Personal Sketches of His Own Times, Vol. 3 (of 3). Jonah Barrington
a pair of enormous horns just over your head, Sir William! – a gross insult, Sir William – to me, Sir William – indeed to both of us.”
I was much amused, and could not help observing “that the horns were certainly enormous horns, to be sure; but as the joke must be intended against Sir William himself – not her ladyship – I hope – ” said I.
“No, no, Sir Jonah,” said the lady interrupting me.
“I see now,” said Sir William, looking at the bottom, “this comes from Ulster.”
“Read on, Sir William,” said I, “read on.”
“Ay, Ulster king-at-arms: and who the deuce is Ulster king-at-arms?”
“I suppose,” said I, “some blood relation to the Escheator of Munster, and – ”
“And who – who the d – l is the Escheator of Munster?” said Sir William (who had never vacated a seat in the Irish Parliament).
“He is of the same family as the Chiltern hundreds,” quoth I.
“Chiltern hundreds! Chiltern hundreds! By Jove, they must be an odd family altogether,” said the Lord Mayor, still more puzzled, his lady sitting quite silent, being now altogether out of her depth, – till a small letter, to that moment overlooked, was taken up and read by the Lord Mayor, and was found to be connected with a bill furnished, and wanting nothing but a receipt in full to make it perfect. The countenance of Sir William now became less placid. It proved to be a very proper and fair intimation from his Majesty’s herald-at-arms, to the effect that, as the baronetcy originated with the Jubilee, and was granted in honour of King George the Third having ruled half a century, an amplification of the new baronet’s heraldry by an additional horn, motto, ribbon, &c., was only a just tribute to his Majesty’s longevity! and, in truth, so properly and professionally was the case stated, that Ulster’s clear opinion may be inferred that every family in the empire might, in honour and loyalty, take a pair of horns, motto, and ribbon, as well as Sir William, if they thought proper so to do, and on the same terms.
How the matter was finally arranged, I know not; but the arms came out well emblazoned and duly surmounted by a more moderate and comely pair of horns; and Sir William, in regular season, retired from office with due éclat, and in all points vastly bettered by his year of government. Though he retired, like Cincinnatus – but not to the plough – Sir William reassumed his less arduous duties of committing rogues to Newgate – long corks to Chateau Margaux – light loaves to the four Marshalsea Courts – and pronouncing thirteen-penny decrees in the Court of Conscience:2 every one of which occupations he performed correctly and zealously, to the entire satisfaction of the nobility, clergy, gentry, and public at large, in the metropolis of Ireland.
An incident appertaining to the same body, but with a termination by no means similar, occurred a few years afterward, which, among other matters, contributes to show what different sort of things the Irish at different times rejoice in. In 1809, they rejoiced in full jubilee on the memorable event of his Majesty King George the Third having entered the fiftieth year of his reign, without ever paying one visit to, or taking the least notice of, his loyal Corporation of Dublin: and after he was dead (de facto, for the King never dies de jure), they celebrated another jubilee on account of his Majesty George the Fourth honouring them with a visit the very earliest opportunity. This was the first time any king of England had come to Ireland, except to cut the throats of its inhabitants; and his present Majesty having most graciously crossed over to sow peace and tranquillity among them, if possible, and to do them any and every kindness which they would submit to, it was not wonderful each man in Ireland hailed the event as forming a most auspicious commencement of his Majesty’s reign, not only over his subjects at large, but, in particular, over that glorious, pious, immortal, and uproarious body, the Corporation of Dublin city. Events have proved how ungratefully his Majesty’s beneficent intentions have been requited.
His Majesty having arrived at the hill of Howth, to the universal joy of the Irish people, was received with unexampled cordiality, and in due form, by the Right Honourable the Lord Mayor, on the very field of battle where O’Brien Borun had formerly acquired undying fame by cutting the Danes into slices (an operation which we have since repeated on them at Copenhagen, though with different instruments). That Right Honourable Lord Mayor was Sir Abraham Bradley King, then one of the best looking aldermen in Europe. On this occasion he obtained, not military honour, but, on the other hand, a more tranquil one than the said King O’Brien Borun ever arrived at; – he was actually imperialised as a baronet in very superior style to his brother corporator Steemer, on the loyal demi-century occasion.
I have since heard that an effort was made somewhat to transform the armorial bearings of the Bradley King family, also, in commemoration of this auspicious event; and that it was intended to give him, as an addition to his crest, Sir John Skinner’s steam packet, out of which his Majesty had landed just previous to bestowing the baronetcy on Sir Abraham. Here the city punsters began again with their vulgar insinuations; and, omitting the word packet, gave out that Alderman King wanted to put Alderman Steemer as a supporter to his arms, instead of a griffin rampant or unicorn, as customary on these occasions; but this vile play upon words Sir Abraham peremptorily and properly checked with the same constitutional firmness and success wherewith he had previously refused to “tell tales out of school” about the Orangemen to the House of Commons.3
On this occasion, Sir Abraham proudly and virtuously declared that all the heralds in Europe should never ravish him as they had done his brother Steemer; and that if any alteration was to be made in his shield by Ulster-at-arms, or any Ulster in Europe, he would permit nothing but an emblematic crown to be introduced therein, in honour and commemoration of his sovereign; and though our national poet, Mr. Thomas Moore, and Sir Abraham, never coalesced upon any point whatsoever (except the consumption of paper), yet on this conciliatory occasion, Sir Abraham declared his willingness to forgive and forget the religion and politics of the poet for eight and forty hours. This was as it should be; and a crown, with a posy or nosegay in its neighbourhood (instead of a cut and thrust) are accordingly embodied in the armorial bearings of Sir Abraham, the cruel idea of a bloody hand being now softened down and qualified by the bouquet which adorns it.
Again the indefatigable corporation wags, who could let nothing pass, began their jocularities: the worthy Baronet’s name being King, and the shield having a crown in it, the Common Council began to hob-nob him as, Your Majesty, or the Crown Prince, or such like. But Sir Abraham had been an officer in the King’s service, and being a spirited fellow to boot, he declared open and personal hostility against all low and evil-minded corporate punsters. These titles were therefore relinquished; and the whole affair ended, to the real satisfaction of every staunch Protestant patriot from Bray to Balbiggen, and as far westward as the College of Maynooth, where I understand the rejoicings terminated – for Sir Abraham found the road too bad to travel any farther.
Having endeavoured somewhat to divert the reader’s criticism on my pedigree blunder, I have, in compliance with the wish of one of the ablest, wisest, and steadiest public personages of Great Britain (whose title heads this volume), reopened my old trunks, and made a further attempt at amusing myself and other folks – and at depicting, by authentic anecdotes, the various and extraordinary habits and propensities of the Irish people, with their gradual changes of national character for the last fifty or sixty years, – which (to my grief I say it) will be the work, not of a novelist, but a contemporary. I fancy there are very few of those who flourished so long ago, who could procure pen, ink, and paper, either for love or money, where they sojourn at present; and of those who still inhabit the same world with the stationers, some have lost one half of their faculties, at least, and scarce any among the remainder possess sufficient energy to retrace by description the events that took place during a long and, perhaps, active career. I shall take Time by the forelock; and, ere the candle goes out, draw as many Sketches of my past day as I may have time to record, before I wish the present generation a good morning – which adieu cannot now be long distant: —tant pis!
DANGERS
Every lord mayor of Dublin becomes judge of a “Court of Conscience” for twelve months after the expiration of his mayoralty; each decree costing a shilling; many of the causes are of the most comical description; but never would there have arisen so great a judge as Sancho Panza of Barataria, from presiding in our Court of Conscience.
I cannot omit stating, that Sir William, when lord mayor, gave the most numerous, brilliant, and complete masquerade ever seen in Dublin, or, I believe, any where else. There were fourteen or fifteen hundred persons, and I am sure not more than one hundred dominoes; every body went in character, and every person tried to keep up the character he adopted. Ireland, of all places in the world, is, perhaps, best adapted to a masquerade, as every Irishman is highly amused when he can get an opportunity of assuming, by way of freak, any new character.
It was the custom for the mob, on those occasions, to stop every carriage, and demand of each person, “What’s your character?” I was dreadfully tired of them in the street on the night in question; but fairly put into good-humour by the
This was the first instance I recollect of pertinacity conquering privilege.