The Reminiscences of an Irish Land Agent Part 14

'Very good men,' replied Lord Morris, 'but as they were not appointed by the Tories, I don't think they'll promote them.'

'And how about Ormsby?' continued the other.

'Ah now,' said Morris, 'you are getting sarcastic.'

There is a cheery story about Judge Keagh, who has just been mentioned.

A number of brothers were before him, charged with killing a man at Listowel.

The judge was most anxious to ascertain from an important witness what share each of the accused had in the murder.

'What did John do?'

'He struck him with his stick on the head.'

'And James?'

'James. .h.i.t him with his fist on the jaw.'

'And Philip?'

'Philip tried to get him down and kick him.'

'And Timothy?'

'He could do nothing, my lord, but he was just walking round searching for a vacancy.'

Which reminds me that fair play is not always recognised as essential in these matters, as the following anecdote shows.

There was a faction feud between the Kellehers and Leehys near Sneem.

One of the Leehys had a bad leg, and was therefore bound apprentice to a shoemaker in Sneem.

On a fair day a solitary Kelleher ventured into the town, and very speedily the Leehys had half-killed and beaten him as well as their numbers would allow.

Suddenly there was a shout, and the poor lame Leehy came hobbling down the street as fast as his wooden leg would permit.

'Boys, for the love of mercy,' says he, 'let a poor cripple have one go at the black-hearted varmint.'

One of the counsel engaged in the Harenc case was Mr. Murphy, who was a near relative of Judge Keagh, and he was a man of ready wit into the bargain.

There was a company promoter from London, who had induced several people to take shares in a bogus concern, and was consequently defendant in an action brought against him in Cork.

He thought he would make an impression on the wild Irish by being overdressed and gorgeously bejewelled.

When Murphy arose to address the jury, he said:--

'Gentlemen of the jury, look at the well-tailored impostor without a rag of honesty to take the gloss off his new clothes.'

Another counsel in the case was Mr. Byrne. He was always in impecunious circ.u.mstances despite his legal eloquence, but the lack of a balance at his banker's never troubled him.

Once he took Chief Justice Whiteside to see his new house in Dublin, which he had furnished in sumptuous style.

'Don't you think I deserve great credit for this?' he asked at length.

'Yes,' retorted Whiteside, 'and you appear to have got it.'

Lord Justice Christian, who had declined to sit on the Appeal, was considered one of the soundest opinions in Ireland. When he ceased to be sole Judge of Appeal, he had addressed the Bar after this fashion:--

'As this is the last time I sit as sole Judge of Appeal, it is an opportune time for me to review my decisions. By a curious coincidence, I have been thirteen years in this Court, and I have decided thirteen cases which have been taken to the House of Lords. Eleven of my decisions were confirmed, one appeal was withdrawn, and the last was a purely equity case. The two equity lords went with me, the two common law lords were against me, and when I inform the Bar that my judgment was reversed on the casting vote of Lord O'Hagan, I do not think they will attach much importance to the decision.'

Judge Christian's allusion to the Land Act is most noteworthy, for he said:--

'The property of the country is confided to the discretion of certain roving commissioners without any fixed rules to guide and direct them.

In fact, we have reverted to the primitive state of society, where men make and administer the laws in the same breath.'

Reverting to the Harenc estate, a rather amusing account was once perpetrated by a Special Commissioner.

'Never heard tell of Ballybunion?' said his carman to the journalist as on the road they met the carts laden with sand and seaweed from that place. 'Why it's a great place intirely in the season, when quality from all parts come for the sea-bathing.'

As he evidently regarded it as the first watering-place in the world, the Special Commissioner thought he had better see the place, and here is his description:--

'A village perched on the summit of a cliff, an ancient castle of the Fitz-Maurice clan, wonderful caves, and a little hotel are the leading features of the place.

'The morning after my arrival, I experienced a wish to see the cliffs and caves, and no sooner were the words spoken than a figure bearing an unlit torch appeared at the door.

'It was Beal-bo (which may be translated into a somewhat Sioux cognomen--the Yellow Cow). A figure in rags with an inimitable limp, and a fashion of closing one eye that reminds one of Victor Hugo's Quasimodo of Notre Dame. A more intimate acquaintance proved there was much instruction, and a good deal of amus.e.m.e.nt, to be derived from this strange character.

'The grand cave is Beal-bo's special source of revenue. He regards it as his own property, and takes a pride in it accordingly. This is the theatre of the many wiles he practises upon unsuspecting strangers. When he has lured them into the bowels of the cave, he turns down a gallery, and informs them that they cannot get out unless they cross a pool about five feet wide. When he has his victim upon his back, he seizes the opportunity to levy blackmail, for the pool is a quicksand and he suddenly affects great fear. After he has sunk to the knees in the yielding sand, the tourist is glad enough to give him a shilling to hurry across.

'In another gallery it is necessary for the stranger to cross a pool on a plank which Beal-bo provides for the occasion, and on this he charges a toll. He used to let the water in to deepen the pools before the tourists came through, in order to bring his plank into requisition.

'Suspended on a cliff between heaven and sea, one hundred feet above the water, on all sides were piled the immense ma.s.ses of masonry, the ruins of which are all that remains of the once proud Castle of Doon. Gazing in awe down the horrid depths of the "Puffing Hole," Beal-bo informed us:--

'"Twas there Brian used to sleep in the day, and come out at night to milk the cows up in the Killarney hills, he and his dog."'

The Special Commissioner looked incredulous, but Beal-bo was confident:--

'"May I never be saved, sir, if I haven't seen him meself, many a night, sir, as he climbed the cliffs backwards to rob the hawks' nests."'

How can even a Special Commissioner dispute an eyewitness?

Still the knowledge that I own a harbour of refuge for Brian will hardly repay me for all the expense and anxiety the Harenc property has caused me.

Before quitting the subject, I can conclude with a more gratifying fact.

At the time of the Tralee election, when I stood as a Conservative, a small clique of mob orators and amateur politicians tried to make political capital out of the history of the Harenc estate, and a priest, Father M. O'Connor, rode the jaded topic to death. The unkindest cut of all to him was the direct contradiction by the tenants themselves of every a.s.sertion that their self-const.i.tuted champions made on their behalf.

'We, the tenants of the Harenc estate, think it our duty to state that since Mr. S.M. Hussey became purchaser of the above estate, he has in every respect treated us kindly. He was good enough to give us seed potatoes for half the price they cost himself; he also drained our portions of the land at two and a half per cent., employed all the labourers, and paid them good wages while so employed by him. As a landlord we find him liberal and generous.'