And the Seneschal of the Manor heard of it for the first time long years afterwards, as he sat by his fireside with his grandchildren playing about his knees.

brother notified the courtkeeper that there would be a special session of the Court on the evening we had fixed upon; and when we turned up everything was ready, not excepting the presence of a police constable at the door.

One of our number, who has since attained to fame at the Bar and in Parliament-first in the Commons and later as a Peer, took his place on the bench in borrowed wig and gown; and a certain divinity student, who afterwards became an Archdeacon, was put upon his trial for an assault of a somewhat disreputable kind. The combination of lying and cunning in the evidence of the witnesses seemed true to the life, and the speeches were marked by eloquence, though not altogether by relevancy. The seats allotted to the public were fairly occupied, for an evening sitting and a criminal trial were unprecedented events. But when the proceedings resulted in the conviction of the accused, and the "Judge" announced that "before d-dealing with the prisoner he really must have a smoke," and proceeded to light a cigar, we could hold out no longer, and there was a wild roar of laughter. "In which," as the newspapers would say, "the prisoner heartily joined." The "public" suddenly realised that they had been fooled, and stampeded from the place.

It is characteristic of life in Ireland in those days that we were not taken to task for our

escapade. It was never reported or noticed in any way.

In no

I have spoken of the liberality and generosity of thought which prevailed in Trinity College. In my time the Roman Catholics at the Irish Bar were, with rare exceptions, Trinity College men, and the same characteristics marked our professional intercourse. society that I have ever entered have I known more freedom in the expression of opinion. Hard knocks were sometimes given and received, and there was no lack of banter on what might be deemed delicate ground; but we took and gave with perfect good-humour.

An incident occurs to me which may illustrate my meaning. At a time when the Papal problem was much in evidence I was sitting in court one day while R. Dowse, Q.C., afterwards a well-known figure in the House of Commons, was arguing a case before a bench of judges, the majority of whom were Catholics. One of their number, Judge Ball, who had already "outlived his usefulness," interrupted with the silly question, "But what is a clerical error?" Sharp as a pistolshot came back the answer, "The present position of the Pope in Rome, my Lord!” Dowse was always his own claque, and his ringing laugh was joined in by every man in the court, not excepting Ball's colleagues on the bench.

Another characteristic of

This digression, which has resulted from my reference to the Irish University question, would leave a false impression if I did not add that in those days we had great judges in Ireland, and great forensic orators and advocates; and trials were usually conducted with marked ability and with perfect fairness and dignity. Some modern English judges are in the habit of indulging in comments intended to be humorous in the progress of a case. But this would not be tolerated in Ireland. In my day, at least, a judge who thus played the part of the "bones" in a nigger minstrel troupe would have risked reprisals from the Bar. I recall an instance of the kind. It was an action against a Turkish bath company by a man who fainted in the hot room of the bath, and got badly burnt. "I'll not go there to be burned," the judge exclaimed, while the plaintiff was giving his evidence. "No, my lord, you'll wait!" was the immediate rejoinder of my friend Dowse, who led for the defendants; and everybody in court roared with laughter at the judge's expense. There

were no more "bones" interruptions that day.

Monahan himself was an admirable judge in any case that did not excite his well-known prejudices. Magna Charta precludes the King from delaying justice; but what the King may not do, judges do habitually by spinning out trials and

ments that involve the unfortunate litigants in great inconvenience and expense. Monahan had a highly developed faculty for getting at the facts of a case, and in his court a few hours sufficed for a trial over which his friend the Chief Baron would have spent as many days. And as regards criminal procedure, we had nothing to learn from England. The Fenian trials which followed the outrages at Manchester and Clerkenwell in 1867 contrasted very unfavourably with the State trials in Dublin earlier in that year. Of course the Irish prisoners declaimed against England and English law, but one and all they admitted the fairness with which they had been tried. Whereas the Manchester trial was discredited by the conviction of a man who was afterwards proved to be innocent, and the conduct of the Clerkenwell case was marked by still greater incompetence. As I have told elsewhere, Chief Justice Cockburn was so dissatisfied with it that if I had not been able to relieve his doubts when he came to the Home Office to discuss the question of a reprieve, even Barrett would have escaped the gallows.

That Clerkenwell hanging has historic interest, by the way, as being the last public execution in this country. At Edmund Yates' dinner-table I had a most animated account of it from him and J. C. Parkinson, both of whom were present as journalists on the occasion.

In my Irish book1 I have explained how it came about that I was called in to assist at Dublin Castle in 1867. The early years of a barrister's career are often a time of anxious and weary waiting for briefs. But I belonged to the favoured and fortunate class who become self-supporting from the very start. And though I was not professionally employed at the State trials of 1865, I had access not only to the Crown briefs, but to the information which led to the prosecutions of that year. When, therefore, on his coming into office in 1866, Lord Mayo sought for some one to coach him about Fenianism, my name was put before him by the Under Secretary, and I was commissioned to make a précis of all the secret and confidential papers which had reached the Government relating to the Fenians, both at home and in the United States. And having completed my task I proceeded to write a history of the the Fenian conspiracy up to date, which proved of value to the Government. This again led to my services being requisitioned by the Attorney-General when "the Fenian Rising" occurred in March 1867. In the autumn of that year I was for the third time called in to advise and assist at Dublin Castle; and I was thus engaged when the Clerkenwell explosion took place in December.

I must not forget that these pages will be read by a genera

tion of men who have grown to manhood since that event occurred, and for their benefit a brief account of it may be opportune.

A prominent Irish-American Fenian, Ricard Burke by name, who had been for some time "arms agent" to the conspirators, fell into the hands of the police in November 1867, and was committed to the House of Detention at Clerkenwell. This miscreant hatched a plot for the rescue of himself and another Fenian who was his fellow - prisoner. In Dublin we received full particulars of the project, and in due course the information was given to the Home Office and to the authorities at Scotland Yard. The following is an extract from this warning notice, as afterwards communicated to the House of Commons by the Secretary of State :

"The rescue of Ricard Burke from prison in London is contemplated. The plan is to blow up the exercise walls by means of gunpowder; the hour between 3 and 4 P.M.; and the signal for 'all right,' a white ball thrown up outside when he is at exercise."

On December 12, at the hour named, the police on duty outside the prison witnessed a rehearsal of the plot. A cask of gunpowder was conveyed to the place on a truck, and before a light was put to the fuse a white ball was thrown over the wall into the exerciseground as a warning to Burke. He immediately "fell out" on

pretence of having a stone in his shoe, and sought safety in a remote corner of the yard. But the fuse was damp, and failed to explode the powder. So the whole performance was repeated next day, and again under the watchful eyes of the police. The barrel of powder was rolled to the same spot, the white-ball signal was given as before, and the explosion followed. The prison authorities took the precaution of exercising the prisoners in a different yard, but the police took no action of any kind. The Commissioner of Police, Sir Richard Mayne, freely acknowledged that their conduct was inexcusable, and he was never the same man again. On my first visit to the Home Office I learned that he had at once placed his resignation in the hands of the Secretary of State, but Mr Hardy refused to accept it. As Mr Liddell, the Under Secretary, put it in his characteristic way, "We told him he had made a fool of himself, but we meant to pull him through; we weren't going to throw him over after his long public service."

The explanation of this, offered by the Secretary of State in Parliament (March 9, 1868), reads more like a Mark Twain story than a Hansard report. It was to the effect that the police were misled by the terms of the warning. It said the wall was to be blown up, whereas in fact it was blown down! Here are Mr Hardy's words :

"It appeared that the mode of carrying out the design of

which they had received information did not strike those who were set to watch the outside of the prison. What their attention was apparently directed to was the undermining of the wall; they thought it would probably be blown up from underneath, and had no conception that it would be blown down in the way it really was done."

It was an atrocious crime, and it would have served its purpose had Burke been in the coign of safety to which he had retreated the preceding day. But if the yard had been oooupied, he alone would have escaped serious injury. I was reminded of the condition of the opposite premises when, after the siege of Paris, I witnessed the effects of bombs upon dwelling-houses. Four persons were killed, and some forty others were carried to hospital, "suffering from all forms of mutilation." It was indeed a heinous and hideous crime. But, regarded with reference to a political conspiracy, it was contemptible. This needs to be said, lest the historian should perpetuate the false estimate of the outrage which prevailed at the time. Even The Annual Register,' which is supposed to furnish material for history, spoke of "the certainty that the explosion was planned by the Americanised-Irish who managed the conspiracy." And it added

6

"Great vigilance was for some time required, and strict precautions were properly taken, to protect the public edifices and the places which