran soon rendered that consequence inevitable. “Very true, my lord,” said be, “Very true! testators generally do secure life-interests to themselves. But in this case I rather think your lordship takes the *wish *for the deed.”

The chief justices were, however, generally accomplished men, and of first-rate talent as lawyers; and the chancellors, with few exceptions, both able and dignified - qualities which Lord Lifford was the last to unite in an eminent degree.

On the subject of judges, I cannot omit a few anecdotes of a very different description from the foregoing, which occurred in my own time.

Baron Power was considered an excellent lawyer, and was altogether one of the most curious characters. I have met in the profession. He was a morose, fat fellow, affecting to be genteel: he was very learned, very rich, and very ostentatious. Unfortunately for himself; Baron Power held the office of usher of the Court of Chancery, which was principally remunerated by fees on moneys lodged in that court. Lord Clare, then chancellor, hated and teazed him, because Power was arrogant himself, and never would succumb to the arrogance of Fitzgibbon. The chancellor had a certain control over the usher, at least he had a sort of license for abusing him by innuendo as an officer of the court, and most unremittingly did he exercise that license. Baron Power had a large private fortune, and always acted in office strictly according to the custom of his predecessors; but was attacked so virulently and pertinaciously by Lord Clare, that having no redress, it made a deep impression, first on his pride, then on his mind, and at length on his intellect Lord Clare followed up his blow, as was common with him: he made incessant attacks on the baron, who chose rather to break than bend; and who, unable longer to stand this persecution, determined on a prank of all others the most agreeable to his adversary! The baron walked quietly down early one fine morning to the south wall, which runs into the sea about two miles from Dublin; there he very deliberately filled his coat-pockets with pebbles; and having accomplished that business, as deliberately walked into the ocean, which, however, did not retain him long, for his body was thrown ashore with great contempt by the tide.

His estates devolved upon his nephews, two of the most respectable men of their country; and the lord chancellor enjoyed a double gratification of destroying a baron, and recommending a more submissive officer in his place.

Had the matter ended here it might not have been so very remarkable; but the precedent was too respectable and inviting not to be followed by persons who had any particular reasons for desiring strangulation, as a judge drowning himself gave the thing a sort of dignified legal *éclat! *It so happened that a Mr. Morgal, then an attorney residing in Dublin, of large dimensions, and with shin bones curved like the Segment of a rainbow, had for good and sufficient reasons long appeared rather dissatisfied with himself and other people. But as attorneys were considered much more likely to induce their neighbours to cut their throats than to execute that office upon themselves, nobody ever suspected Morgal of any intention to shorten his days in a voluntary manner.

However, it appeared that the signal success of Baron Power had excited in the attorney a great ambition to get rid of his sensibilities by a similar exploit. In compliance with such his impression, he adopted the very same preliminaries as the baron had done - walked off by the very same road, to the very same spot; and having had the advantage of knowing, from the coroner’s inquest, that the baron had put pebbles into his pocket with good effect, adopted likewise this judicial precedent, and committed himself in due form into the hands of father Neptune, who took equal care of him as he had done of the baron; and after having suffocated him so completely as to defy the exertions of the Humane Society, sent his body floating ashore, to the full as bloated and buoyant as Baron Power’s had been. This gentleman was father to a lady of rank still living, and whose first husband met a much more disagreeable *finale, *being shot *against *his will by his brother candidate, Mr. Crosby, at the election of Kerry. She has herself, however, been singularly fortunate throughout life.

As a sequel to this little anecdote of Crosby Morgal, it is worth observing, that though I do not recollect any of the *attorneys *immediately following his example, four or five of his *clients *very shortly after started from this world of their own accord, to try, as people then said, if they could any way overtake Crosby, who had left them no conveniences for staying long behind him.

[The Irish attorneys had, I believe, then pretty much the same reputation and popularity enjoyed by their tribe throughout the United Kingdom. They have now wisely changed their designation into that of *solicitors. *I recollect one anecdote which will, I think, apply pretty well to the major part of that celebrated profession. Some years ago, a suitor in the Court of Exchequer complained in person to the Chief Baron, that he was quite *ruinated, *and could go on no further! “Then,” said Lord Yelverton, “you had better leave the matter to be decided by reference.” “To be sure I will, my lord,” said the plaintiff: “I’ve been now at law 13 years, and can’t get on at all. I’m willing, please your lordship, to leave it all either to *one honest man *or two *attorneys, *whichever your lordship pleases.” “You had better toss up for that,” said Lord Yelverton laughing. Two attorneys were, however, appointed, and in less than a *year *reported that “they could not agree:” both parties then declared they would leave the matter to a very honest farmer, a neighbour of theirs. They did so, and in about a *week, *came hand-in-hand to the court, thanked his lordship, and told him that their neighbour had settled the whole affair square and straight to their entire satisfaction. Lord Yelverton used to tell the anecdote with great glee.]

Mr. William Johnson, the present Judge Johnson, was the only one of my brother barristers whose smiles were not agreeable to me when we went circuits together. I liked his frowns extremely, because *they *were generally *very sincere, *extremely picturesque, and never niggardly bestowed. But as my own smiles had the trouble of mounting up from my heart, whilst he had an assortment ready prepared to take a short cut to his muscles whenever policy required, I found that in this particular we were not equally matched.

When my friend William was angry, I was sure he was in earnest, and that it would not be over too soon; I therefore considered it as a proper, steady sort of concern. But his paroxysms of good humour were occasionally so awkward, that although they were but transitory, I have frequently begged of him to cheer up our society by getting into a little passion; nay, have sometimes taken the liberty of putting him into one myself, to make him more agreeable.

Be it remembered, however, that this was before Mr. William Johnson became a judge, and I cannot say what effect an inoculation by Lord Norbury’s temperament may have had upon his constitution. But I have frequently told him, that either physic or wrangling was indispensably necessary, to keep his bile from stagnation; and I hope my old chum has not suffered himself to sink into any morbid state of mental apathy.

I always promised to give William Johnson a page or two in my Historic Memoirs of Ireland - some* *of his friends have suggested that he would be more appropriately introduced into my fragments. I will adopt their suggestion without abandoning my own purpose, and with the best wishes for his celebrity, bequeath him in *both *works to posterity which I shall leave to form its own estimate of his merits.

Though divers curious and memorable anecdotes occur to me of my said friend Judge William Johnson, I do not conceive that many of them can be very interesting out of court, particularly after be becomes defunct, which Nature has certainly set down as a “motion of course.” One or two, however, which connect themselves with my egotistical feelings shall not be omitted. At the same time, I assure him, that I by no means approve of our late brother Daly’s method of reasoning, who, on his speaking rather indecorously of Mr. William Johnson in his absence, at the Bar-mess on circuit, was tartly and very properly asked by the present Mr. Justice Jebb, “Why he would say such things of Mr. Johnson behind his back?” “Because,” replied Mr. Daly, “I would not *hurt his feelings by *saying them to his face.”

I often reflect on a most singular circumstance which occurred between Johnson and me, as proving the incalculability of what is called in the world “fortune,” which in my mind cannot have a better definition than “The state lottery of Nature.” My friend is the son of a respectable apothecary in Fishamble Street, Dublin, and was called to the bar some few years before me; but the world being blind as to our respective merits, I got immediately into considerable business, and he, though a much wiser man and a much cleverer lawyer, got none at all. Prosperity, in short, deluged me as it were, when suddenly I fell ill of a violent fever on circuit, which nearly ended my career. Under these circumstances Johnson acted by me in a most kindly and friendly manner, and insisted on remaining with me, to the neglect of his own concerns. This I would not allow; but I never forgot the proffered kindness, and determined, if ever it came within my power, to repay his civility.

The next year I was restored to health, and my career of good fortune started afresh, whilst poor Johnson had still no better luck. He remained assiduous, friendly, and good*-*natured to me; but at the same time he drooped, and told me at Wexford, in a state of despondency, that he was determined to quit the bar and go into orders. I endeavoured to dissuade him from this, because I had a presentiment that he would eventually succeed; and I fairly owned to him that I doubted much if he were *mild *enough for a parson.

In about two *years *after, I was appointed King’s Counsel. My stuff gown had been so far the most fortunate one of our profession, and Johnson’s the least so. I advised him to get a new gown; and shortly after, in the whim of the moment, fancying there might be some seeds of good luck sticking to the folds of my old stuff after I had quitted it for a silken robe, I despatched a humorous note to Johnson, together with the stuff gown, as a mark of my gratitude for his attentions, begging he would accept it from a friend and well-wisher, and try if wearing it would be of equal service to him as to me.

He received my jocose gift very pleasantly, and in good part, and, laughing at my conceit, put on the gown. But whatever may become of prepossessions, certain it is that from that period Johnson prospered, his business gradually grew larger, and in proportion as it increased, he became what they call in Ireland *high enough *to everybody but the attorneys; and thus my friend William Johnson trudged on through thick and thin to the Parliament House, into which Lord Castlereagh stuffed him, as he said himself, “to put an end to it.” However, he kept a clear look-out, and now sits in the place his elder brother Judge Robert had occupied, who was rather singularly unjudged for having *Cobbettised *Lord Redesdale, as will hereafter appean

Old Mr. Johnson, the father of these two gentlemen, when upwards of 60 procured a diploma as physician, to make the family genteeler. He was a decent, orderly, good kind of apothecary, and a very respectable, though somewhat ostentatious doctor; and, above all, a good orthodox, hard-praying Protestant. I was much amused one day after dinner at Mr. Hobson’s, at Bushy, near Dublin, where the doctor, Curran, myself; and many others were in company. The doctor delighted in telling of the successes of his sons, Bob, Bill, Gam, and Tom the attorney, as he termed them; he was fond of attributing Bob’s advancement rather to the goodness of Providence than that of the Marquess of Downshire; and observed, most parentally, that he had brought up his boys, from their very childhood, with “the fear of God always before their eyes.” “Ah! ‘twas a fortunate circumstance, indeed, doctor,” said Curran, “very fortunate, indeed, that you *frightened *them so early.”

One of the most honourable and humane judges I ever saw upon the Irish bench was the late Justice Kelly, of the Common Pleas. He acquired professionally a very large fortune, and died at a great age, beloved and regretted by every being who had known him. It was he who tried the cause of Lady M---, and never did I see him chuckle with pleasure and a proper sense of gallantry, more than he did at the verdict in that case.

He was no common man. Numerous anecdotes have been told of him - many singular ones I myself witnessed, but none which did not do credit to some just or gentlemanly feeling. He had practised several years in the West Indies, and studying at the Temple on his return, was in due season admitted to the Irish bar, to the head of which he rose with universal approbation.

At the time the Irish insisted on a declaration of their independence, Judge Kelly had attained the high dignity of Prime Serjeant, a law office not known in England: in Ireland the Prime Serjeant had rank and precedence of the attorney and solicitor general. On the government of Ireland first opposing that declaration of independence, Kelly, from his place in Parliament, declared “he should consider it rather a disgrace than an honour to wear the Prime Serjeant’s gown under a ministry which resisted the rights of his country!” and immediately sent in his resignation, and retired to the rank of a private barrister.

Among such a people, and in consequence of such conduct, it is useless to attempt describing his popularity. His business rose to an extent beyond his powers. Nobody was satisfied who had not Tom Kelly for his advocate in the courts; no suitor was content who had not Tom Kelly’s opinion as to title; all purchasers of property must have Tom Kelly’s sanction for their speculations. In a word, he became both an oracle and a fortune-teller; his court-bag grew too heavy for his strength, but he got through every cause gallantly and cheerfully; he was always prepared; his perseverance never yielded, his arguments seldom failed, his spirits never flagged. This enviable old man lived splendidly, yet saved a large fortune. At length, it was found so unpopular to leave him at the bar, that he was first appointed Solicitor-General, and then mounted on the bench or the Common Pleas, where, having sat many years, he retired to his beautiful country residence near Stradbally, Queen’s County, and lived as a country gentleman in hospitable magnificence. He married three of his daughters well, pursued his field-sports to his death, and departed this world to the unanimous regret of all who knew him.

Judge Kelly’s only son, whilst his father yet lived, turned Methodist, got infatuated amongst devotees and old women, became a sectarian preacher! and has by these ignoble means contrived, as thoroughly as the possession of a large fortune will permit him, to bury once more the family name in that obscurity whence his father had raised it. After Judge Kelly had assumed the bench the public began to find out that his legal knowledge had been over-rated; his opinions were over-ruled, his advice thought scarce worth having, his deductions esteemed illogical; in short, he lost altogether the character of an infallible lawyer, but had the happiness of thinking he had confirmed his reputation for honour, justice, and integrity. He used to say laughingly, “So they find out now that I am not a very staunch lawyer; I am heartily glad they did not find it out 30 years ago!”

He loved the world, and this was only gratitude, for the world loved him; and nobody ever yet enjoyed his existence with more cheerfulness and composure. “Egad !” he used to say, “this world is wheeling round and round quite too fast to please me. For my part I ‘d rather be a *young *shoe-boy than an *old *judge.” (Who would not? says the author.) He always most candidly admitted his legal mistakes. I recollect my friend William Johnson once pressing him very fiercely to a decision in his favour, and stating as an *argument, *in his usual peremptory tone to judges he was not afraid of; that there could be no doubt on the point-precedent was imperative in the matter, as his lordship had decided the same points the same way twice before.

“So, Mr. Johnson,” said the judge, looking archly, shifting his seat somewhat, and shrugging up his right shoulder, “So! because I decided *wrong *twice, Mr. Johnson, you’d have me do so a *third *time? No, no, Mr. Johnson! you must excuse me. I’ll decide the other way this bout.” And so he did.

The anecdotes of his quaint humour are in fact innumerable some of his charges quite extraordinary. His profile was very like Edmund Burke’s: he had that sharp kind of nose which gives a singular cast to the general contour, but there was always an appearance of drollery lurking in his countenance. No man could more justly boast of carrying about him proofs of nationality, as few ever had the Irish dialect stronger. It was in every word and every motion! Curran used to say he had the *brogue *in his *shoulders. *If Judge Kelly conceived he had no grounds to be ashamed of his country, she had still less to be ashamed of him. He was calculated to do credit to any land.

I also had the pleasure of being acquainted with Mr. Arthur Wolfe intimately, afterwards Baron Kilwarden and Chief Justice of Ireland. This gentleman had, previously to his advancement, acquired very high eminence as an equity lawyer; he was much my senior at the bar.

Wolfe had no natural genius, and but scanty *general *information; his talents were originally too feeble to raise him by their unassisted efforts into any political importance. Though patronised by the Earl of Tyrone, and supported by the Beresford aristocracy, his rise was slow and gradual, and his promotion to the office of solicitor-general had been long predicted, not from his ability, but in consequence of his reputation as a good-hearted man and a sound lawyer.

On the elevation of Mr. John Fitzgibbon to the seals, Mr. Wolfe succeeded him as attorney-general, the parliamentary duties of which office were, however, far beyond the reach of his oratory, and altogether too important for his proportion of intellect; and hence he had to encounter difficulties which he was unable successfully to surmount. The most gifted members of his own profession were, in fact, then linked with the first-rate political talents of the Irish nation, to bear down those measures which it had become Mr. Wolfe’s imperative official duty to originate or support.

In the singular character of Mr. Wolfe there were strange diversities of manner and of disposition. On first acquaintance he seldom failed to make an unfavourable impression, but his arrogance was only apparent, his pride innoxious, his haughtiness theoretical. In society he so whimsically mixed and mingled solemn ostentation with playful frivolity, that the man and the boy, the judge and the jester were generally alternate.

Still Kilwarden’s heart was right and his judgment sufficing. In feeling he was quick, in apprehension slow. The union of these qualities engendered a sort of spurious sensibility, which constantly led him to apprehend offence where none was ever intended. He had a constant dread of being thought petulant, and excitement produced by this dread became itself the author of that techy irritation which he so much deprecated. Thus, like certain humorous characters on the stage, he frequently worked himself into silly anger by endeavouring to shew that he was perfectly good-tempered.

Lord Kilwarden, not perceiving the true distinction between pride and dignity, thought he was supporting the appearance of the one, when in fact he was only practising the formality of the other; and after a long intercourse with the world, he every day evinced that he knew every one’s else character better than his own. As attorney-general, during a most trying era, his moderation, justice, and discretion were not less evident than was his strict adherence to official duties, and the peculiarities of his manner were merged in the excellence of his more sterling qualities.

In the celebrated cause of the King against Heavy, in the King’s Bench, Mr. Curran and I were Heavy’s counsel, and afterwards moved to set aside the verdict on grounds which we considered to form a most important point upon legal principles.

Curran had concluded his speech, and I was stating what I considered to be the law of the case, when Lord Kilwarden, impatient and fidgetty, interrupted me, - “God forbid, Mr. Barrington,” said he, “that should be the law!”

“God forbid, my lord,” answered I, “that it should *not *be the law.”

“You are rough, sir,” exclaimed he.

“More than one of us have the same infirmity, my lord.”

“I was right, sir,” said he.

“So was I, my lord,” returned I unbendingly.

He fidgetted again, and looked haughty and sour. I thought he would break out, but he only said, “Go on, sir! go on, sir!” I proceeded, and whilst I was speaking, he wrote a note, which was handed to me by the officer: I kept it, as affording a curious trait of human character. It ran thus:-

“Barrington,

“You are the most impudent fellow I ever met. Come and dine with me this day at six. You will meet some strangers, so I hope you will behave yourself; though I have no reason to expect it I” “K.”

To conclude this sketch - Lord Kilwarden was in grain one of the best men I ever knew; but to be liked, it was necessary he should be known; and the more intimately known, the more apparent were his good qualities. He bad not an error to counterbalance which some merit did not exhibit itself. He had no wit, though he thought be said good things: as a specimen of his punning, he used to call Curran “Gooseberry.”

The instability of human affairs was lamentably exemplified in his lordship’s catastrophe : his life was prosperous, and deservedly so; his death cruel and unmerited. There scarcely exists in record a murder more inhuman or more wanton than that of the Chief Justice.

In 1803, on the evening when the partial but sanguinary insurrection broke out in Dublin organised by Mr. Emmet, Lord Kilwarden had retired to his country-house near the metropolis, and was tranquilly enjoying the society of his family, when he received an order from Government to repair to town on particular business: in fact, the police, the secretaries, and all attached to the executive, had continued incredulous and supine, and never believed the probability of a rising until it was at the very point of commencing.

Lord Kilwarden immediately ordered his carriage, and attended only by his nephew, a clergyman, and one of his daughters, proceeded to Dublin without the least suspicion of violence or interruption. His road, however, lay through a wide and long street, wherein the rebels had first assembled; and previously to Lord Kilwarden’s arrival, had commenced operations. Before his lordship could conceive, or had time to ask the cause of this assemblage, he was in the midst of their ranks; hemmed in on every side by masses of armed ruffians, there was no possibility of retreat; and without being conscious of a crime, he heard the yells of murder and revenge on every side around him, and perceived that be was lost beyond the power of redemption.

A general shout ran amongst the insurgents of “The Chief Justice! The Chief Justice!” Their crime would have been the same in either case, but it was alleged that they were mistaken as to the person, conceiving it to be Lord Carleton, who, as Justice of the Common Pleas, had some years before rendered himself beyond description obnoxious to the disaffected of Dublin, in consequence of having been the judge who tried and condemned the two Counsellors Sheers, who were executed for treason, and to whom that nobleman had been testamentary guardian, by the will of their father. The mob thought only of him; and Lord Kilwarden fell a victim to their revenge against Lord Carleton.

The moment the cry went forth, the carriage was stopped, and the door torn open. The clergyman and Miss Wolfe got out and ran: the latter was suffered to escape; but the pikemen pursued, and having come up with Mr. Wolfe, mangled and murdered in a horrid manner as fine and inoffensive a young gentleman as I ever knew.

Hundreds of the murderers now surrounded the carriage, ambitious only who should first spill the blood of a chief justice; a multitude of pikemen at once assailed him, but his wounds proved that he had made many efforts to evade them. His hands were lacerated all over in the act of resistance; but after a long interval of torture, near 30 stabs in various parts of his body incapacitated him from struggling further with his destiny. They dragged him into the street; yet, when conveyed into a house, he was still sensible, and able to speak a few words, but soon after expired, to the great regret of all those who knew him well, as I did, and were able to separate his frivolity from his excellent qualities.

Certain events which arose out of that cruel murder are singular enough. Mr. Emmet, a young gentleman of great abilities, but of nearly frantic enthusiasm, who had been the organ and leader of that partial insurrection, was son to the State physician of Ireland, Dr. Emmet. Some time after the unfortunate event, he was discovered, arrested, tried, and executed. On his trial, Mr. Plunkett was employed to act for the Crown, with which he had not before been connected, but was soon after appointed solicitor-general. The circumstances of that trial were printed, and are no novelty; but the result of it was a paper which appeared in Cobbett against Lord Redesdale, and which was considered a libel. It was traced to judge Robert Johnson, of the Common Pleas, who was in consequence pursued by the then attorney-general, Mr. O’Grady, as was generally thought by the bar, and as I still think, in a manner contrary to all established principles both of law and justice. The three law courts had the case argued before them: the judges differed on every point: however, the result was that Judge Johnson, being kidnapped, was taken over to England, and. tried before the King’s Bench at Westminster, for a libel undoubtedly written in Ireland, although published by Cobbett in both countries.

He was found guilty; but, on the terms of his resigning office, judgment was never called for. As, however, Judge Robert Johnson was one of those members of Parliament who had forgotten their patriotism and voted for a Union, the Government could not in reason abandon him altogether. They therefore gave him £1,200 a year for life; and Robert Johnson, Esq., has lived many years not a bit the worse for Westminster; whilst his next brother, to whom I have already paid my respects, was made Judge of the Common, Pleas, and rules in his stead.

This is the Mr. Robert Johnson who, from his having been inducted into two offices, Curran used to style, on alluding to him in the House of Commons, “the *learned *barrackmaster.” He was a well-read entertaining man, extremely acute, an excellent writer, and a trustworthy agreeable companion. But there was something tart in his look and address, and he was neither good-natured in his manner nor gentlemanly in his appearance, which circumstances altogether combined with his public habits to render him extremely unpopular. He did not affect to he a great pleader, but he would have made a first rate attorney: he was very superior to his brother William in everything except law and arrogance, in which accomplishments William, when a barrister, certainly was entitled to a pre-eminence which, I believe, none of his contemporaries refused to concede him.

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