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yALe univeRSity LiBRARy
the gARVAn coLLection
Of
BOOKS on iReLAnd
estABLished in 1971 By
f RAncis p. gARvAn^ yALe 1897
in honoR of his pARents
pAtRiCK gARVAn
mARy CARROLL gARVAn

Memoirs of Edward
Vaughan Kenealy .

Memoirs of
Edward Vaughan Kenealy

LL.D.

By
His Daughter
Arabella Kenealy

With Photogravure Portrait and Sixteen Illustrations

London
John Long
Norris Street, Haymarket
MDCCCCVIII

First published in igoS
A II rights reserved

The Illustrations in this volume arc from the Studios of The Acme Tone Engraving Co.^
Ltd., Watford

7
9
II
26

CONTENTS
List of Illustrations .
Dedication .....
Chapter I. — Introductory
Chapter II.
Dr Kenealy's Autobiography : — Descent — Father's Pride o
Ancestry — Boyhood and Early Impressions— College
Reminiscences — Passion for Study— Call to English
and Irish Bars — Literary Friends.
Chapter III. . . .112
With Father Matthew founds the Temperance Movement
— Pen Portrait of himself — Letter to Shirley Brooks.
Chapter IV. . . ... 116
Defends Francis Looney — The Ministry aiid the Chartists
— William Dowling — Mrs Mowatt — Richard Birnie
— Stands unsuccessfully for Cork.
Chapter V. ..... . 132
Life in London — Devotion to Study — Philosophic Reflections
— A Love-letter — Marriage.
Chapter VI. ...... 143
Autobiography continued : — Hollowness of Life — Success
of Mediocre Men — CajoUery of Juries — Inconsist
encies of Law — Anecdote of Lord Campbell — Lord
Brougham's Terror.
Chapter VII. ...... 151
Letters to and from Disraeli — The Press, a Projected New
Journal — Interview with Disraeli — Resignation of
Post and of Prospects.
Chapter VIII. . . . .161
Autobiography continued : — William Palmer, the Poisoner
—His Personality and Bearing — His Methods of
Poisoning — Dr Kenealy a Junior Counsel for his De
fence — Capital Punishment — Libel Case against
Liverpool Herald— Chetw^d Divorce Suit — Burke
(Fenian) Case — Attempt to blow up Clerkenwell
Prison — Many Victims killed and injured — Dr
Kenealy withdraws from Defence— Takes " Silk "—
5

Contents

Defence of Murderer of Dr Baggot—O' Donovan v.
Flood and Wife — Wood Green Murders— Overend-
Gumey Case— Bidwell Brothers, Forgers— Applies
for Chief Justiceship of Madras — Disraeli's Support —
Unlucky Chance.
Chapter IX. . . . . . • i79
Memoranda from Diaries, 1848 to 1859 :— A Dramatic Duel
— Dinner at Cockbum's — Lord C  cheats at
Cards — Reflection on Men and Books— Legal Anec
dotes — Children's sayings — Marriage of Princess
Royal— Letter to Disraeli— The Price of a Wife.
Chapter X. . . . . . .207
" A New Pantomime " — Letters from Cockbum, Disraeli and
Thackeray — Poems and Translations — " Advice to a
Judge"— Song of the Guardian Angel — Theological
Works — Methods of Writing — Extracts.
Chapter XI. ...... 225
Memoranda from Diaries, 1863 to 1871 : — Lord Houghton's
Breakfast-party — Letter from Lord Houghton —
Meets Bulwer Lytton — Anecdote of Carlyle — Anec
dote of Wordsworth — Saying of Byron — The Ticb-
bome Case.
Chapter XII. . . . . . . 247
The Tichbome Trial — Dr Kenealy's Description and Re
miniscences of The Claimant — Lady Tichbome's Con
viction of his Identit)- — Lord Rivers — The Claimant's
Case prejudged — Herculean Labours of his Counsel
— The Claimant's High-bred Manners and Artistic
Tastes — Incident of the Sealed Packet — Verdict
and Sentence.
Chapter XIII. ...... 263
The Benchers of Gray's Inn and the Oxford Circuit Mess —
Letter from Mr Powell, Q.C.— Dr Kenealy's Refiita-
tion of the Charges brought against him — Disbarment
and Disbenchment — Letter from Mr Grenville Murray.
Chapter XIV. . . . . . ,286
A Wrecked Career — Tie Englishman — Public Sympathy and
Enthusiasm — Touching Tributes — 7%« Englishman's
Phenomenal Success — Entry into House of Commons
— The Renowned Umbrella — Mr Evelyn Ashley's
Slander and Defeat — Distinguished Crowd in House
— Motion for Royal Commission of Inquiry into
the Tichbome Case — Defeated for Stoke-on-Trent —
Illness and Death in 6ist Year.
6

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Dr Kenealy, ceiat 58
Dr Kenealy's Mother .
Domina O'Kenealy
Mary Harding .
The Earl of Rochester
Dr Kenealy at Two Years Old
Dr Kenealy, atat 26 .
Mrs E. V. Kenealy
William Nicklin
Lady O'Kenealy
Miss Arabella Kenealy
Facsimile of reputed Shakespere Autograph
Facsimile of Letter to Tee Standard
Henriette, the Claimant's Youngest Child
Contemporary Portrait of the Black Prince
The Family Coat-of-Arms
Hangleton Church

Frontispiece
To face page 28
34
., 46
., 54
., 76
.. 114 142
„ 182
» 194
,, 224
» 244
,. 244
,, 262
„ 284
,> 294
,, 300

3n fIDemoriam

EDWARD VAUGHAN
KENEALY
The idea of thy life shall sweetly creep
Into my study of imagination ;
And every lovely organ of thy life
Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit.
More moving — delicate, and full of life,
Into the eye and prospect of my soul,
Than when thou lived'st indeed.

Memoirs of
Edward Vaughan Kenealy

CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY
Thirty-four years have passed since the Tichborne
Claimant was tried and sentenced, twenty-eight years
since Dr Kenealy died.
The younger members of this generation learn, with
amazement bordering upon incredulity, of the absolute
furor of interest, of partisanship, of intense personal feeling
which the case excited. The only parallel to be found
with it, I think, is that which was aroused in America by
the War of the North and the South. For, as during that
great crisis, so during the Tichborne Trial personal bias
ran so high that parents and children were estranged for
ever, life-long friendships made and severed, political
factions and commercial and social alliances sealed and
sundered — feuds of every magnitude bred and fostered —
over the question whether The Claimant was Tichbome
and was entitled to the estates, or whether he was a mere
vulgar, unscrupulous Impostor.
There can be no doubt but that the man's immense size,
by contributing a phenomenal note to the personnel of the
Case, magnified the interest attaching to it in the public
mind to a dimension which a claimant of normal pro
portions would have failed to excite.

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
In the minds of the more cultured, this same bulk
struck a note of distaste and offence, by adding an element
of enormity to that which might otherwise have seemed
to be a mere ordinary imposture.
Certain it is that during the course, more especially
of the second Trial, by which time the Tichbome Claimant
may be said to have become an Institution, he and the
merits of his case were beyond aU others the topics most
discussed in every circle, serving as the red rag to the bull
of blind partisanship, fire to the tow of more rational talk.
After a time indeed, I have been told, he and the merits
of his case were topics which, as are religion and pohtics,
became taboo at the tables of the well-bred, feeling regard
ing him running so high as to disqualify the greater number
of persons from discussing him with that moderation
and tolerance for the opinions of others which are de
manded by social proprieties.
Also I am told that in circles less amenable and
more candid, men still continued to discuss him, and in
discussing frequently came to blows. As I have said,
the intensity of feeling excited by the Case was a thing
which is almost incredible to-day.
Speaking broadly, it would seem that this strong
animus formulated itself presently into class feehng.
There were, of course, many persons of standing and of
rank who impUcitly believed that The Claimant was Roger
Tichbome. There were persons among the proletariat
who were ready to demonstrate by tongue or by fist that
he was an arrant impostor. But, broadly speaking,
it was a question upon which the classes were drawn up
against the masses.
Society saw in him an unwieldy, vulgar Idol of the
people, who had sunk to, or had emerged from, the lowest
depths, who had earned a livelihood as a butcher in the
12

Introductory
Australian backwoods, who had married an illiterate person
of the class with which he was allied, who was raising funds
for his defence by appearing in pubUc, by shooting at
pigeon matches, and by doing, generally, things which a
man of family and of self-respect should on no accoimt
have done. And beyond all else Society saw in him a person
who had violated every tradition of good feeling and of
breeding by making against a lady of its order an impu
tation which alike the honour of a gentleman or the
chivalry of a man demanded that he should rather have
gone to the stake than have betrayed
As there are fashions in hats, in sleeves, and in slang,
so it became a mode of the day to assume that this whoUy
impossible person was an impostor.
On the other hand, the populace saw in him one who,
like themselves, was excluded from the ranks of the elect,
but who, unlike themselves, was unjustly excluded, and
was with his children in danger of being defrauded of his
name and just iiiheritance.
Class jealousy, for all the apparent cool running of our
social system, is an ever-smouldering fire, ready upon the
sHghtest fanning to break into flame. It broke forth
then, adding its heat and fume to the popular indignation.
It was to have been expected that any man who should
ally himself — albeit merely professionally — with one about
whom was beating all this flame and odium, this passionate
heat of sympathy and of justice, this fashionable con
tumely, this fever of hero-worship, this respectable
repulsion, should too become irradiate and scathed.
Dr Kenealy entered reluctantly upon the man's
defence. He had no sympathy with him, no grain of
interest in him, no convictions regarding him. Having,
however, been persuaded to accept the brief, and having
gone into the facts and extraordinary features of the
13

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
Case with that enthusiasm and acumen which dis
tinguished him, and with a knowledge of men and things
derived from his long legal training and experience, his
whole view changed. There were facts and circumstances
which seemed to him to offer no other explanation but
that his Client was the man he represented himself to be.
In his first interview with him he saw him careless,
indifferent and confident, with none of the nimble plausi
bility of the impostor. He saw in him a man of apparent
breeding, with that touch of finish in his manners which
comes but with generations of good stock ; with a restraint
and refinement of demeanour sufficient even to rob his
monstrous bulk of that offence with which the least shade
of vulgarity would have invested it.
He marked his small and well-kept deHcate hands and
their supple movements, the courteous mode in which he
conveyed a letter, first deftly shpping it from its envelope,
unfolding and then passing it across the table with that
commingling of deference and dignity which marks the
intercourse of well-bred men. He noted in him a number
of other characteristics which, apparently trifling, are yet
all-important in the denoting of class.
After that interview which confirmed the conviction
he had formed from his study of the Case, my Father
believed, and believed implicitly to the day of his death,
that the man was no impostor, but that he was in truth
that ill-starred person, Roger Tichborne.
And certainly it is difficult to read the strange and
moving story of this most amazing Trial, as it was known
to my Father, without feeling that there was great justifica
tion for his belief.
For many persons the man seems to have possessed
a singular charm and fascination. Dr Kenealy did not
experience this. He had no personal friendship with
14

Introductory

liim. Their relations all through were but those of
Counsel and Client. ]\Ien of tastes and pursuits so different
could have had no common ground of cordiality.
He was sorry for him, regarding him as having been at
the beginning of his career the victim in great part of a
particularly unfortunate upbringing and environment,
and later as the ^"ictim of a great and terrible injustice.
But it was mainl}- the principle involved for which
my Father fought so strenuously, the principle of British
justice, of which he considered the whole conduct of the
Trial and the verdict grave violations. Also he deplored
that the man's unhappy charming children, who bore
ever\- e\-idence of breeding (and singularly enough of a
strain of French blood, such as Roger's French mother had
brought into the Tichbome family), should have been
deprived of thatwhich he regarded as their just inheritance.
It cannot, I think, be doubted by any student of
history, and of human nature, that there are persons
who seem to have been singled out from birth as targets
for everj' missile of misfortime which hes on the knees of
the gods. Roger Tichbome was one of these. And these
ill-starred persons attract misfortune not only to them
selves, but entail it, too, upon those who ally themselves
with their evil destinies
If, as my Father beheved, The Claimant was Roger
Tichbome, then that after tweh-e years of absence he
should return home to be repudiated by his family, de
prived of his name and inheritance, convicted under the
name of an iUiterate Wapping butcher, sentenced to
fourteen years' imprisomnent, and on lea\Tng prison should
have died in misery and starvation, are facts only in
absolute keeping with the fate of the undoubted Roger
Tichbome, who, despite his position and vast expecta
tions., was as unhappy and foredoomed a youth as can well
IS

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
be imagined. Also it was in keeping with his ill-starred
destiny that the Defence of him should have wrecked
the professional career of the man who, having undertaken
it, strained every energy to obtain that which he re
garded as mere justice for him.
In one of my Father's diaries I find the following : —
" Wesley was accustomed to entreat God of aU afflic
tions to withhold from him Prudence. And I, who see in
all about me how this quality enslaves the soul to the world,
and to the things that are of the world, heartily pray in
the same spirit, ' Oh, God! suffer me not to be prudent.' "
In the following sketch — ^mainly autobiographical as it
is— wiU be found, I venture to think, one of the most
interesting human documents ever presented to the world.
For, in addition to being the self-revelation of a fine,
original and rarely-cultured mind, made with the candour
and vigour which characterised it, it is, too, the record of a
career which, having the world for stage, yet modelled
itself upon the above unworldly prayer.
As the most ordinary-minded person, who has ever set
material success for his goal, could have foretold to this
man of brilliant talents, the issue was — Failure.
Accomplished Linguist (he was sufficiently familiar with
thirteen languages to have written charming verses in aU),
profound Orientalist, Orator, Poet, Man of Letters, States
man (for his mental grasp and breadth of view of home
and foreign pohty make the term politician inadequate),
he yet wrecked the fine career he had built up, and its still
finer promise, in his efforts for his CHent. Having prayed
Heaven to deliver him from Prudence, he was so impru
dent as to allow his indignation at that which he regarded
as a great wrong to an individual, and to the man's de
fenceless children, and as a grave blot upon British juris-
i6

Introductory

diction to betray him at times, during the terrible strain
of that protracted Trial (which included two speeches
covering nearly fifty days), into unpohtic action and
expression. That men should remain ever calm of demeanour, and
wary and temperate of speech, I am wiUing to admit.
It is \nse and becoming to do so. But my Father at times
forgot to be \vise Mrs Browning has said : —
" God thrusts the thing we have prayed for in our face,
A gaimtlet with a gift in't."
Perhaps God thrust in my Father's face the thing he had
prayed for — lack of Prudence — and with the gift the
gauntlet struck him hard. At aU events he was fiery-
tempered, and when strongly moved he spoke and acted
from his heart, reckless of consequences, sometimes even
regardless of niceties.
It was a failings and I am the more ready to admit it
as it seems to me, from what I remember of him, from a
close consideration of his fife and work, and from the
testimony of his nearest friends, that it was a failing which
withdraws into the perspective of insignificance when
viewed in just relation with his many great qualities of
mind and of character. For, in addition to his rare
intellectual gifts, he was the most profoundly religious
man I have ever known, possessing that true religion of
the mystic which sees God in aU things and on aU
occasions. The very outspokenness which was accounted' to him
as a crime was the outcome of a love of truth so scrupulous
as to admit of no compromise. We, his children, were
taught from our cradle that even the slightest deviation
from trath was the impardonable sin. (To speak frankly,
I am boimd to confess that at his knee, where we imbibed
B 17

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
Homer and Sallust with our letters, we learned also to
regard a knowledge of the Classics as constituting a good
second among the virtues.)
His integrity and independence were touched with an
alloy of intolerance. He made a point of treating with
hauteur, or with indifference, those who would have been
likely to serve him, or to further his career. He was
unsociable — that deadliest of social offences — and one
which more than any other raises in its wake a crop of foes.
But his unsociability arose less from indifference to his
fellows than because he was by nature and by habit a
student, and spent every hour he could spare from his
professional work in the absorbed researches into Oriental
theosophies which resulted in those monuments of
industry and thought, his theological works.
There is in the vast majority of men a generosity of
heart and of mind which leads them to admire with fine
sincerity and to honour openly talents and natures greater
than their own. But there are, too, mean minds, which
consume themselves with envy at the sight of attainments
they lack.
Tennyson has recorded that he never published a
volume of poems but that some such mean mind did not
write him a letter of vituperation and of cruel abuse.
And I have been told by a man of a notable academic
career that he never took honours or obtained a coveted
post but that he received some cruel and abusive anony
mous letter.
So too, my Father has had his detractors, men who,
even since his death, have been found to pubhsh calumnies
about him, calumnies as mean and as discreditable to the
writers as they are baseless and absurd. For even one
has not scrupled to charge him with self-interest and with
i8

Introductory

mercenary aims in that zeal for his Client — which on the
face of it was the most Quixotic sacrifice of a hfe and of a
career which has ever been made.
A complete refutation of this charge is afforded by the
fact that, shortly after his return to the House of Commons,
Mr John Bright (who was always friendly to him) ap
proached him on the part of the Government, promising
that he should be reinstated in his profession, and intimat
ing other substantial reparation to be made to him if only
he would stop the pubHcation of The Englishman and
would drop the Tichborne Case.
Long they talked behind the Speaker's chair. Long
Mr Bright argued and persuaded. My Father had but one
answer. BeHeving the sentenced mail to be Roger Tich
bome, and that a great wrong had been done to him, and
a great violation done to British Law, he could not with
honour desert and cease to advocate his cause. So the
matter ended, my Father persisting, without one iota of
weakening, in the chivalrous course of which, although
his misfortunes have sadly shadowed their hves, his
sons and daughters are to-day proud.
I do not profess that my Father was faultless. Nor do
I deny that he committed indiscretions. But his faults
were the defects of his virtues, of his integrity, of his
sense of justice, of his zeal for right. And the defects
were brought out by the wrongs and injustices he
suffered. For then was seen the spectacle of a gifted mind,
heretofore cahn and philosophic, goaded well nigh to
desperation; of a man advanced in years, undermined by
grave disease, suddenly robbed of that social and pro
fessional position for which he had long laboured, with a
large family dependent upon him, flung rathlessly upon
the world to do as best he could. 19

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
Small wonder that he was embittered!
Within the last few months the scientific world has been
doing honour to Lord Lister for his work in the field of
Medical Science. The discovery of micro-organisms in
morbid conditions has been credited to Pasteur; to Lord
Lister is credited the development of the antiseptic
method. Without in any way detracting from the
honours of these Scientists, I may point out that which
is admitted, viz.: — that the trae discoverer of the
infective nature of septic conditions, and of the value
of antiseptics, was Semmelweiss of Vienna, who, in
1847, by his investigations and efforts in this field of
inquiry, reduced in a few months the mortality of the
maternity department of a great hospital to which he was
attached from 12.24 to 3.04, and by the following year
to 1.27. Pasteur, coming after Semmelweiss, showed the
presence of micro-organisms in these septic states. Lister,
following Pasteur, showed the power of antiseptics to
destroy such organisms. But the discovery that
the septic products of dead or of living tissues, and
of air contaminated by such, were capable of generating
fever in others, and also of the value of antiseptics to
neutralise their infective power, was due to the genius of
Semmelweiss. In what manner did his fellows reward him for this,
his great discovery, and for the immense humanitarian
benefits resulting from it? By scepticism, by mis
representation, by persecution.
" The University authorities," it is stated, " made a
dead set against him — they refused to renew his appoint
ment. They got him out of the Hospital and out
of Vienna. He went to Pesth ... but the same
opposition and hostility were at Pesth as at Vienna."

Introductory

EventuaUy, under his increasing persecution, his mind
gave way, and he died in an asylum at the age of
forty-two. What has not Science lost by this as it has by its many
similar persecutions? What might not the man who by
his genius Mghted upon this great field of knowledge have
further taught us had he not been hounded to madness and
to death for his efforts in the causes of Humanity and of
Science ?
I venture to question: Should not the never-ending
story of these wTecked hves make us pause? Should we
not ask ourselves whether our system is right, whether
we do not deprive ourselves of the fuU wealth of the best
and finest minds by awarding the prizes of hfe to that
mediocrity which finds it so easy to conform, and by
deposing those whose minds and natures are too pro
gressive and strong to conform to the methods of
yesterday? The oak only reaches full stature by ceasing to conform
to the husk of the acorn.
Human history has been a history of acorns which
have been trampled under foot, because they burst the
husk — of fine invaluable men and minds martjTed to this
mean habit of Conformity.
To-day the cry goes up that Genius is no more, that our
day enrolls no men of notable talent.
Can this be true? Has not every age its flower?
Is it not rather that our system, denying in fact the
eternal law of evolution, makes conformity to old opinions
and to husks of custom the sine qua non of every man's
advancement ? And just as a sieve of small mesh wiU pass
on but the small and smallest particles, rejecting the
greater and the greatest, so the way on to the places in our
world of influence and of standing is through the mesh of

21

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
mediocre minds, which, for the reason that the lesser^ is
unable to include the greater, pass on those only which
conform to their own lesser bore, and effectually exclude
all greater. There should be, I think, in every community a
Tribunal of Appeal composed of its greatest men, to whose
judgment might be referred the cases of persons of attain
ment who might be in danger of being passed over or
wronged from lack of understanding. (For only they are
capable of whoUy imderstanding and of valuing us who
are, at least, a httle greater than ourselves.) Such a
Tribunal, comprising men of every creed and mind and
talent, each in so far as were possible the greatest of his
kind, would represent the Universal Human Mind in its
fullest and noblest dimensions, and, pure of all personal
or professional rivalry, free of aU taint of self-interest,
animated only by desire for the common and intrinsic
good, would be fitted to judge men and cases which
should be beyond the mental grasp of inferior under
standings. Looking backward down the ages we have climbed,
ages red with the blood of martyred Genius and Saints,
we may see what such a Tribunal might have done for us;
the Socrates, the GaUleos, the Savonarolas and the Joans
of Arc it would have rescued from defeat; the wealth of
talent, of moral grandeur, and of imptdses to progress it
would have added to each century. For Saintliness and
Genius are the great gifts of just those rare highly-organ
ised, sensitive and altruistic temperaments which before
aU others lack power to fight their way to the front through
the opposed mass of the great, unenlightened Average.
No doubt, for every Genius and Saint of whom the world
has heard, there have been a half dozen or more who have
died unknown and broken-hearted, having failed utterly
22

Introductory
to give their great and epoch-making messages to the
world. Such a Tribunal as I have indicated would, I venture
to think, have preserved my Father from being sacrificed
to the momentary anger of Society against his CUent,
would have been sufficiently just and clear-minded to rule
that no man should be deprived of his career and of
his well-earned honours for mere indiscretions which,
crueUy provoked, were the outcome of an honest zeal for
right. So would have been given to our Justice-seat (to
the Chief Justiceship it was always predicted for
him) an honourable, talented and upright Judge, and
to our Statute Book many a fine and progressive
interpretation. In every piece of even the finest tapestry, if you turn
it over on the wrong side, you wiU find seams and yawning
stitches and loose ends.
Human achievement is imperfect. Somewhere this
imperfection shows. So is it with men. The noblest of
them has a wrong side. If viewed from that, you will find
seams and yawning stitches and loose ends. Like the
tapestry somewhere the imperfect nature shows. But as
in the tapestry, so also in men, these imperfections of the
wrong side do not mar the goodly pattern of those aims and
achievements which the heart of them, like a flsnng
shuttle, wove into the fabric of their hves. Like the
tapestry, Hves and characters are not intended to be seen
from the wrong side. Only mean minds and duU view
any man's Hfe from the angle whence isolated errors and
mistaken impulses, knots and tags and tangles, obscure the
otherwise great design. 23

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
From Dr Kenealy's "A New Pantomime."
The greatest of earth's minstrels, blind old Homer,
Was all his Hfe a beggar, tramp and roamer.
Meander drowned himself in proud despair ;
Dogs tore Euripides; the Ascrean sage
Was murdered; Socrates drank poison ; fair
And lute-souled Sappho felt the pubUc rage;
Theocritus was hanged; the mighty pair,
Demosthenes and TuUy, in old age
Died one by poison, one by steel; the knife
Cut Lucan, Brutu?, Seneca from Hfe.
Empedocles and Pliny burned in flame
Volcanic, and the Stagyrite self-drowned;
Hannibal poisoned; Naso sent with shame
To Tomos; Galileo blind and bound
In chains by knaves who dared themselves proclaim
God's Viceroys; pure Lucretius, rainbow-crowned,
Struck by his own right hand — such things as these
Show how Fate loads the best with agonies.
Plautus and Terence were unhappy slaves;
And so was .S)sop; sage Boetius died
In gaol; Camoens, whose Parnassian staves
Are his accursed nation's only pride.
Begged in her streets ; o'er Tasso's, Dante's graves —
Massj^nger's, Dryden's, Chatterton's have sighed,
Thousands, who on past ages cried out " Shame,"
Then went their way and did the very same.
Butler and Savage, Spencer, Goldsmith, Lee,
Cervantes, Marlow, Otway, Drayton, Ford,
Chapman and Shirley, Fletcher, a bright three
On eagle-wings to heavenly heights who soared;
Burns, whose great soul outshone the galaxy
In splendour — lived and starved, and died abhorred,
Or what is worse, despised by human things
Who scorn the gods, but worship lords and kings —
34

Introductory

Who own that Genius is the Child of Heaven
Sent down to earth to beautify its ways,
Like Hving Revelations born and given ?
How does man hail it? Like a fiend he preys
Upon its loveHness. While some are driven
Into despair, and stalk in Frenzy's maze;
Others are crucified. The murderous Jews
Of old, could they come back, would greatly muse
To see good Christians walking in their shoes.
Rome trampled Scipio; Florence trimmed the stake
For Dante; Cork its weeping Cvirran scorned;
London expeUed its Byron; Bristol brake
The soul of Chatterton; Rousseau, pain-thorned,
Was hissed from France; pure England like a snake
Strmg SheUey. Thus the world wags. While adorned
With fame and fortune move the base-bom tribe
Whose names upon our books the Fates inscribe.

25

CHAPTER II
Dr Kenealy's Autobiography : — Descent — Father's Pride of Ancestry— Boy
hood and Early Impressions — College Reminiscences — Passion for Study —
Call to English and Irish Bars — Literary Friends.
The greater portion of the ensuing autobiographical sketch
was written by my Father at a few sittings in the year
1850, during a period of mental distress so profound that
despite his philosophy and rehgious faith the thought of
suicide had presented itself with haunting allurement.
As showing the intimate mysterious bond of sym
pathy which unites all men in Common Brotherhood,
my Father received at this crisis of spiritual desolation a
letter from a total stranger — a letter without name or
address or any clue to the writer's identity — breathing
words of comfort and of noble exhortation, a clarion caU
to patience, to fortitude, to trust and reUance in God and
in the ultimate blessing of aU trial and affliction
This — his sole evidence of his unknown friend — did
much to comfort and to strengthen him. The anonsmaity
of the writer, the S3mipathetic grasp the letter showed of a
situation in which the recipient knew himself to be mis
judged, the mysterious knowledge it proved of his inmost
thoughts, and its intuitive appreciation of his higher nature
and aspirations made it appear to him Hke a shining
hand of Providence stretched out to him in his darkness.
Gratitude for the moral succour and support thus
spontaneously and generously extended to him by some
noble-minded Unknown remained with him through Hfe.
The Autobiography was subsequently resumed, and
26

Some Omissions
events were brought up to the date of some five or six
years later.
For the rest I have been compeUed to faU back for my
data upon jottings in my Father's diaries, upon letters,
upon newspaper and other records, upon the recollections
of my Mother's clear brain.
Of the diary jottings — I had almost written scribblings,
but that would have been a sad misnomer for the
writer's ever characteristicaUy fine hand — some I have put
in as they stand, being, as I think, candid and graphic
descriptions of and comments upon the men of note he
knew, upon the books of his wide reading, upon the times,
poHtical, rehgious and social, in which he lived.
Limitations of space have compeUed me to leave out
much of the Autobiography, while other considerations
have moved me to withhold portions of the diary and
other records, and to keep back even a number of pro
foundly interesting letters from notable personages.
One of the considerations is that some of these contain
facts and opinions the pubHcation of which could only
be painful to persons now Hving. And as the painful
possibflities seem to me to outweigh even the interest and
entertainment they would have afforded, they are omitted.
I have been able to do this with the clearer conscience
as some of these revelations were not intended for pubH
cation, but were recorded in diaries and in private corre
spondence merely in passing, and as the writer or the
correspondents had personaUy witnessed or had learned of
the circumstances from authentic sources.
As it is, there wiU be found some facts and some frank
opinions which I fear may not please all : —

27

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
Autobiography of E. V. Kenealy
I
My dear father, who, like most Irishmen, possessed a
golden mine of enthusiasm and imagination, was ac
customed to trace his pedigree upwards through a long Hne
of patriarchal, regal and noble predecessors, rulers of
extensive realms, and chieftains of broad lands.
Looking through his papers, I have found half a dozen
closely-written books, fUled with extracts from Hibernian
authors of aU ages and of aU degrees — poetical, historical,
ecclesiastical and, I fear, fabulous — the whole of which
went to demonstrate that he was descended in direct Hne
from the Arkite Patriarch, through a splendid roll of
monarchs, heroes, saints and conquerors, in whom the
blood and passions of many mighty families were grandly
blended. The money he expended in the purchase
of ancient works likely to give him information on
these important matters must have been considerable.
Yet he grudged it not. For these Irish dreams were his
deHght and only luxury. But whatsoever the family of
O'Kenealy or Cermfaelad (for such it is in Irish) had been
in the legendary days of yore, when Queen Enchantment
cast her silver speUs over the earth, and we had fairies,
spirits, Druids and magicians at our beck, they have,
imfortunately, no reason to exult in the extent or grandeur
of their present possessions. The wizard powers which
destroyed their country feU with equal bHght upon their
hereditary crowns and kingdoms; their thrones toppled,
their castles feU. But though we had neither demesnes
nor fortresses, nor feudal halls, and Httle more indeed than
a moderate patrimony and a portrait-gallery of ancestors,
28

KATHERINE KENEALY. DR. KENEALY'S MOTHER
(From an Oil Painting)

His Mother
my father's step was not less stately, nor his pride of birth
less elevated, than any of the haughtiest of his ancient line.
Repeated confiscations for rebcUion against the EngUsh
sway, the influence of Penal laws, which prohibited a
Papist from holding landed property, a devotion to the
Stuarts, which manifested itself in many hundred broad
pieces of sterling metal and many pounds of chivalric
blood, and a due proportion of fiery temper which set all
prudent calculation at defiance, had caused the remnant
of our old estates' to dwindle sadly in the lapse of time.
And my paternal grandfather, though universaUy ac
knowledged as Princeps, or Chieftain of his clan, had but
Httle to bestow except an honourable fame and historic
recoUections. Nor was the heraldic honour of my mother less noble,
although my father never would admit that any merely
EngHsh blood was comparable with the pure Milesian, the
product of the East. This lady, Katherine Vaughan, the
eighteenth in direct descent from King Edward the Third,
by his son Thomas Plantagenet, Duke of Gloster, and
Eleanor, the eldest daughter and heiress of Humphrey
de Bohun, Earl of Hereford and Constable of England,
embodied in herself the blood of Charlemagne, Alfred
and the Conqueror, and was in nowise unworthy of her
race. She was the eldest daughter of Daniel Vaughan,
a wealthy merchant in MaUow, who, however, expended
so much money in the education of two dissipated and
extravagant sons (the renowned heroes of many a wild
scrape), that Httle or nothing remained for his other
children. And though he was at one time possessed of
twenty, or perhaps thirty thousand pounds, at his
death he was probably not worth much more than a
tenth of the latter sum.
He had in aU thirteen children, including the two rakes,
29

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
who cost more than the other eleven. He has been de
scribed to me as a small sHght m.an, who always dressed in
an olive coat and velvet breeches ; very silent, very modest,
very saving, and very much henpecked; in a word, just
such another person as the Editor of the Spectator humor
ously describes himself to have been, with his club, his
landlady, and Sir Roger.
My great-grandmother's maiden name was Mary
Chapman. Her mother was Mary Chapman, daughter of Arthur
Hyde, of Castle Hyde, Member of ParHament for the county
of Cork, by his second wife Mary, the child of Colonel
George Evans of Carass, a Privy Councfllor, and father
of the first Lord Carbery.
Both her brothers being bachelors, my great-grand
mother Chapman was heiress presumptive, to a consider
able property, and was renowned as a toast and a beauty
through the entire province.
She, however, married Mr Harding, a gentleman of
smaU but independent fortune, without her father's
consent, and against the remonstrance of her brothers;
became a CathoHc in her old age, having Hkewise two
daughters wedded to CathoHcs, and disgusted her family
so much by these triple heresies, that they bequeathed
away their two fine estates of FerviUe and SummerviUe
to distant relatives, in default of whose issue — the most
improbable of aU contingencies — the property was to vest
in the male heirs of Daniel and Mary Vaughan.
So that the only tangible memorials of Castle Hyde,
of FerviUe, or of broad SummerviUe, which came to my
grandmother, were a couple of old portraits, two carved
sofas covered with embroidered satin, and a pair of fire
screens of ancient tapestry, the handiwork of some
venerable Dowager, with which I often amused myself
30

A Despotic Lady

when I was a child, though I Httle knew or cared then
that they were the last vestiges of a property which had
been ours for ages, but was now alienated never to return.
As my great-grandmother Harding asked nobody's
consent to her nuptials but her own and her husband's,
my grandmother Hkewise in due time foUowed so independ
ent an example, and resorted to the summary mode of an
elopement to tie the Gordian knot.
She was a stout, thick-set, bony old gentlewoman, with
a large stock of what is caUed common sense.
A perfect despot in her own house and neighbourhood,
poor Daniel Vaughan was only an obedient minister of
her sovereign desires — for a wUl of his own he could not
be said to possess.
He was of Welsh famUy , and of the Lisbume blood, being
grandson of a younger scion of that noble house, whose coat
and crest he used, and the only vanity in which he indulged
was an occasional reference to his ancestor, the famous
Chief-Justice Vaughan. But he seems to have had Httle
of the fiery Cymric nature, as he bore his matrimonial
troubles with resignation, and presented to his feUow-
townsmen a perfect pattem of a subdued husband.
He was, however, Hke Addison, mulish at times,
rebeUed against the iron sceptre of his masculine consort,
when it was too potently wielded, and it required aU my
grandmother's skiU and energy to bend him to her purpose,
or to smooth away the ruffles of his temper, in these occa
sional moments of revolt against the constituted authority.
He Hved, nevertheless, to threescore and odd, but my
grandmother, who seldom had a day's iUness in her Hfe,
survived him long. She was nearly eighty when she
departed. She was a woman of great strength of mind,
boldness and originality of character, and perfectly un-
subduable by man or beast. 31

JDr Kenealy's Autobiography
I am proud of her fierce Norman blood and overruling
spirit. Like her mother, she had been a Protestant, but
changed her reHgion with her maiden name, although I
fear she swaUowed down the sacred mythology of Rome
with a good deal of salt.
In the same manner, my mother was a quiet imbeHever
in many of the doctrines of the Holy CathoHc Church,
and rather endured than sanctioned my father's creduHty.
He indeed was a model disciple.
His Saturday charities were great. Regularly on that
day beggars from all parts of the city surrounded his door,
and I have myself seen half a dozen at one time, none of
whom were sent away without relief. The number was
seldom less than thirty in the course of the day.
On Sunday mornings also he was accustomed to
continue his bounties, and he punctuaUy attended every
charity sermon, always leaving a handsome donation in the
plate, he being himself most usuaUy selected as a plate-
holder by the priests, who knew that he would set a Hberal
example. Whether it be true, as the Wise Man says, that he that
hath pity on the poor lendeth to the Lord, I cannot say,
but certaiiily my father throve in the midst of his charities,
and never failed to thank God fervently for the blessings
bestowed on him.
Nor was he imwUHng that his son should foUow in his
footsteps. Many were the pence entrusted to me to give
away in charity; and though I heartily longed to ap
propriate them, a vague awe prevented me, and I was
never guilty of a breach of trust. On the contrary,
so powerful is example, and so repeated were the lessons
of beneficence which I received, that I occasionaUy gave
some even of my own pocket-money for purposes of
32

A Midnight Panic
charity, and thought I was doing a most meritorious
thing. One picture I stiU remember, of a poor white-haired
man begging in the rain \\ith his hat in his hand; I passed
him at first, unheeding his plaintive prayer, but as I went
on my heart smote me at my worthlessness, and I returned
a considerable distance to drop a mite from my own purse
into his open pahn, feeling as I did so a divine stream of
happiness.

II
Of my grandfather and grandmother on the paternal
side I can give no detailed account, nor do I recoUect much
more than one anecdote related by my father, of a midnight
flight from their mansion, with their servants and a large
foUowing of feUow-beHevers and clansmen, and their
concealment in a wood, imder the apprehension of
some intended massacre by Orangemen, which, however,
proved to be only a groundless alarm. Though never
was the morning star more anxiously hailed by trembling
group, or the early chant of bird more agreeably heard,
than by my grandfather's famUy and his companions on
that eventful dawn.
This happened when my father was very young, and
seems to have made an indehble impression on his mind,
for he repeated it constantly, and always woimd up with
it whensoever he wished to instU into our minds his hatred
of that EngHsh tyranny which has so long prevailed in
Ireland. The portrait-gaUery of which I have spoken was
indeed nearly all that remained to us of our predecessors,
and I used to amuse myself with such stray anecdotes of
c 33

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
these departed worthies as my aunts had picked up in odd
moments from my father, or from such other members
of the famUy as happened to faU in their way.
The Hst began with a small portrait on panel of a Dame
O'Kenealy, painted in 1610, marveUous for its flesh-Hke
colour. I have seen many famous ones in the National
GaUery, and at Hampton Court, not half so fine.
After her came a portrait of her daughter-in-law, who
was unquestionably a proud and great lady, if one may
judge by her capacious robe of brocaded silk, her elegant
lace, which was marvellously painted, her coat of arms in
the comer surmounted by a gilt coronet, and the Dna.
(Domina) O'K., which was inscribed beneath. This "
portrait was taken in her thirty-sixth year, and she is
recorded lo have died in 1640. Her husband came nextj
St Michael O'Kenealy, Princeps, etc., clothed in armour,
with a boM, brave expression, and a chivalric gaUantry
which originated or realised many a subsequent vision of
my own.
Maurice, the succeeding Chief, foUowed in due order.
He was a man of noble and dignified appearance; calm,
placid and studious-looking, but his face was deficient in
vigour, and he seems to have been something of a fine
gentleman and cavalier. His robe and lace (an hereditary
foible) spoke of the Court and drawing-room, not of the
fiery camp or battlement, which the paternal corslet 'of
shining steel very plainly betokened.
The next Chief was another Maurice, who was knighted
by King James the Second, of unhappy memory; but
who, with the feudal pride of an Irish Lord, did not
formaUy adopt, though he was too courtly to refuse, the
royal title. He was a portly gentleman, represented seated
in a carved chair, with flowing periwig, the picture of
comfort and patrician ease, his coat of arms and golden
34

DOMINA O'KENEALY
(From a Panel Portrait by Holbein)

John, the Conspirator
motto. Atit Civsar aut Nullus, shining in a corner of the
canvas, and apparently colouring his proud reflections.
As an instance of how faces are reproduced after
generations, I may mention that my father's resemblance
to this portrait was marvellous, and was remarked by all
who saw it. His wife, Mary, painted by Sir Peter Lely,
flashed from an opposite wall in the beauty of youth, and
was one of the most finished portraits of that accomplished
master. Then came John, a remarkable portrait, on which none
could look without being impressed.
The life of this man must have been a romance of
melancholy and ^\ild adventure. His face was strongly
marked and ploughed with furrows of thought.
Of his adventures I know nothing. He was mixed up
with the conspiracies of CharlesStuart,theyoung Pretender,
(from whom he received a curious portrait in 1742), which
probably gave that sad, solitary and guilty expression
deHneated in his Hkeness. For Ireland, although the nurse
of many a Jacobite plot, was not the theatre of any great
outbreak in those days, and every member of the secret
organisation, Hable to hourly treachery from his most
trusted companions, moved, as it were, ¦with a halter about
his neck. John was a poet as well as a man of action, and -wrote
one or two songs in the Irish language, which are pre
served in an old manuscript book of my father's. One
was anonymous; another, which was of a rebeUious
tendency, was circulated under a pseudonym. Neither
was remarkable.
Goethe, who looked so curiously into his own mind,
attributes to the influence of the varied pictures, prints and
furniture in his father's house many of his characteristics
as a man, and the birth and growth of his particular fancies.
35

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
I beheve there is a great deal of philosophy in the idea,
and that my mind too was quaintly and permanently
coloured by this portrait gallery, and by the things which
were before and around me at every moment of the ex
panding of my intellect.

Ill
I was bom in Nile Street, in Cork, on the moming of
Friday, July 2nd, 1819, the feast of the Visitation of the
Virgin, in a comfortable old-fashioned house, of which I
now retain no other recoUection than that it was covered
thickly on the outside with ivy.
I came into the world with my arms crossed over my
breast, which made some gossips declare that Heaven
destined me to be an Archbishop, and I beheve one of my
aunts predicted I was to be a Pope. Whether it was this
prognostication, repeated for many a year in aU faith and
gravity, or the silent, meditative cast of mind which from
the first I indicated, or the pride which a Catholic Irish
man always feels in having a son in the sacred ministry,
induced my father to say he would make me a priest, I,
know not. But until my fourteenth or fifteenth year I
was certainly intended for the Church, and was in the habit
of hearing my father speak of such and such a man having
just had home his son in fuU-blown sacerdotal dignity,
from Ma3nioofli or Rome ; nor did he omit to add his hope
that he would yet behold his dearest child administering
the holy offices of that subHme caUing, to which Heaven
itself had typically destined me from birth.
I had two godfathers and two godmothers — a thing
unusual. But my father, who put faith in gossips, and
never distrusted prophecy, had a notion that his eldest son
36

A Dreadful Dungeon
was to be something wonderful, and so this extraordinary
honour was paid to me.
I was an idle, quiet child, reserved, solitary and silent,
duU of observation, but quick to learn. I hated restraint
of any kind so much, that in my fourth year, having got
a new suit of clothes, of which my Aunt Susannah bade me
be very careful, I caUed out, " Then take them off and
bring me my old clothes again. I can't be tied up in these."
My first preceptress was a Mrs Savage, a descendant
of Sir Arthur Savage, a Knight of Cork, famous in his day.
She was an old lady in silver spectacles and high cauled
cap. Even still I recollect her with something of awe.
She had several instruments of instruction, from a birch
rod and half a dozen elastic canes of various lengths
and dimensions, to a goat's head with hair and horns,
which often crowned my infant brows for peccadiUoes,
but which I at length treated with so much contempt
that the poor gentlewoman was sorely puzzled how to
punish her unlettered pupU. There was a dim tradition
among us boys and girls of a dark dungeon at the bottom
of the house, in which a Httle feUow had once been shut
by Mrs Savage for teUing Hes, and had been eaten by rats
and mice. But I fear the legend was as baseless as are
most stories which the first historians have had an object
in inventing. For none of my contemporaries at school
had ever experienced its terrors. Certainly if Mrs Savage
had wished to keep us aU -within tolerable bounds, she could
not have chosen a more poHtic course than she did in
promulgating this dismal tale. A mere threat of the
ceUar subdued the noisiest.
I was, I think, in my seventh year when I was removed
from Mrs Savage's university. What progress I had made
I do not know. Once, indeed, I had won the silver medal
of distinction; but, after wearing it for a week, it was
37

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
transferred to some more diUgent pupil, and I resigned it
-with a pang. I was, at home, considered to have memory
and talent— but what wUl not "home" discover in a
favoured child? I was generaUy tacitum. When I
spoke, my sentences were short, and were supposed to con
tain something. I had, I presume, exhausted aU the
little stock of leaming which the good lady knew, for I
was now placed with Miss  , whose name I have for
gotten, but whose innocent, beautiful face stiU gHtters on
my memory -with the freshness of young affection. She was,
I suppose, the first woman I loved. Reproof from her was
unfelt. I gazed impassioned on her soft blue eyes, gentle
as violets, and steeped in dew-light. My school tasks were
no longer a toil; my imprisonment no longer a penance.
And here I may as weU jot do-wn how early I became
a passionate admirer of female loveHness.
I was oidy nine or ten years of age when I made long
excursions down Glanmire Road to see the most beautiful
woman then in Cork. She was a Miss Baker, daughter of a
Colonel in the Indian service, who Hved at a place caUed
Fort WilHam, at whose gates I have often stood to watch
her come forth. She married a person who, they said,
cared nothing for her, and she died in a couple of years
of disappointed affection or a broken heart.
I recoUect her charming face still.
A half-wild poet named Callaghan once astounded
the good citizens by flinging himself on his knees before her
in the promenade hour in the public Mall, opening his
waistcoat, and passionately protesting the intensity of his
admiration, at which, however, I believe, the lady only
laughed. Another beauty, Miss KeUett, who was like an Empress
of Romance, was in the habit of walking up the Mandyke.
The moment school was over I ran to meet her, lingering
38

An Expert Flogger

for hours with my satchel on my back until she came.
And how passionately I fixed my eyes and heart on that
enchanting figure!
I think she knew why I was there — women are so un
commonly keen sighted. My heart throbbed as she ap
proached, my Hmbs trembled. I felt like the im
passioned Rousseau before Madame d'Hondetol, and
blushed at the shy yet searching glance she cast on me.
Dearly I -wished to be the ruler of an empire, that I might
lay my possessions and myself at her feet.
With a new tutor, Macintosh, I made but little progress.
He was a stagnant, easy, good-for-nothing soul, who
pocketed his pupUs' money and gave himself but small
concern about their inteUectual advancement. He
seldom used the rod, and his pupUs did as they pleased : a
privilege they did not fail to use and to abuse. After
remaining with him for about half a year I was removed
from his guidance, more ignorant than I had been when
I was placed under it, and sent to the school of a person
named Casey, -with whom my first real sorrows in life
began. This Casey was the most expert flogger in the city.
His school was in Brown Street. It was a long, dark
room, where dancing was taught at night, but which in the
daytime was converted into an academy for torturing
the body without doing rnuch ser-vice to the mind. I
entered it with instinctive repugnance, for nearly aU the
pupUs were big, bratal boys, coarsely dressed, and the
master himself held a huge rod in his hand, -with which he
was belabouring an unfortunate -wight, who howled
fiercely as every lash resounded through the air.
When he saw my father he grew as mild as milk, and
the astonished youth was rescued from the whip. But it
39

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
was only a temporary reprieve. For Casey loved the sport
so weU that the moment my father retired he recommenced
the flogging, and continued it to the close with so e-vident a
reHsh that my heart beat against my sides Hke a bird's
newly caught in some mischievous schoolboy's hand.
For the first week Casey was the smoothest of human
beings, but ha-ving detected me in a He, he gave me a most
terrific thrashing, and from that moment untU I left him
for ever, a period of ten months, he regularly flogged me
once, and sometimes twice a day, on hand and naked back,
until the first grew homy, and even the latter was hardened
into a caUosity, Hke an alHgator's, or that of an armadiUo.
At last, in the tenth month, he whipped me iato a fit of
con-vulsions. I foamed at the mouth and lost my senses.
I raved wUdly while I kicked on the floor. Casey became
frightened, and asked me did I know him? I said he was
the Knave of Clubs. I was taken home insensible in a
maid-servant's arms, and after five weeks in bed, with
medical attendance, was pronounced sane and convalescent.
I saw no more of Casey as a teacher. He once spoke to
me in the street; but turning my head in fear or scorn, I
made him no reply. He soon after married, became
jealous of his wife, and drank himself into the grave,
descending to a region where only his own floggings can be
exceeded.

IV
After a long iUness at length my brain recovered
tone, and health again in-vigorated me. Yet I cannot
attribute aU my debility to the ordeal through which
I had passed. Mismanagement in other things had some
thing to do with my mishap. A very great and grave
40

Happy Blackbird !

mistake was made with me in those early days, which I
note for the instruction of others.
Every moming I was waked in summer at half-past
five, and in winter at half-past six to go to school. And
great indeed was my reluctance to quit my warm blankets,
and the refreshing slumber of childhood, for the duU, cheer
less school, especially as I knew that a flogging awaited me
for the sHghtest slip. There was a blackbird in a wicker
cage in the house opposite to ours. In spring and summer
he was put out in the air as the moming sun shone. He
whistled beautifuUy. The melodious note echoed in my
ears at every step I took, for I would have given aU I
possessed to stay and listen aU day to the bird.
The moment I entered the school-room my happiness
was gone. I became gloomy as the gloomy place itself,
into which, as it seemed to me, the sunbeams never pene
trated, for it was upon the shady side of the street, and
badly Hghted.
Le Sage, who in old age became animated as sunshine
smiled over the earth, and decayed again in inteUect and
sensibflity as the vi-vifying beam decHned, was not in
closer S3anpathy -with that grand star than I have ever
been. I felt it then in chUdhood. I feel it now in the
flower of my days. Nor will I ever consent to place any
one connected -with me in a dark house or in an atmosphere
of melancholy like that. Yet when the hour of reprieve
arrived, and I bounded home to my beloved books, aU was
forgotten. I lay in bed every night reading, until nearly
twelve, stories of fairies and magicians — AH Baba and the
Forty Thieves, Baron Munchausen, Jack and the Beanstalk,
Fortunio and his Seven Wonderful Men, Tom Thumb, Jack
the Giant-killer, Fortunatus and his Purse, Blue Beard,
Cinderella, or the Glass Slipper, Robinson Crusoe, Aladdin
and his Wonderful Lamp, Tales of the Genii, and The Seven
41

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
Champions of Christendom. All of these I read at least a
hundred times, finding in every new perusal some new
pleasure. No entreaties were sufficient to make me lay
aside these loved companions, and at home no severity
was used. For these delightful books what floggings have
I not endured, what tears have I not wept ! The floggings
are forgotten, the tears are dried, but the glorious recol
lection of these stories of enchantment remains, and I
am not sure but that that is worth the stripes.
A return to Bro-wn Street was of course not to be
thought of. An old gentleman named Do-wning (poor old
Simon, how vividly I recoUect him -with his hooked nose
and spectacles, black coat, broad forehead, thin grey hairs,
and profusion of snuff!) heard of me, and was anxious to
secure so promising a pupil.
I was now initiated into Latin grammar and Greek,
and made rapid progress. I weU remember my astonish
ment and my pride, when, in three months, I was plunged
into Csesar's Commentaries, and found myself translating
for my deUghted audience at home the well-known
beginning of the first chapter. From Caesar I passed into
Ovid's Metamorphoses, Sallust, the Mneid, and Homer,
and was soon considered — or perhaps I considered myself,
for I can scarcely now discriminate between rumour and
fancy — one of the best Greek and Latin scholars in the
school. How weU I can recal. my dear father's joy,
when, taking me between his knees, he made me translate
for a -visitor the story of the unhappy Phaethon, or the
wonderful transformation of the cruel Lycaon into a wolf.
The adventures of DeucaHon and P5n:rha, and their in
genious mode of repeopling the desolated globe, fiUed me
-with wonder. I threw stones behind me on my way to
school, and was half amazed when I found they did not
start up boys and girls. I cursed Apollo for his pursuit
42

The Pious ^Eneas
of Daphne. I never forgave the Greek chieftains for ad
judging to Ulysses, instead of to Ajax,the heavenly armour
of the brave Achilles. I read over and over the magical
stories of Perseus and Andromeda, of Theseus and Helen,
of Jason and Medea, and lingered with delight above the
labours of the demigod Hercules. For Menelaus I had an
early contempt, and hated Agamemnon for his sacrifice
of the beautiful Iphigenia, and for his unprincipled
abduction of the sweet Breiseis.
Marmontel writes with rapture of his days of boyhood,
when he read Virgil under the shade of a blossoming bower,
while the honey bees murmured around him, and the azure
sky of Limoisin breathed beauty above. Such a scene
might well have reconciled him to the Dutchlike dulness of
the Mneid, but I doubt if it would have satisfied me. Of
the Eclogues I can speak with rapture, for I felt and feel
their exquisite cabinet paintings, redolent of rose and
thyme, and bathed in sunshine. But the Georgics have no
interest for a boy, and the pious ^Eneas is a wretched feUow.
For him, indeed, I had neither sympathy nor admiration.
Strange that Homer and Virgil should both have com
mitted this fault, selecting for their heroes characters who
interest neither heart nor mind.
My Midsummer and Christmas vacations I sometimes
spent at Cove, -with my dear mother, sometimes at Castle-
to-wn Roche -with my Aunt Susannah, in a large and
comfortable farmhouse, named Ileemana (e-videntiy the
Sreemana of India), but more commonly in MaUow -with
my grandmother, who gave me my o-wn way in a manner
which enraptured me. In those days I was as shy as a
young antelope; nothing induced me to speak to a
stranger, neither sixpences nor sweetmeats. I avoided
strange faces. The arrival of a -vdsitor to my grandmother
was the signal for my flight to the woodland. For I
43

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
preferred the Dreams which were my friends in field and
forest to intercourse with men or with boys of my o-wn age.
My ideas were majestic; my temper serious, even sage.
I cHmbed the bro-wn hiUs, fragrant with heather. I saw
the sun ascend in parti-coloured cloud. I Hngered until
the moon swam through the heavens like a goddess in a
lake. The distant prospect of towns or farmhouses
fUled me with rapture. I loved the trees as cherished
friends, and sympathised with every habitant of Nature,
save only with human kind.
My good grandmother and I were incessant walkers.
\^eresoever she went, I was sure to be found, holding on
by her silk go-wn, or -with my little hand in hers, which was
bony, strong, and seemed made to grasp an iron-hUted
sword or the ponderous sceptre of a Charlemagne. She
was fond of pointing to me with pride as her only grand
son, although my modesty was not particularly weU
gratified by exhibitions of this kind, and I always hung
back from observation. She spoke to aU she met Hke
some Princess walking among her feudal vassals. In
mould of mind she was whoUy Norman. Her features,
dark and massive, stood in bold relief; one could fancy her
pure and ancient blood roUing like a proud river, strong
and irresistible. Her eyes, indeed, were blue and Saxon,
but her breadth of limb and solid bone, her commanding
temper, her dictatorial tones, her massiveness of wiU,
spoke more of Normandy than of AngHa. Nor did she
or my mother possess one atom of what is caUed Irish
patriotism. The contrast between her and my father was
as wide as that between the countries themselves, of both
of which, indeed, they were representative.
I cannot now look back without deep interest to this
sturdy old gentlewoman before whom aU trembled, as well
in her o-wn domestic circle as in the pert, presumptuous
44

A Feminine Despot
town of MaUow itself. For by the force of an imperious
iron wUl she made herself, even in her old age, respected,
even feared, by persons who were in no -wise dependent on
her, and who were foremost in their jibes and jeers at others.
That she ruled in her home I have already intimated, but
her sway extended beyond. During her Hfe no gasUghts
intruded their profane radiance upon the midnight streets.
With a few old foUowers she opposed -with true Tory
bigotry aU innovation and improvement, preceding them
to the fight Hke TaiUefer at Hastings, and chanting the
song of triumph. In vain the Commissioners — very great
persons in a small way — ^urged and remonstrated. Her
own wUl she was determined to have, and had. Indeed it
was waggishly reported that it was not until they were
weU assured of her decease that they ventured to convene
a meeting for the purpose of obtaining the long-coveted
Hght. Yet, -with her masterful temper, she was a woman to be
regarded, though not perhaps to be loved. She was
hospitable to a fault, open, sincere, candid and perfectiy
honest. She never indulged in professions, but meaning
to serve one she did it -without any intimation or vain
boast.

The domestic economy of my faimly, no less than my
course of study, was weU fitted to foster in me the poetic
and contemplative disposition which from the first I mani
fested. My dear parents Hved solely for one another and
for their chUdren. There were no entertainments given
or accepted. We Hved strangers to aU, dependent only
on our mutual love. This suited the temper of both.
45

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
I had an uncle, Connor Kenealy, who Hved near
Kanturk, to whom I once paid a visit of some weeks,
which teemed with Irish legend and fairy superstition. He
lived Hke a patriarch of old, or Hke the Saxon thanes com
memorated by Sir Walter Scott, sitting every evening at
the head of his table, while his famUy, his foUowers, his
retainers and his servants were ranged along the board
according to the affinity, rank or position ¦w;hich each held
in the master's household.
It was a pleasant and a goodly sight to see them so
coUected. The long oak table was abundantly fiUed with
dishes and briUiantly Hghted. At the top of the room was
a fireplace six feet long, blazing with wood and peat;
the lord of the banquet presided at the head, and when
the feast was over, song and legend, and -viUage news,
occupied the easy hours which, preceded the time of repose.
At this table what -wild stories have I not heard ? What
Jacobite reminiscences of James and WUHain, and the
young Pretender? What tales of holy priests and sheeted
ghosts and haunted castles ? What narratives of bleeding
nuns, enchanted lakes, and abbeys charged with magic;
what chivalrous adventures of Irish rogues and rapparees?
Once, I remember, a pot of old silver coins of the reign
of James the Second was dug up in one of the fields. This
set us speculating for days on hidden treasure. On another
occasion, my uncle took me, -with many a solemn gesture,
to a fairy or Danish Rath which was on the farm, pointing
out the ancient rampart, four or five feet high, perfectly
distinct in outline from an ordinary hedge, and guarded
with sacred care. He struck with his large stick the
ground beneath us. It returned a hoUow sound. The
surface shook where we stood. He told me that there was
a cavern underneath, which he had been often pressed to
excavate and explore, but as it was unlucky to break into
46

MARY HARDING, DR, KENEALY'S GREAT-GRANDMOTHER
(From a Pastel Drawing)

An Enchanted Cavern
these hallowed places, and whosoever did so either died
soon after or suffered some other misfortune, he had always
refused to permit interference with the enclosure.
How I pressed him to have the place opened! I
dazzled him with hopes of gorgeous treasures, vessels gold
and silver, fairy riches, wonders such as I had read of in my
Arabian Nights. I offered to take upon myself the whole
risk of the encounter, to dig the first sod, to face whatso
ever ghost, or fairy, or enchanted sprite should issue from
the -violated cavern. My uncle would not listen. He grew
angry as I grew importunate, and finaUy withdrew me from
the place, afraid lest I should enter upon the task'^of
digging out the enchanted prince, who lay bound by
magic within the Rath. When I again looked for the spot
I could not find it, or I fear I should have been tempted.
No doubt it stiU exists inviolate, and will do so, until
some EngHsh farmer gets possession and enters the
labyrinth. VI
There was a high mountain at the back of one of the
farms of a maternal relative of mine, near Mallow, an,d one
of my greatest delights was to ascend its steepest summit
and lose myself amid its solitudes. Regularly I made
my daily pUgrimage. When the mists rose and the
vapours curled or roUed beneath my feet, hiding the plains,
I fancied myself enveloped in the clouds of heaven; and
this freak of imagination was often rendered stiU more
powerful by the Hghtning which occasionally flashed
beneath me, and the reverberating thunders.
The Castles of MaUow and Kanturk, the ruins of
Lohort and Ballinamona Abbey, with towers and loopholes,
and dimly-lighted chambers, with broad tilt-yards and
47

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
ancient gateways, which I peopled -with soldiers and
waving banners, fUled me -with feudal longings and
monastic fancies, with aspirations after bygone times
when I too would have been a Chieftain and a Conqueror,
or the Prior of some princely monastery, famous for my
charities, my leaming and power.
Was I not also the representative of a noble and princely
Hne — those O'Kenealys -with whose deeds and prowess
many an Irish annal was emblazoned? I felt my heart
sweU. Though my ancestral halls were gone, had I not the
blood and spirit of those bygone men?
How I longed for battle-fields, to bear our glittering
banner, the White Hart on the Scarlet Shield, and the sur
mounting crest!
An old retainer of my father's accompanied me through
the Abbey of Buttevant, and as he recounted to me deeds
done by my ancestors, I felt the fire of a thousand chief
tains burn in me, the strength of a thousand hands.
I wrote home in the -wildest strains, and for a month
signed aU my letters O'Kenealy. Nor would I permit my
self to be addressed, either by word or by letter, by any
other title.
What is there too lofty for the eagle - wings of
Imagination? Alexander, in his tents of gold and purple, never fiUed
his heart with conquests so vast, so gorgeous as were mine
in these ecstatic hours.
Coleridge, when a boy, walking in the Strand, could
beheve himself Leander swimming the HeUespont,
breasting its blue and silver waves. Nor was I less
apt to lose identity in some ideal. According to the
books I read I was everything by turns and nothing
long. The volumes I usually packed up for my MaUow -visits
48

Undine
were Homer, Don Quixote, The Seven Champions of
Christendom, Tasso, The Castle of Otranto, RoUin's Ancient
History, Gil Bias and Robin Hood.
It was while in the fuU rapture of these romantic
dreams that I became acquainted with that gem of beauti
ful and legendary things, the Undine of de la Motte
Foque — a fable or aUegory which I conceive to be almost
di-vine in its loveliness.
How I have been lured to Paradise by this. It invested
for me with new and hitherto undreamed-of charms the
lake, the river and the brook.
I plunged my hand into the moming streamlet, hoping
some fay would clasp and place in it a garland of flowers, or
a chaplet of emeralds and coral fresh from palaces beneath.
I made boats of paper or leaves, and floated them to
some in-visible magic isle, whence they were to return,
bearing an Undine to my rustic cot — an Undine charming
as the heroine of the story. I longed myself to float
in them, half persuaded that they would lead me to some
wondrous continent unkno-wn to geographers, where only
happiness and beauty dwelt. VII
My father had a good Hbrary which I augmented from
time to time, and before I was sixteen I had read most of
the best books in the EngHsh language, and many of the
French and Italian classics.
The first great poem which fell in my way was Hoole's
Translation of Tasso's Jerusalem. I read this before I
was ten, I am sure a dozen times.
It gave me the greatest delight. I can stiU recur in
fancy to surmy hours when I thought only of Rinaldo,
Tancred, Armida and Argantes.
D 49

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
After this I tried to read Spenser's Faerie Queen, but
I tired of its monotonous aUegories, and could not enjoy
its siren sweetness. Burns delighted me ; and I pored over
the wild dialect of Ossian, and dreamt it not an ingenious
fraud. Of Shakespeare, my favourites were Richard the Third,
Romeo and Juliet, Macbeth and Hamlet ; the last of which
I could have read for ever.
I did not understand it — Who does? — but I knew it was
a treasure, and as such I prized it.
Cook's Voyages fiUed me with stores of adventure.
I read RoUin's Ancient History again and again. I knew
and believed aU the miracles recorded in the veracious
Alban Butler's Lives of the Saints.
Goldsmith's History of Rome I read twenty times at
least, as well as Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, every step
and adventure of which I believed to be fact. I longed for
some one to show me that celestial road, that I too might
go forth upon a pilgrimage to the shining City of the
Blessed. I got through Pope's Odyssey t-wice, but without much
interest in the narrative, and had reada library of romances.
Sterne's Reflections, Zimmerman on Solitude, and
White's Natural History of Selborne accorded weU with that
meditative cast of mind which has always characterised
me, and which is in curious contrast with my passion for
action, my iron wiU and indomitable energy.
Plutarch's Lives was a favourite. Xenophon and
Lucian were daily companions. I knew Keating's History
of Ireland almost by heart, lured by its legends and tales
of enchantment. I was also weU acquainted with the history and
features of the leading cities in the world; and when I went
first to Dublin, and a youth named Dennison undertook
50

Don J

uan
to show me its wonders, I knew all the public buUdings
and their treasures so well that he would scarcely believe
I had never been in Dublin before.
Of Don Juan I had heard a great deal, and at last, by
hard pinching my pocket-money, I saved enough to buy
it, and ran off to the shop where I had often gazed at it
with coveting eyes.
The good woman looked -with astonishment at such a
Httle feUow — I was about eleven — wanting such a book.
She refused my money, teUing me very properly it was
not a fit book for children to read.
Yet in ^vishing to purchase it I had been guiltless of
corrupt intent. I had heard it was a great work, and had
no notion why it was not proper for me to possess it.

VIII
I was passionately fond of theatres, but my father was
un-wUling to gratify this taste, and it took long weeks of
entreaty before he would take me to a Play.
I, however, erected a smaU puppet show of my own,
and having purchased some thirty doUs I dressed them
in spangled robes of silk and velvet; I painted with my
o-wn hand scenes and wings, and made palaces, caverns,
rocks and waterfaUs.
O glorious theatre! O doUs and puppets, eloquent!
What plays and grand romantic dramas I composed for
these. My sisters were my audience. I was myself manager,
printer, painter, taUor, scene-shifter, poet and fifty actors
of versatile power roUed into one.
And here I am reminded of my first night at a real
SI

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
theatre. The play, I think, was caUed The Exile ; but I
have no recoUection of its plot, although I can still recaU
some of the characters and many of the scenes.
It fUled me for months afterwards with poetic fancies.
I could not rest, I could not sleep. It unsealed the foun
tain of my fancy.
How passionately I longed to mingle in such scenes;
to transport myself from the prosaic world around me —
the school, the family meal, the duU, leaden features of
every-day existence, so far beneath that ideal world of
beauty and enchantment.
The last time I experienced these ecstasies was in
the Dublin Theatre, when on my first visit to that city.
The Talisman, dramatised from Sir Walter Scott, was
exhibited. As in aU melodramas, there was a rich profusion of clap
trap sentiment, of gaudy declamation, of sweUing phrases
which seemed to me to be the essence of the sublime.
I was in the pit, wrapped up in the play. Behind me
was an old gentleman, shrewd, worldly and rotund, -with
rosy cheeks, who, whensoever anything particularly
romantic or fine was declaimed, burst into a horrid fit of
laughter, which infected others beside himself. I could
have killed him for irreverence — I longed for the Gorgon's
head to transform him to stone.
At every vile guffaw I turned about and stabbed him
with my eyes, my every feature breathed contempt and
rage. But he went on, and as the pathos increased, and I
was ready to weep myself to stone, or to rush upon the
stage, ardent to mingle in the fray, out burst from his
hideous mouth and cheeks an explosion of mirth which
fiUed me to the brim -with waters of bitterness. I was too
young to remonstrate, and too prudent to strike, but aU
my enjoyment was destroyed for the evening.
52

The Blood of Rochester
How often since have I reflected on the old gentleman's
wisdom, and sympathised with his humour. For what
bmrlesque or farce equals that of hearing heroic sentiment
from knaves and debauchees, and virgin innocence from
the painted Messalinas of the stage?
Thus did I grow a boy-Quixote.
To the Don himself I had been introduced when at
Casey's school, and had plunged with rapture into his
history. Yet my imaginative faculty was but half
dehghted. The proverbial and sensual pleasantries of Sancho
seemed to me a deformity. They bore me back from the
world of ideality to a sphere of real existence which I
detested. I was not then subtle enough, or learned enough, to
enjoy the fine sarcasm, the rich irony, the knowledge of
human nature, the pathetic and deHcate painting of
Cervantes, although I Hngered with deHght over its sylvan
pictures. IX
An imcle of mine, Edward Vaughan, presented a
strange contrast to my dear father. He was one of those
-wild sons of old Daniel of MaUow, of whom I have before
spoken. The fiery blood of Rochester, from whose third daughter
Malet WUmot, wife of John Vaughan, first Viscount
Lisbume, he was descended in the third generation, had
by this time either cooled into the icy current of the
fiftieth year, or had exhausted its volcanic energy in so
many eruptions, that nothing of its pristine flame could be
discerned. He Hved at Glanmere in a smaU but elegant viUa
53

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
(which has since been taken do-wn), and having survived
the foUies of his youth, was a staid and orderly member
of society. One who saw his taU grave figure, and noted
the marble taciturnity which distinguished him, would
not credit that he had been a successful leader of the most
noisy school riots, the hero of the Rakes of MaUow, the
terror of its watchmen and of aU sober people; the un
scrupulous plunderer of his father (who, -with an eccentricity
peculiar to those days, had no faith in banks, but kept his
silver in barrels, to which his sons got sly access and which
they deeply drained) ; the principal performer in all those
disgusting revelries which the reader of Peregrine Pickle
and the comedies of the last century -wUl remember were
then considered as proper to a fine gentleman as was the
Grand Tour.
Such he has been described to me — but such he never
appeared, for he was a pattem of moraHty. But his
opiruons of reHgion were sadly lax.
He had been of course bred a Catholic, but the Pro
testant spirit of my grandmother predominating, he had
— oh horror! — been seen even at Church. EventuaUy he
resigned both creeds for open Infidehty.
How weU I recollect my affright when one of my aunts
first told me mysteriously that " Uncle Ned was a
Heathen." Thenceforward I looked upon him with secret
awe and amazement. My catechism and my confessor
had both charitably taught me that he was walking the
way to Hell, and great was my consternation at ha-ving such
an accursed member in our family.
Yet his latter life was harmless, and perhaps innocent.
He was sober, quiet, sensible, frugal and honest. He lived
like Epicurus, and the gods of Lucretius, caring for no
body, eating meat on Fridays, incredulous in holy water,
fulfilling all his duties as a member of the community,
54

JOHN WILMOT, EARL OF ROCHESTER
From whom by his 3rd daughter, Malet, Lady Lisbume, Dr, Kenealy was
descended in the 4th generation
(From a painting by Sir Peter Lely)

A Death-Vigil

and supporting two of his sisters, who kept house for him,
as he was a bachelor.
Whither he went when he departed I know not. But
from a few hours after his death until the lid of th* coffin
was screwed down, I never, except at night, left his corpse,
-but sat at the head, gazing in dread at that inanimate
placid face, whose li-ving o-wner was then, as I had been
taught to believe, howHng in flames of perdition.
Even now I can recal my feehngs. They held sorrow
of the most poignant kind for what I believed was his
ine-vitable fate; and -wild wonder at the stem decrees of
God. He died -without a priest — a " Heathen " to the last,
albeit several of the CathoHc clergy foUowed him to his
grave, and read prayers for his soul as though he had been
a veritable beHever.
Nearly similar of behef was my Aunt Mary, whose deep
love for me is graven in characters of light upon my soul.
Daily communication with these two sceptics, who were,
or who appeared to me at all events to be, excellent persons,
made me first tolerant of religious disbelief. For it seemed
clear that the most strict fulfUment of what are caUed
rehgious duties could not make any persons better in their ,
respective spheres than were Uncle Ned and Aunt Mary;
nor could I much longer hold it as an article of divine
faith that two individuals of most blameless Hfe were
doomed to HeU because of their convictions.

X
There are many who protest against the indulgence of
reverie, against the fostering of the imagination, and who
speak of dreamers and castle-builders with sublime con
tempt. The whole artillery of modem education-mongers
55

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
seems to be directed against this, the most beautiful
faculty of the mind, as though that which God has given
should be destroyed by man, as though the -wisdom of the
Creator were at fault in imbuing His creatures with the
perception and the love of contemplation of ideal splendour.
Hence, from our nurseries and schools are banished now
those fairy and magic volumes which have been the delight
of milHons, and which have, I doubt not, in great measure
beautified the minds of aU.
Never can I agree -with those persons, nor have I
in my own experience found any of those e-vils which are
now said to be the consequence of studies of this nature,
of the indulgence of dreams, which Homer teUs us some
times come from God.
Whatsoever keeps the heart and soul childHke in
^nnocence cannot be evil. Whatsoever wins the thought
of man from the gross world about him into realms of
imagination must be beneficial. Whatsoever presents
to the mind a picture of brighter and more poetic scenes
than these of prosaic life must tend to elevate and to
adorn it. Whatsoever bathes the soul in momentary
happiness, pro-vided that happiness be of a pure nature,
must assuredly be a blessing to him who is impressed.
For my o-wn part, not for aU the treasures of Ophir
would I barter the faculty of fancy, from which I have
derived more exquisite enjoyment than any earthly thing
can give, and which has kept my spirit free from many
of the -vices which I see the practical, the worldly and the
commonplace commit.
Yet the reader must not imagine me moping and
moon-stricken. So far from being crazed or flighty, I was strong,
healthy and bold. I was an excellent and daring swimmer,
famous for speed in running, skilful at the sling, and an
56

A Fiery Horseman

expert and hard-hitting boxer. I had tried to learn
dancing, but it struck me from the beginning as a ludicrous
emplo5mient for so grave a creature as myself and I gave
it up in disgust or despair.
I played the -vioHn excellently, was an adroit draughts
man and a courageous horseman. This last was even a
passion. For the Eumenides themselves seemed to enter
into me, and I spurred my horse to a fury, enjoying with
a kind of drunken rapture the headlong breakneck speed at
which we flew. It was like Burgess's Ghost Ride, only by
no means ghostly. And although it might have led to, it
did not terminate in a churchyard.
As I grew older I wisely gave up the steed, for, once in
the saddle, the fury seizes me, and I cannot restrain this
desire for Hghtning speed.
The last time I mounted a horse, John Windele, of
Cork, was my companion, and in his fruitless attempts to
keep up with my pace he was thro-wn and broke his leg
in two places. I have not set anyone my bad example
since. I was also, as I am stiU, a great pedestrian, and could
walk a long distance without fatigue. I always went
alone. If company joined me the pleasure of the day was
gone and my spirits sank.
I was a good oarsman and an excellent shot. But once,
when firing at some smaU birds, I shot a lark. The poor
little bird soared singing into the clouds, and having
ascended to a great height suddenly feU down dead. On
taking him up I found I had struck him in the eyes, which
spurted -with blood. I was shocked and sorry, and from
that day I have never shot any living creature.
How poor are the pleasures of those who derive their
enjoyment from the destraction of innocent creatures —
the birds, the fish, the butterflies of summer! Yet it is
57

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
more from thoughtlessness than from real cruelty they do
so; and as I myself never reflected on the true nature of
the occupation before this incident of the lark, I can look
with lenience on those who still continue their siUy and
degrading amusements.
The best preventive would probably be an early ac
quaintance, from books and conversation, with the lives,
habits and affections of these harmless existences, and
¦with anecdotes of their gratitude, their tenderness and
their virtues.
Never can I forget the humanising influence which the
well-kno-wn Hnes of Shenstone had upon me when a boy of
nine or ten: —
" I have found out a gift for my fair,
I have found where the wood pigeons breed,
But let me that blunder forbear,
She wiU say 'twas a barbarous deed.
' For he ne'er could be true,' she averred,
' Who could rob a poor bird of its young,'
And I loved her the more when I heard
Such tenderness fall from her tongue.'

XI
During one of my absences in MaUow my young brother
died. At the time I was not able to understand or to
appreciate the manner of his death; but for long after,
and during many and many an hour, did I hear from my
aunts the tradition current among them, that he was
" struck " on May-day eve by the Fairies, from whose
spell he never recovered ; it being a favourite habit of these
little people to carry away the flower of the family, which
this arch, witty, mercurial child was considered to be.
58

The Banshee
His left side, as he lay in death, was said to be black,
and this was considered a certain sign of unfair play on the
part of these enchanters.
Just before he died, half a dozen women in the house
heard the Banshee or Faerie Nymph (who is a well-attested
follower of our family), keening in the wildest song of
melancholy, immediately outside the window of his bed
room, which made one of my aunts exclaim, " Good God!
what a voice she has.'
AU these things were narrated to me with an air of
implicit faith. They were the contemporary tradition of
my chUdhood related by those who were too honest to
deceive. And many a year elapsed before I became a
sceptic, although I should hesitate now to record my
positive disbelief in their reality. Indeed I was fuUy
sixteen before I ceased to credit folk-lore, before visions
of clusicauns and leprecauns ceased to float before my
imagination. In addition to the beautiful Faerie or Banshee, whose
wail announced the death of any member of our family,
there was another legend, too well attested to be dis-
beHeved, and my Aunt Mary, a considerable time before
her death, in full accordance with the tradition, predicted
to aU her friends, and frequently to myself, that she would
be the next number of our society to depart.
The legend is, that the person who has last died comes
in dream to the one who is next to follow (or to someone
intimately related to him), and brings either a horse or a
beautiful chariot in which he invites the doomed one to
ascend. After this they disappear, and the dreamer
wakes in the moming -with the fuU conviction that his
death or that of the person represented in the Vision wUl
be next in turn.
A few weeks after my uncle's death I heard my Aunt
59

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
Mary say that she dreamed he had come for her in a
carriage, and although another of her sisters appeared
to be present he in-vited her only to ascend it. Not
regarding the chagrin of the one who was left behind, they
proceeded on their journey. Whither she could not teU.
She was impressed next moming with the conviction
of her death, and although she Hved for a whole year after,
she always cited the dream as a certain prediction. And
she was in truth the next member of our family who
foUowed her brother to the grave.
So vividly was I a beHever in these things, that once
at midnight, when aU the household was wrapped in sleep,
I solemnly invoked a Spirit, with aU the cabalistical forms
of adjuration prescribed by necromancers. And although
no Spirit came I was not the less con-vincedof the possibiHty
of compeUing such a presence under more favourable
circumstances. My thoughts were not slightly fostered by the super
stition in which, in common -with my contemporaries, I was
brought up.
Almost my earliest recoUections are of visits to Holy
WeUs, where, with my aunts and others, I crawled about
on hands and knees, thumping my breast and praying,
bathing myself in holy water, and performing a thousand
such rites, worthy only of a dancing dervish or of a mad
man. When all was over we tied a rag of some kind, as an
offering to the Saint, upon one of the trees and returned
home well pleased -with the exceUence of our devotion.
Tents and booths were erected all about the Holy
WeUs, and the majority of the votaries usuaUy concluded
in drankenness, debauchery, or in a fight, the pious
evolutions of the day.
On the Eve of Saint John I was always present at the
Vesper fires of wood, tar and dried gorse lighted in honour
60

Fire-Baptism
of the great god Bel or Baal (caUed the Baal-Tinne), and I
failed not to dance in the mystic circle, and to jump three
times through the flame to purify myself from past sin
and to ensure good fortune for the future. This symbol
of the ancient fire-baptism or the sacrifice of human life to
the bright di-vinity of the sun, exists in Ireland as in the
East, and is one of the clearest proofs of the identity of a
reHgion which once connected all peoples under the same
faith. Priests, nuns and sisters of charity I venerated as
though they had been God's o-wn elect. In a word, I was
sunk into a state of slavish superstition which reduced me
almost to the level of an African devotee. Reason
eventuaUy broke through these trammels. My poor
dear father was a perfect fanatic in these things, and
surrendered his judgment blindly to his confessor.
Time was when I regarded a Romish chapel as the Holy
of HoHes, to be moved through only -with the solemn, silent
step which dared not wake even the least reverberation,
to be gazed on as the veritable dweUing-house of the Most
High, to be exempt from aU profanation of thought, or look
or action. Not in heart only, but in body I prostrated myself
before the gilded sanctuary. I gazed with awe-inspired
reverence on the image of the Crucifixion, on the beaming
face of the Virgin. I sprinkled myself from the blessed
font, and felt in the external coolness a symbol of purity
in my soul, and had the sacrifice been required, should have
been happy in these moments to lay down my Hfe as a
martyr for this sacred creed.
Later, when my father knewaU my views on the subject
of reHgion, and Hved to see my predictions more than
verified as to this tyraimical Church, he could never be
brought to entertain the feehngs I then shared -with my
6i

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
mother on the subject. She, indeed, was made of sterner
and of nobler stuff, keen and clear in her perceptions. She
never erred in any judgment, but had a rare wisdom,
illumined by a bright and fuU inteUigence.
She was one of those women who could not deceive
although a cro-wn were to reward her de-viation from truth,
and her instinctive knowledge of character was so fine that
no man or woman living could deceive her. Nor was
she less skUful in detecting the falsehood of a system than
of a man. I looked with admiration on her sound sense
and vigorous character.
My dear father was accustomed to say in the end that
I " had made her a Protestant," but he said it in joke
rather than in earnest, for it was more likely that her
scepticisms of Papacy had made me a Dissenter. When
soever he felt inclined in late years to argue with me about
religion, I handed him his flute and asked him to play me
one of those old plaintive Irish melodies so sad that they
pierce the soul. This at once put an end to aU controversy,
from which, in the domestic circle, no good ever results.
¦ My father was certainly one of the best of men. His
heart was tender and gentle as a woman's. Of no deep
leaming himself, he had an exaggerated notion of the
splendours and advantages of erudition. Gay's Fables
and Goldsmith's Deserted Village he knew by heart, and
was fond of repeating them to me as I grew up, so that
every line and sentiment of the last-named charming
writer was famihar to me from my seventh or eighth year.
He knew also a great part of Pope's Translation of Homer,
and had constantly on his lips the sublime distich : —
" 'Ex^pAs ydp 11.01 Keivos o/iCs 'Aldao iriXxinv
(fi'XiiTepov /liv KeiBy 4pI (jtpealv &XKo 6i efTrjj." — Iliad ix. 312-3.
" Who dares think one thing and another teU,
My heart detests him as the gates of heU," — Pope, 312-3.
62

"Get Out, Hussies!"
a couplet which sank into my soul when I first heard it,
and has, I think, helped to impress me with that horror
of falsehood, of double-dealing and hypocrisy, which is
one of my chief characteristics, and which has not advanced
my worldly prospects.

XII
As an instance of the care -with which he guarded me,
I may mention an incident which happened when I was
fourteen. We were coming up to Cork from Cove in the
steam-boat one beautiful summer afternoon, after witness
ing a regatta or some other enjoyment of the day. We
sat in a smaU cabin attached to the grand saloon. Pre
sently some young bloods came in, heated -with wine and
-with the pleasures of the table, accompanied by two silken
damsels redolent of perfume, champagne and those other
deHcacies which, from the time of Lais down to those of
Lady Blarney and Caroline Wilhelmina Amelia Skeggs,
have been dedicated to " maids who love the moon."
Immediately there began a conversation by no means
suited to the ears of a boy, although, as I suppose, par
ticularly agreeable to the parties concerned. I got a great
fright. But my father all at once rose, took the two
charmers by the shoulders, and pushing them through the
door, with an indignant exclamation of " Get out, hussies ! "
before their gaUants could recover from their stupor,
fairly locked them out, and returned to his seat highly
pleased -with what he had done. The young bucks looked
at each other in dismay, seemed ashamed, and slunk out
one by one with the most contemptible and crestfallen
appearance, while I inwardly rejoiced at seeing such a
63

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
termination put to a scene which was beginning to fiU me
with disgust.
Never do I think of this unbounded love and care in all
things that I do not weep his loss.

XIII
AU my recoUections of the time I passed at Downing's
school, nearly four years, are agreeable.
We hurled the sHng; we played at goal. We divided
the school into French and EngHsh, or Greeks and Trojans.
We planned ambuscades and surprises; we had pitched
camps and wa-ving banners. These battles left ng un
pleasant recoUections behind them; we mingled again in
friendship on the foUo-wing day, as though we had never
been foes.
When the weather was wet we debated indoors. When
first I became a pupU there was a weekly discussion on some
vexed question of poHtics, history or morals, in which the
best scholars took opposite sides, one of the seniors occupy
ing the chair. There was a good deal of talent, some
leaming, and great order.
The master's son Frank, my tutor, often soHcited me
to join, but I had an unconquerable sh5mess and could not
bear to speak in pubHc. I told my father of the discussions
and he also pressed me to take part in them, but in vain.
Finding that he could not induce me, he took another,
and I think a very exceUent course. When the news
papers came in, he employed me to read Mr Peel's speech,
or Huskisson's, or Brougham's, and this strengthened
my voice and gave me some idea of elocution.
When alone in the drawing-room, I used to mount a
64

A Boys' Parliament
chair or a table, and declaim for half an hour before a large
looking-glass in such language as was probably never
before heard, but which at that time I thought very fine
oratory. No one ever knew of my essays in this way, for
the moment I heard a footstep I retreated into a comer,
seized a book, over which I pretended to pore, and sat as
silent and as shy as a young monkey. I also read aloud
speeches from whatsoever volume I laid hands on, and
began by degrees to take courage.
At last, in 1830, the news of the French Revolution
set us aU -wild. There were two very clever lads at the
school, neuned Bailey, who were our guides in aU intel
lectual paths; and as Reform was the general cry, we
resolved to imitate our seniors and to have elections in
school for that purpose. A number of boroughs and
cities were named, which returned members. Of neces
sity aU the boys in the school had votes for all the various
towns and boroughs, but as they did not always attend
the elections, the Tories sometimes had a majority over
the WTiigs. There was great canvassing, bribing and
pubHc meeting. An election was held every day.
Our ParHament was nearly completed when the younger
Bailey and I were both elected members for the City of
Cork, after a protracted struggle and a hard-fought con
test, in which the same passions were exhibited on a
minor scale which I have since seen displayed on a larger
and real arena.
Our ParHament consisted of about twenty, half Tories
and half Reformers. I was elected principaUy by the
latter. I wore a tri-coloured star on my breast. Great
were the discussions which took place between the Ministry
and the Opposition. We carried them on for months,
and it was now that I first took courage to address my
feUows. E 65

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography

XIV
Cork was in those days a much more lively place than
it has been since. Special commissions, with attorney
and solicitor-generals from the metropoHs, and hosts of
leading counsel for prisoners, were everyday occurrences,
and harmonised weU with our forensic tastes at school.
The O'Connell agitation kept the whole country in a
perpetual bustle, and what with processions, poHtical
breakfasts, dinners, meetings, and anti-tithe skirmishes,
the Irish mind never stagnated, but was always joyous
and ebullient, we schoolboys being as inflammable as our
seniors. I well remember one grand triumphal entry which
O'Connell made into Cork, and which was almost regal
in its magnificence, as it was more than regal in its extent.
I remember also Cobbett's visit, and was greatly struck
with that true EngHshman. His briUiant little blue eyes
were the most beautiful possible. They twinkled Hke
stars, although he was seventy when I saw him in 1834.
He lectured in the Cork Theatre, in a plain, yet playful,
manner, which delighted even a boy like me.
A very different appearance O'Connell's eyes presented
in 1845, when I was introduced to him by my beloved
friend. Archdeacon O'Keefe. The Liberator's were fixed,
immovable and glassy. The affection of the brain, which
afterwards kiUed him, no doubt worked this change, for
before then they had been fUled with many-changing hues
and life. But it is for the lessons which my father gave
me when these worthies visited the place that I now recur
to them. On such a theme as O'ConneU or Cobbett,
elevating themselves from humble foundations to high
and dazzling — alas! not good or happy — eminences,
66

An Evil Tutor
he was inexhaustible, and his words were fire to my
spirit. In this year, 1833, there occurred an incident character
istic of the monastic and hermitical modesty in which
I had been reared. I had a tutor who was engaged to teach
me the -vioHn. One day he closed the door and told me a
story of some prank of King WiUiam the Fourth, when he
was in the Cove of Cork as Prince WiUiam Henry. It was
a vapid, dirty trick, worthy only of the gun-room. The
blood rushed to my cheek. I was indignant that so great
a Hberty should have been taken, so impudent an outrage
offered to my habitual modesty. To the horror of my
tutor I rang the beU and ordered the servant who appeared
at my summons to see that gentleman to the door and
never again to let him enter the house. My orders were
obeyed. The fiddler got his dismissal, my father applauded,
my mother sUently admired, and I was placed under the
auspices of a new and more decorous disciple of Amphion.
I had by this time exhausted poor Simon, and was now
sent to Dr Porter, a cruel, heartless pedant, who made
his scholars personaUy and bitterly hate him, and who
has reminded me of the portraits we have of Macklin the
player, the iron-hearted, and the brazen-faced. This
Porter seemed to feel a savage deHght in inflicting torture,
and when his pupUs were insensate to his sarcasms,
treated them to grins of ghastly horror. His language
was -vile, his temper bear-Hke, nor to me did he appear
to possess a single good quaUty, but was all selfishness,
heartlessness and brutaHty. 1 remained with him for a
year, but his tyranny and abuse half broke my spirit,
and I was taken home more dead than alive. Flogging
I could have endured, and had endured patiently enough
under Casey. But scolding, mockery and sarcasm,
vituperative epithets and ugly grins were too much for
67

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
my nerves. I sank almost into imbeciHty under his
tuition. And here let me once for aU make entreaty of my
reader not to consider me uncharitable if I appear at times
to be severe on those who pass before him in this mirror
of memory. What I write I write on principle. I beheve
no man should conceal the crimes or the faults of those
-with whom he comes in contact, unless by silence he can
do some good to others. Cicero, in his Treatise on the
Laws, declares it to be the duty of the perfect man " to
immortaHse the -wise consultations and noble actions of
the brave and true, and to punish the shame and infamy
of the wicked by handing them do-wn in undying records."
Beattie, indeed, as I remember, commenting on some
of Johnson's severe censures of the sUly or the worthless,
asks indignantly why BosweU should have recorded them,
adding that they do no good, and appearing to regard
this stricture as unanswerable.
True that they may do no good to those censured.
They may be caUous; they may be dead. But does it
work no terror in other knaves? Does it not restrain the
¦wickedness of those akin to them in -vice? ShaU we ever
again have a Walpole insult a Chatterton, a Mrs Brett
bastardise her issue, or a Chesterfield thrust a Johnson
from his door?

XV
The next person to whom I was sent was Mr John
Goulding, a very exceUent man, whose seminary was in
Duncan Street. His classical reputation was considerable,
he had a great amount of knowledge. When my father
took me to him he Hfted his glass to his eye, and obser-ving
68

"The Young Earl"
me closely, said, " He has an honest face." After which
he took me into the school.
Goulding was deeply read; a sound Greek and Latin
scholar, well versed in French and Italian ; the most liberal
and enUghtened of aU my tutors. He had a fine coUection
of books, and he pored incessantly over them.
He had been designed and educated for the priesthood,
and was on the point of being ordained, when from some
eccentricity he changed his mind and set up as a teacher
of youth. He was modest and quaint.
He made all his scholars keep diaries, in which thej'
entered their modes of passing time when away from
school, with occasional criticisms on the authors they
read. Thus he was able to form an accurate judgment
of the mind and temper of each. This plan, an exceUent
one, gave his pupUs an idea of elegance in prose composi
tion. He was also accustomed to read a chapter from
some Greek writer — usuaUy one of the annalists of the
lower Roman Empire — which we took down as he read.
and were expected to bring on the foUo-wing moming as
weU and as accurately paraphrased into English as we
could. Under this good man I recovered the tone of my mdnd,
which had been seriously injured and weakened by the
savage Porter. My spirits were buoyant, and I was
caUed " the young Earl " by my feUows, for having once
said I should be one before Idled — an ambitious hope which
does not seem Hkely to be reahsed, and which would not
probably conduce to my happinesss if it were. Goulding
completed my classical education ; and after passing some
months in idleness I went to a school kept by a very worthy
feUow named Wiseman, from whom I strove to learn
algebra and mathematics. In vain. I could not get
69

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
them into my head. Or if they got there they so quickly
escaped that it was only time and money thrown away
to pursue these studies longer. I gave them up accord
ingly and prepared to enter Trinity College.

XVI
On the 6th of July 1835 I entered Trinity CoUege,
ha^ving got the eighteenth place among eighty-five others,
who were enroUed at the same time. The long vacation
foUowed quickly after my entrance. I had employed
persons to paint and decorate my rooms during the summer
and autumn, and early in September my father and I
went to Dublin, he to purchase furniture and to enter
me as a student of the Inns of Court, and I to astonish
the members of the University with my knowledge.
What a happy midsummer and autumn that was! I
spent it between Cove and Cork, in boating parties and
in country rambles of exquisite enjojmient, with a young
girl of about my o^wn age, to whom I was fondly and inno
cently attached. I had met her at school. We feU
passionately enamoured each ¦with the other at first sight.
I experienced in aU its intensity the fascination of first
young love. Our vesper meetings under the trees, pro
longed tiU moon and stars shone beautifuUy above, were
moments of Paradise, and I stiU find myself dreaming of
that ecstatic union of souls — for it was nothing else —
my love for her being then as pure as air. The ladies
-wiU probably laugh at this expression, but I must endure
their ridicule.
A thousand wild romantic thoughts rush back on me.
I feel once more that May-day of my life. One night in
particular I remember. We had been together for hours.
She hung on my breast. What an atmosphere of happiness
70

First Love
we breathed! It was in Cove. The moon was up,
ghmmering on the waters. The spirit of a Divine Dream,
or of Love, prevaUed. It was the night we were to part,
as next day I was to set out for the University. What
tears, what kisses, what burning love! At length I tore
myself away, and late at night got into the little sail boat
which was to carry me back to Cork. The moon sank,
and when we got to Lough Mahon it blew a gale. Our
sail was stretched to the utmost, the mast creaked, the
ropes seemed ready to snap, the waves rose with white
and angry crests, Hke hissing snakes, and toppled over
the gunwale, as the smaU boat bent beneath the breeze. I
-wished we had been together, that, clasped in each other's
arms, we might be submerged, and hand in hand go forth
into unbounded space, and flit together through the
everlasting, from star to beautiful star.
This vision of delight lasted for a considerable time.
On my part it was a perfect madness. I could not tear
myself away from her. The worship I felt for her I cannot
depict. It was a thing to be experienced, known, but not
described. A painter might as weU hope to paint a world
of perfect chrysoHte, to transfer to a smaU field of canvas
the flashing splendours of a universe. Beside her I trembled
Hke the magnet trembhng to the pole. For this extra
ordinary mesmeric ecstasy I cannot account, but there
have been hours when in her company I was no longer
on earth. Intoxication suspended my faculties. I no
longer felt myself mortal. I floated in disembodied bliss.
Those only who have themselves been magnetised, speU-
bound, in this way can understand what I mean. When
last I saUed up that beautiful avenue of waters from Cove
to Cork, in the autumn of 1849, every revolution of the
paddles brought before me those old scenes of love and
romance. 71

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography

XVII
I took possession of my chambers in Trinity CoUege
in September 1835. My dear father had furnished them
-with elegance, with statues, busts, classical prints and a
fine coUection of books. My heart was fiUed -with hopes
of pleasure, my head dazzled with dreams of reno-wn.
I longed for my father's return to Cork, in order that
I might be my own master. I charmed my fancy -with
a thousand airy pictures of independence and-enjoyment.
At length aH was completed. I was entered a member of
King's Inn, -with my coUege biUs paid in anticipation.
My dear father took his leave of me with many a parting
admonition of prudence, to which I Hstened impatiently.
His admonitions were not without due effect, although,
indeed, I needed Httle to preserve me from excess. Dissipa
tion never had charm for me. I cared not for the noisy
orgies, rumours of which I heard around me, and in which
I could discover neither Anacreonic grace, nor Horatian
elegance. The tone of Society in the CoUege, so different
from that 'which my father imagined, was low and -vulgar;
and the little I beheld of the roysterers of the -day, or
rather of the night, only, disgusted me -with their coarse
tastes and sensual conversation. Vice, if not ethereaHsed,
is a' loathsome companion.' When she is ethereaHsed,
she is, at best, but vice. But when sho-wn in the ugHness
of coUege depravity — which is never more refined than 'the
saturnaHa of s-wine — I loathed her as a horror. If I am
to revel I like to do so with Aristippus, not -with Petronius
Arbiter and his companions.
At the October examination I fiUed a creditable place,»
and I beheve I was recommended for classical' honours,
but I did not compete, either through idleness or contempt.
72

Prize-Men
For " grinding," or " cramming," I had an utter scorn,
'and a month after I had been there I mentaUy resolved
never to contend for a CoUege prize, as being at best only
a sham, meant to deceive and delude parents and friends
by the semblance only of appHcation. Subsequent
observation and experience have confirmed me in this
^^ew. I hardly evei; yet knew one of these " honour-
men," or " prize-men," who was not reaUy an arrant
dunce. The after career of persons of this order is as duU
and stupid as possible, to the never-ending amazement
of their friends, who form grand erroneous notions of the
" young hopefuls " from their coUegiate distinctions,
but who never dream that the whole thing is maiiily the
result of " cramming " under a painstaking tutor, and
that the man who bears off the prize generally knows
as much about the book in which he has won his triumph
as a parrot does of the EngHsh language, because he has
been taught to utter twenty words.

XVIII
¦My tutor at the University was the Rev. George
Sidney Smith, D.D., a fat, joUy soul, who valued Httle but
good eating and drinking, and looked as happy as the Trian
minsfrel. There was an impudent rumour among the
seniors that Smith had been in early Hfe a tumbler, or a
tight-rope dancer. If it were so, no contrast could be
greater than that between his former and his coUegiate
condition; for he was sleek, corpulent, gouty and luxuri
ously lazy. How weU I can call his figure befqre me as,
reclining on the softest of stuffed chairs, -with a leg stretched
73

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
on a cushion, he Hstened listlessly, and seemed longing to
sink back again into Epicurean slumber. Never was
there a truer type of the Porcus Epicuri de grege. The
name of tutor is, of course, a sham, Hke many other sound
ing titles in this fine world, for nothing did I learn from
George, and nothing did George give me to learn. He
excused me from all lectures and disagreeable things.
He dozed over his meals and lounged on his couch. He
was civil but useless, except that, through his interposi
tion, I never paid a fine while I was at the University,
although I disregarded every law and broke through every
regulation.

XIX
The College Historical Society was at this time in fuU
vigour. It held its meetings weekly at Radley's Hotel,
in Dame Street, in a great room upstairs, and was graced
by men of considerable abUity — WiUiam Archer Butler,
John Ball, John M'Cullagh, Wilson Gray, Joseph Lefaure,
WUHam Ribton, Isaac Butt, Torrens M'CuUagh, Joseph
Lawson, Tom M'Nevin, William Keogh, Thomas Davis,
Richard Armstrong, James O'Hea and others, who
have since made themselves known or notorious in
various departments of literature, poHtics, eloquence or
scholarship. I attended some of the meetings of this Society as
Hstener, but did not join them untU a twelvemonth after
I had been at the University, my old shsoiess continuing,
and presenting to me an almost insurmountable barrier
against making a public appearance. There were
moments, it is true, when my heart beat high, and I
panted to mingle in the strife of oratory. But whensoever
74

Early Influences

I seriously thought of addressing the members I shrank
back in terror, and deferred from day to day enrolling
myself. My attendance at these debates turned my attention
with perhaps more than usual ardour to the subject of
politics. But what can I say of my real opinions on this
all-comprehending subject, but that they were equaUy
Ulusory, -wretched and unsubstantial as were my views
on religious matters?
Paine, who is a -writer of great force, truth and subtlety ;
Emmett and his example, and the History of the American
Revolution, made me, in my seventeenth year, an ardent
Repubhcan and admirer of unrestrained liberty. But
Montesquieu and Burke soon after drew me back to
Monarchy and sober institutions. Yet though the latter
led me captive for a period by his eloquence and gorgeous
phUosophy, there were occasions when I could see beauty
only in socialistic and in communistic theories, and I
longed for the days and speculations of Lycurgus, Plato
and some of the more reno-wned French and EngHsh
philosophers. The -writings of Algernon Sidney sank deep into my
soul. Their vivid, fiery declamation and virulent abuse
of the wretched FUmer sounded like a trumpet of battle,
and I perused with rapture the treatises of Harrington
and of Sir Thomas More, in which they so persuasively
portray their ideal Commonwealth.
My dear father had made me, from an early age, a
bigot to the cause of Ireland by his dreams, his enthusiasm,
his legends, his anecdotes. A foUower of O'ConneU, he
was ever pouring into my ears eulogies of that inteUectual
prodigy; and his Irish songs, in the harp-Hke native
language, were sung with so much artless sweetness, ac
companied by his flute or violin, that I learned to love
75

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
the land for the sake, as it were, of its di-vinely-modulated
minstrelsy. My reading also had been of such a nature as to fiU me
with enthusiasm for the island and its heroes.
The glorious career of Curran was perpetuaUy before
me. Over his speeches I pored for days, dazzled ¦with
the beauty of their inspiration, their imagery and daring
flights. Often I exclaimed in the spirit of Alexander
or Thenustocles, " This O'ConneU wiU leave nothing for me
to achieve." I longed to be a man that I might mingle
in the struggle. But as I grew older I saw, ¦with saddened
eyes, that in the game of poHtics also roguery and selfish
ness played their detested parts.

XX
It is not often that children are early iiutiated into a
knowledge of the world around them and the meiHgnity of
some of their feUows. At school they see mischief, sportive,
arch and sometimes playful, but seldom of a ¦vUe or
maHcious kind. The young no-vice on the earth is dis
posed to find in every one a friend, -with affections warm
and melting as his o-wn. His heart yearns toward aU, in
love, his trust and confidence are great and noble.
Swift speaks of an early disappointment in angling
which, he says, influenced his mind through life. He
was dra-wing up a large fish which suddenly escaped
from his grasp, and he never forgot his sensation of
chagrin. To how sHght an incident may be traced the
development of that discontented humour which found
vent in Gulliver. r-
An almost equally trivial event made me long a hater
of society. 76

DR. KENEALY AT TWO YEARS OLD
(From an Oil Painting)

A Wrecked Toy

When I was seven or eight years old I had a beautiful
Httle boat, rigged, painted, gilt, with sails and silken
streamers and pretty ornaments. I went to sail it one
day in a sheet of water. The little ship was becalmed,
and as the tide was ebbing she drifted on a bank of mud.
Two boys came up, and at my entreaties endeavoured to
draw her off. But they were unable to reach her. Three
or four more now approached, one of whom flung a stone
at her. His example was foUowed by his companions;
and — ^worst of aU — the two who had previously assisted
me joined the new-comers. In five minutes she was a
shattered -wreck, broken into twenty pieces, and floating
in as many places. What could I do against superior
numbers but remonstrate against injustice? I shed no
tears, however, for I felt that such were unworthy of me.
Expostulation and remonstrance were unheeded. I
returned home shipless and sorro-wful, who but a couple of
hours before had set out aU joyous with my treasure.
What a lesson was this for me ! How it filled me with
hatred of my kind! It was such a thing as I should never
have thought of doing to another. Here was injustice of
the most glaring kind practised against me, who had not
done these boys a -wrong, but had resorted to them as
friends and helpers in my calamity.
At Porter's I groaned under the daily tyranny of him
self and of a subordinate of his, named Douglas, who
seemed to take a heUish deHght in tormenting me for my
ineptitude in algebra ; while to complete my misery, a very
big boy named Bennet, to whom I had never given the
sHghtest offence, made it his custom to foUow me home
every day, caUing me every name of insult he could invent.
Co-wper recounts a nearly similar story of a -wretch of
this kind who made his school days a torment.
But time passed, and I began to grow contented
77

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
-with the Real, finding how impracticable was the
Visionary. A boy of seventeen or eighteen feels in his heart the
spirit of a god, in his arm the -vigour of a giant. His whole
Hfe is to be a grand epic. Nothing mean is to disfigure
it. He is to live and breathe among kings and kingly
thoughts, to make the world fall at his feet and bless him
for the blessings he has brought. But time advances and
aU is changed.
It wiU be said this is one of the evils of an indulged
imagination, one of the results against which modern
teachers guard when they seek to curb the reins of thought
and to exclude romance from the nursery.
But though the reaction into fact from poetry is
melancholy enough, yet I am stiU persuaded that our
dreams are monitors of heaven, and that in setting before
us beautiful impossibilities they do it, not that we may
be driven to despair, but that in experiencing the miserable
nature of worldly things and their insufficiency to satisfy
even our -wills and fancies, we may learn to despise them
and to uplift ourselves. XXI
In the library of King's Inn I discovered every book
to satisfy a reasonable reader.
Every morning at ten o'clock precisely I was found
there at my desk, and never left it tiU dusk. My evenings
at chambers were devoted to digesting and arranging the
knowledge acquired in the day, and I never had an un
happy moment, so intense was my enthusiasm.
I verily believe I made myself master of every standard
work in that library. There certainly was not one valuable
volume in it — except the absurd, dull and vulgar sermons
78

Classical Honours
which the librarian, Monck Mason, was always ordering —
of which I could not give a good account, and perhaps a
short summary of the contents.
My industry was unremitting, and I have never ceased
to experience the immense benefits I derived from this
schooHng. The curriculum of the College I treated with scorn, for,
master of Greek and Latin almost to perfection, I did not
care what work in either language was placed before me,
being certain I could read it as though it had been English.
Classical honours, as I said before, I despised.
To a gentieman, or to a professional man, the acquisi
tion of the smaU minutiae of leaming necessary for prizes
is quite useless. They are suited only to schoolmasters
and tutors, being of no practical use.
I read aU the Greek and Latin books which were not in
the curriculum, whUe I never looked into those which
were. This was rather absurd, but it was my fancy.
Strangely enough, in the midst of all this reading, I
wrote nothing but a diary.
My mornings before breakfast were devoted to walks
in the CoUege Park; my days and evenings as I have
described; my nights to soHtary commune with the
sparkling, sUent heavens.
I had no time for original composition, and I wished
to fiU my mind before I drew upon its resources. I wrote
a great many letters to my dear father, but I thought
every half hour irretrievably lost which was not spent in
company with my beloved books.
The consequence of this hard reading was soon ap
parent. I knew more of misceUaneous Hterature than did
any other student in the University, and was constantly
consulted by men of twice my age for critical, historical,
poetical or antiquarian lore. 79

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
rising understanding with a chain of steel. I strove to
persuade myself that if I doubted I was for ever lost.
But the thought returned again and again. At length
I sat down to the Pentateuch -with a sacred resolution to
scan it as I would any other ancient volume, and judge
of its contents for myself, unbiassed by early prepossessions,
or by any other passion than a love of knowledge. I did
so, and became convinced that it was as a whole not
genuine ; but that, like Hfe itself, it was a blended form of
good and evil.
With this thro-wing off of spiritual bondage what
strange inspiring thoughts and speculations visited me !
Plato would probably aver that they were recoUections
of a former state. Nor would he, perhaps, be wrong. For
that my spirit has pre-existed for imlHons of years, and
that in palpable being it has played many parts, I am as
weU assured as I can be of anything.

XXIV
Let me pause for a moment to inquire what benefit
I derived from Trinity CoUege. I answer at once. None
whatsoever, not the shadow of a shade. Had I possessed
anywhere else a large Hbrary and equal leisure I should
have advanced as much in mental energy. I saw no
noble emulation after great things to fire my soul, no zeal
in the service of knowledge.
I participated not in, for I did not meet, any exalted
confraternity of youths aspiring to the beautiful. The
contests were about straws and stubble; the combatants
word-spHtters and grammarians. There was no palsestra
of august strife for the classic njmiph, Philosophy.
82

Academic Gew-gaws
The proper metre of a chorus, the most accurate history
of a spondee or of a particle, were the mighty things
which showered honours on the candidates for renown.
Not one of those whose names were published -with
distinction knew a thousandth part of what I knew;
while for the trash they studied to acquire I would not
have yielded a single half-hour of my leisure, though sure
of the trophy if I had.
But even then I had begun to prize things, not for what
they seemed, but for what they were. Of what conse
quence could it be to me to see my name paraded on the
CoUege waUs,and in the newspapers, among the "Honours"
men, when my heart told me it was in truth no honour?
How could I be aught but liar or fool if I walked about
dressed in " Honours," and endeavoured to impose them
upon men, when I myself was conscious that these gew
gaws were of no more value than are the straws and
feathers of a savage?
Trinity was not, in this, worse, I suppose, than are other
places. I am not acquainted with the eleusinia of Oxford
or Cambridge, but I have no doubt the same sickening
thirst for nonsense prevaUs, the same wretched byways
lead to distinction, whUe the broad, majestic, open road
of learning conducts to Httle or no fame, nor to any profit.
To my mind all coUegiate institutions need to be
entirely remodeUed. I do not wish to appear an ungrate
ful son to my University,, but I give her no thanks because
I received from her no benefit. To me she presented no
avenue to success, but was a sour and churlish stepdame.
The tone of her society was poor; her sons were chUling
magnates, and imdistinguished in the world for aught
but elementary treatises on the exact sciences, which,
as they were introduced into the CoUege course, put
money inlo the pu ses of the compUers. She has nothing
83

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
but a library and a file of splendid busts ; and even these
last are degraded by the company of dead provosts of
whom no one hears, and departed bishops whom no one
venerates. Goldsmith, or Curran, or Sterne, or the heroic Tore
are not there, but there are heads in -wigs which it would
be no profanity to set above the posts of some garden
gate, or the architrave of a stable.
If Oxford and Cambridge be to general students, as I
doubt not they are, equaUy contemptible, I can only
regret the infatuation of such parents as support them.
The men whom they send forth would be great from any
place; I am positive they owe nothing to their Uni
versities for wealth of knowledge or for wealth of fame.

XXV
" If a man," says Svrift, in his Thoughts on Various
Subjects, " would register aU his opinions upon love,
poHtics, religion, learning, etc., beginning from his youth,
and so on to old age, what a bundle of inconsistencies and
contradictions would appear at last." In the same tract
he adds, " The latter part of a -wise man's Hfe is taken
up in curing the foUies, prejudices and false opinions he
contracted in the former."
The profundity of both these observations I find
singularly verified in my o-wn experience; and although
I do not pretend to the character of a " wise man," I
frankly avow my title to that of one who has had his
" bundle of inconsistencies."
In religion I began life as a bigot to the Papal creed,
but after I had been a year at the University I doubted

Youthful Philosophy

much of that I had hitherto regarded as hallowed, by
fits surrendering myself to Byron, to Gibbon, to Boling-
broke, to Paine, to Rousseau, and to Shelley.
Hume I could not endure, nor can I stiU. He is pert,
ignorant and shaUow, and how one can beheve in him,
or be led by his superficial logic, is marvellous to me.
He is far inferior to the scoffer Voltaire, who has wit,
leaming, sense, and even argument, while Hume is
deficient in nearly all, and has really nothing but Scotch
hardihood and metaphysics. Bayle had a great influence
on my growing and inquiring reason. I was scarcely
ever wearied -with his wondrous Dictionary, the most
entertaining and instructive of books.
WhUe in Dubhn I scarcely ever attended the ministry
of the faith in which I had been brought up. I was more
frequently found at St Patrick's, to which the grave, the
memory and bust of S-wift, of whom I had always been
an admirer, took me. OccasionaUy, also, I attended
dissenting meeting-houses, but more from curiosity than
from devotion, for my opinions were wandering and un
fixed, and I felt a strong desire to investigate various
forms of rehgious belief.
I soon began to take a phUosophical view of Catholi
cism, as Goethe did of Paganism, and supposed that men
of leaming were aUowed to disbelieve in what was evi
dently absurd and false, whUe they could safely accept
that portion of the faith which accorded -with common
sense, and was supported by reason and by antiquity.
The fire-eating but evangehcal lieutenant in Tom Jones,
who fancies that military men are exempted from the
strict observance of the dictates of Christianity, and
aUowed to read the texts that regard duelling by an
interpretation of their own, probably suggested to me
this bright, erroneous idea. 85

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography

XXVI
Volney's Ruins of Empires, and SheUey's Queen Mab,
both of which I read simultaneously when very young
(albeit one alone would have been enough, for the last
is Httle better than a cento taken from the first), had
great influence in awakening my spirit, though I can
now see how Httle of profundity either writer possesses.
From B57ron I learned to dare. For though his lord
ship is a copyist of other people's thoughts — for to think
for himself he cannot be said — stUl, to a boy of fourteen
or fifteen, his Cain appeared a very sublime production,
and if Scott thought highly of it, no wonder that I, poor
youth! should think so too.
The neglect into which BoHngbroke, who; is a -writer
of the most exquisite beauty, has fallen, is discreditable
to the reason of the age.
Johnson, who never scrupled at a fib when orthodoxy
was concerned, made him the subject of one of his dia
tribes. The parsons took up the yelp, and since then
BoHngbroke has been held up by the shaUow tribe of
critics, and beheved to be by the more shaUow tribe of
general readers a superficial -writer, than which no charge
can be more impudently false.
BoHngbroke does not make a parade of eradition in
footnotes. He was above the ostentation of pedantry.
But every man who investigates the subject on which
BoHngbroke has -written must see that his reflections
are the result of deep, supreme and admirable study,
that he was far in advance, not only of his o-wn age, but
of the miserable age of Johnson, when England seemed
sunk in such deplorable bigotry, and polemical foUy,
as the present generation can scarcely realise
86

A Splendid Scholar
When we read BoHngbroke we cannot beheve we are
perusing the works of a man who -wrote more than a
century ago, and before Voltaire had sounded the trampet
against superstition. We seem to be, on the contrary,
deep in the speculations of some profound German scholar
of the present day, when aU reverence for names is gone,
and things are venerated not for their age but for their
utUity and beautifulness.
BoHngbroke, if he achieved no other good than this,
should be for ever venerated by aU lovers of truth. He
paved the way for Gibbon, and probably did good service
by Ulumining the mind of that splendid scholar, and
opening it to the general advance of phUosophy.
Here, indeed, is one before whom the parsons stand
aghast. Their parrot cry of superficiahty -wUl not succeed
against the historian of The Decline and Fall.
Paine they may pronounce -vulgar, and Volney a
scoffer, but the mighty shade of Gibbon overawes them.
Yet Coleridge, who sought in a certain way to ape
Johnson, is not without a fling at Gibbon, and if the
compUer of his Table Talk is to be impHcitly beheved,
he had the courage to attack the recluse of Lausanne as
an unfair and superficial painter of the age which he
delineates, and pronounces his book to be a positive
obstacle to true knowledge of the subject, rather than
what it is — a splendid lamp, which flings a magic Hght
on ages which had otherwise been enveloped in Cim
merian gloom.
That Coleridge was competent to pronounce a con
clusive opinion upon Gibbon's merits I do not beheve.
He was as prejudiced as was Johnson on the subjects
whereof BoHngbroke has treated. The former read
Plotinus Porphyry and some other Platonists, dabbled
perhaps over Eusebius or Sozomen, and hence fancied
87

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
he knew the affairs of faUen Rome. The latter was deep
in the nonsensical divinity of Charles and Queen Anne's
reigns, and beheved he could decide on antique theology,
of which he knew nothing. Both were slaves of mulish
bigotry, and pronounced opinions which every hour has
a tendency to prove worthless. Neither -will be regarded
by posterity as anything but sphinxes or chimeras of
the day, who made only the ignorant stare with wonder.

XXVII
With some occasional visits to Cork my CoUege Hfe
was undiversified by change. I attended and passed
the usual examinations. How I managed to answer in
the mathematical or scientific departments I do not know.
Bayle, who stuck fast in the first problem of Euclid, and
could never get beyond it, must have had brains like
mine, but my proficiency in the classics stood my friend.
It was a favourite joke -with my science tutor, who con
sidered me an incorrigible dunce and duUard, that I
would never set the Liffey on fire. No doubt it was lest
I should do so that Providence denied me scientific brains.
A scholarship, which I take to have been worth £500,
I could have attained easily if I had only adjured Catholi
cism. But I knew it would break my dear father's heart
if it could be said in Cork that I had changed my religion
for lucre, and so I gave it up, although at great incon
venience. How -wrong is that system which says to the
most learned : Avaunt ! you shall have nothing from me
unless you apostatise from your father's faith.
When I said that I formed no friendships I perhaps
wrote hastily. There was one at least of my CoUege
88

College Chums
companions to whom I was extremely partial, John
Robert \\'alsh. Our friendship stUl continues, notwith
standing that it has been interrupted by the accidents of
life. He is a very noble Httle feUow, although with a
queer, eccentric temper ; fancjong himself an Atheist and
MateriaHst, when he reaUy has a soul fiUed with a himdred
good quahties.
J. R. W., when I first knew him, was Hke Moore, whom
he resembled also in inteUect, short and round, fat-
cheeked and bright-eyed, an enthusiast about poetry,
and one of the most good-natured and good-humoured
persons possible.
We used to sit up for lughts together over the fire
until dawn, talking, talking, talking, never tired, occasion
aUy interweaving -with the conversation a Httle baUad
or madrigal. W. had a low, sweet voice, but simple,
bird-like, and unaffected, and this kind of natural singing
has for me the greatest charm.
We used to teU stories to each other, sitting over the
fire in the long -winter evenings ; anecdotes in abundance,
and aU kinds of amusing things. Our tastes were emin
ently congenial, our reading had been much the same.
We talked of Byron and SheUey, of the philosophy of
Plato, of the sentimental seer of Geneva, and the specula
tions of TuUy, of Socrates and Plutarch, vmtil we were
intoxicated with admiration of our own wisdom, and with
that of those on whom we commented.
W. was terribly fanatic about Moore, but he could
never make me sympathise in his eulogies of that Httle
heap of sensual clay.
Poor J. R. W. ! The last act I did on lea-ving CoUege
was to disappoint him sadly. I had plaster busts from
the antique which he greatly coveted — there were Homer
and Cicero, and some dancing njTnphs on pedestals, a
89

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
figure of a child, and images of Grecian loveliness. He
asked me to give them to him, and I promised. But as
Ul luck would have it, on the day I was to surrender my
rooms a friend, wild and thoughtless as a fa-wn, caUed.
We laughed and shouted -wildly; we drank -wine and
smoked cigars, we spoke of past frolics, and recaUed
traditionary legends of CoUege eccentricity. In the
exhilaration of the moment we pelted busts, pedestals and
Ionic beauty into fragments, leaving for poor J. R. W.
a beggarly remnant of what but an hour before had been
a breathing assemblage of sculptured elegance and
moulded grace.

XXVIII
In the autumn of 1837 I resigned my chambers and
returned to Cork. I devoted my spare hours — for I had
almost exhausted ordinary studies — to anatomy, in which,
as in other useful branches of science, my father -wished
me to be proficient.
Never shaU I forget the first day of my handling a
scalpel. Two subjects were on the tables; one, a man
six feet taU, in the prime of muscular development, who
had thrown himself into the sea from the steamboat
between London and Cork.
The other was a female of beautiful figure, who must
have been a glorious specimen of womanhood in her
flower, but was now sadly emaciated. She had been the
mistress of one of those smaU country squireens with
whom Ireland is infested. FaUing Ul, her dastardly o-wner
had sent her to the hospital, and no inquiries being made
during her iUness or after her decease, she became a
subject for the knife. 90

Chatterton
Here was a totally new sphere in which for me to make
my observations. I stood in the awful presence of death,
before me the human frame, the unequaUed masterpiece
of a -wisdom most di-vine, with its fine and complicated
mechanism, every vein and muscle, and artery and sinew
displaying the perfect and Almighty workmanship of the
Omniscient. Whither had the spirits fled ? Were they cognisant now
of the -wretched condition of that they had once prized?
I soon tired of this charnel house. I learned enough
of the human frame to know it for the work of Omnipo
tence. Five months were sufficient for aU I needed,
but my queries as to the world to come remained un
answered, and as to them I am now as ignorant as ever.

XXIX
I went to London early in January 1838, and on the
13th of that month was entered as a student of Gray's
Inn. I had by this time kept all the Dublin terms
requisite for the bar. There now only remained the
eight which were to be kept in England.
My dear father accompanied me to this country.
Great was my surprise at the contrast between the habits
and tempers of the two people. We travelled in the steam
boat from Cork to Bristol. Now was I indeed in land
classic to me.
The image of Chatterton was before me, the splendour
of his genius, the -wretchedness of his end — the pauper's
grave, the tears of an empire for that wild, light-eyed,
daring boy, who seemed to wield in his soul the strength
of an infant Hercules, while Horace Walpole, like one
of the swollen snakes, lay gasping in his grasp.
91

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
I passed the Exchange, and thought of Burke, whose
rushing eloquence seemed to echo from its opulent haUs.
I paced the old cathedral, mused along the hoary aisles,
rich -with memories and trophies. I passed in review
before me the youth of Southey, and Cottle, and Cole
ridge, my brain fiUed with fancies fair and solemn and
suggestive. From Bristol we traveUed in the mail to
London, in one of the hardest frosts I have ever seen.
The night we entered Modern Babylon the Royal
Exchange was burnt down. I remember when we went
next day to the Bank of England to get money, the firemen
were in crowds about the ruins, and flame, smoke, fog and
water were mixed in the confusion of primeval chaos.
The greater part of this year and the next I passed
between London, Dublin and Cork. I do not know that I
ever spent a more agreeable time. In January, 1840, I
came to London to enter myself in a pleader's office for
six months, and lodged in a small house at Stepney,
which agreed with me better than the heart of London.

XXX
I attended the House of Commons frequently and
cannot say I was greatly impressed by its-debates. Peel
did not appear to me to make the sHghtest approach to
oratory. On the contrary, I thought him the most puffed,
and the least deser-ving of leading statesmen.
His light hair, poor forehead, cunning eye, drab
pantaloons, white waistcoat and loose blue frock, are
all I recoUect of the leader of the Tories. His sentences
left no stamp upon my spirit, and his action was that
of a mountebank.
O'Connell alone filled the eye and the House. Compared
92

O'Connell's Oratory

with him, the rest seemed pigmies of insignificance. One
night he was superlatively great on the wrongs of Ireland,
and launched forth into the most scornful denunciations
of the Tory party.
His speech did not resemble in any one quality the
speeches of those about him. It was unlaboured, simple,
beautifuUy plain, yet strong as fire. It was a lava rash
which carried all things with it and -within it.
He denounced the misplaced humanity of some purists
on the opposing benches who were apostles of Hberty when
negro emancipation was under discussion, but cold as ice
when Irishmen were struggling for freedom.
"Oh ! " said O'ConneU, " that we could convert Irish
men into negroes! " This ehcited voUeys of applause —
the action, the gesture, the intonation of indignant sarcasm
and scorn were perfect. He looked them in the face as
though he would have reduced them to ashes.
In another part of his speech some noise was occa
sioned by the entrance of Sir Francis Burdett, who took
his place exactly opposite to O'Connell, and beside Peel
and Graham. The Agitator looked at them, and comment
ing on some recent proceedings of the baronetage with
reference to a claim for heraldic pri-vileges, bowed with
derisive deference. Then he exclaimed, with a dramatic
fire which conveyed the very essence of mockery, " Oh,
what a beautiful body are the Baronets of England! "
Peel and Burdett showed as though they wished the
ground to open beneath them.
At his first rising, when he aUuded to the seven miUions
of his oppressed countrymen, some persons opposite en
deavoured to cry him down. YeUs and clamour succeeded
in loud voUeys. O'ConneU crossed his arms on his breast
and exclaimed, with a distinctness which was heard in the
remotest comer of the House, " Paltry ! " " Despicable ! "
93

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
" Contemptible! " until the yellers were tired out, and the
Agitator was suffered to proceed.
One of his turns was adroit. He spoke of the benefit
which England had gained, and might continue to gain,
if she would only behave justly toward his country.
" You may want us again," he cried. " Do you forget
Waterloo? " Here the Tories vehemently cheered.
Somebody said " The Duke." But O'ConneU instantly
rejoined, in a voice of bitter contempt:
" I do not boast of WeUington. What is there to be
proud of in him .^ "
Peel attempted a reply. He might as weU have sought
to grasp the lightnings of heaven. So poor and solemn
he seemed, that it was the actual realisation of the step
from the sublime to the ridiculous.

XXXI
I made acquaintance at this time -with Doctor Maginn,
and through him learned something of London literary Hfe.
Mrs Maginn related on the authority of Miss Landon
(if L. E. L. is a credible -witness), that she and Lady
Bulwer were once in the latter's dressing-room. L. E. L.,
observing a beautiful shirt before the fire, began to
admire it, for it was fripperied with lace, and -with many
adornments of needlework, etc.
Lady B., observing her evident admiration of the tunic,
asked, " Do you reaUy think it beautiful? "
" Yes," says L. E. L., " very beautiful indeed. I never
saw anything like it before."
Lady B. said, " See," and putting the shirt into the fire
she covered it with burning coals, reducing it to tinder in a
few minutes. Bulwer's rage when he called for his shirt
94

Burning a Shirt

soon after may, as the newspapers say, be more easily
imagined than described.
Did you ever hear of such a charming pair ? Is it not
enough to make one an enthusiast about wedded bliss
to hear such pretty fairy tales of what passes behind the
curtain of polished and poetical life !
The Doctor was fuU of stories, and was a most enter
taining companion. He was a very queer feUow, and no
one would have dreamed from slight intercourse with him,
that he was the man he was.
The first thing he did when he entered the room was
to hand me the order of admission to the British Museum
which he had promised to me the first time I saw him.
When I called he was not at home ; but after I had been
there about five minutes a knock at the street door
aimounced his arrival. Mrs M. ran out, and did not
suffer him to come into the room where I sat until he
had put on a clean shirt and his best clothes.
As this little drama took place in a bedroom, which
was separated from the sitting-room only by a folding
door, and the play was audibly rehearsed, I was rather
amused at the ceremony which so eminent a scholar and
-wit was forced — I doubt not very much against his wiU
— to undergo before he was considered presentable to
one of my pretensions.
* 4: * 4c 4= * 4:
I led a very quiet life in London, enjoying the simple
pleasures of my suburban retreat. I walked much and
read more. I wrote, however, more than I can recollect,
as I meditated to throw my miscellaneous reading into a
volume modeUed after the fashion of Athaeneus, and to
be caUed The Deipnosophists.
[This book, Dr Kenealy's literary first-born, was
pubHshed in 1845, under the title of Brallaghan, or the
95

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
Deipnosophists. It had but smaU vogue. Even in that
ripe day of scholarship, Thucydides, Anacreon and
Dionysius Hallicarnassiensis, who were its inspirations,
did not number enough admirers to caU for a second
edition.]

XXXII
I had scarcely any acquaintance, being as lonely and
as solitary as ever.
The people with whom I lodged scarcely saw me. I
must have seemed to their plain English sense one of
the most silent, monastic and secluded of feUows.
The time at length arrived when my father's hopes
were to be partly reahsed. I proceeded to Dublin in
order to be caUed to the Bar.
The 2nd of November 1840 was the day on which
I was admitted as a barrister, -with some thirty others,
not one of whom has achieved any success either at the
Bar or at anything else. So end ambitious airy dreams!
So ends my record of my days of youth!
I was just twenty-one years and four months old.

XXXIII
In the September of 1841 I left Cork -with the intention
of driving my way to the English Bar, hoping to maintain
myself by my scholarship, as others before me, CampbeU,
Talfourd and Brougham, had honourably done.
The connection I formed -with Eraser's Magazine gave
me confidence in myself, and I was conscious of possessing
no inconsiderable treasury of varied knowledge, on which
96

Life in London
I hoped to draw, and through which I was not unambitious
of winning many a laurel of Hterary distinction.
I tenanted a verj' handsome set of chambers in
Fumival's Inn, fresco-painted by some classic predecessor
with subjects from Anacreon.
I became a member of the Literary Fund Club —
Mahony, the author of the Prout Papers, ha-ving pro
posed, and Moon, the print-pubhsher — now an Alderman
of London — having seconded my admission, whUe Robert
BeU, who was in the chair, sang my praises far and wide.
I wrote a good deal for various quarters, and passed
my days in pleasant indolence or in studious ease.
The dry atmosphere of London, so different from the
wet, fever-producing temperature of Cork, the vastness
and independence, the magnificence of the commercial
capital of Europe, the sunshine cind the palaces, the
possession of the British Museum, -with its costly and
unbounded treasury of books thrown open to my eager
hand — a Tree of Universal Knowledge from which I
could at -will pluck aU dehcious fruitage — ^my Sunday
rambles to Wimbledon, to Twickenham, to Hampton,
to Norwood and to other suburban retreats combined to
make me enraptured -nith my change of place.
I do not know that I ever passed a pleasanter time
than I did from September when I arrived, down to July
or August of 1843, when I left London a second time.
My health was perfect. My spirits were most buoyant.
I -wrote a great deal, and read a great deal. I felt myself
to be somebody, and was not dwarfed as I thought I
had been in Cork. I mixed a good deal with Society.
Toward the close of July 1842 I received a note from
Mrs Maginn, summoning me to Walton-on-Thames to
see her husband, who had removed there to die in peace,
after many an anxious tempest of adversity and suffer-
G 97

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
ing. I had not seen much of him since my return to
London, although I remember still -with pleasure one
dehghtful night we spent together, he having dined at
my chambers and cro-wned the evening -with what Tommy
Talfourd would caU " a divine intoxication."

XXXIV
Then it was that he said of death, in the words of
Rabelais, Je vais chercher un grand peut-etre, and for the
first time repeated to me that remarkable poem of his
which I here transcribe, and which was so strangely in
unison -with the sentiment of the Frenchman. For it
need not be now concealed that Maginn, although a
supporter of Church and State, advocated the first merely
on poHtical grounds, and disbelieved in much of the
" inspiration " of the Old Testament. His views were
dark in the extreme, as may be read from this poem : — ,

SONG OF A SCEPTIC
The sky is dark behind. Jack,
The sky is dark before;
And we drive along in a current strong,
Without helm, or sail, or oar.
We know not whither we wend. Jack,
As we know not whence we come;
We are sure that our voyage must end. Jack,
But where is the haven-home?
No star in the sky to guide, Jack,
But all is dark, dark, dark;
And stUl colder runs the tide, Jack,
The longer floats our bark.
98

As the Tower of Lebanon
We hear not the noise of the stream, Jack,
But we feel that we hurry on ;
And where we go, must we never know,
TiU the weary voyage is done.
And when the bark has arrived. Jack,
Oh, what wUl the welcome be?
Why no one can tell, whether ill or weU,
It wiU fare for thee and me.
So hand me the bottle aft. Jack,
And rU hand it thee fore again ;
And cheered by the thoughtless draught. Jack,
We'U float down the darksome main.
I once asked him the meaning of the comparison in
the Song of Solomon, chap, -vii., " Thy nose is as the tower
of Lebanon which looketh toward Damascus."
He paused for a minute, and then said, " If you
conceive a stately rampart, surrounding a city, and
surmounted by lofty towers projecting beyond the waUs,
you wUl have an idea of beauty and S5anmetry. Liken
the face to the rampart, and the nose to the projecting
tower, and you wUl perhaps get at Solomon's meaning."
At another time, I said I had seen a certain statement
on a newspaper.
"There you betray the Cork man," said he; "an
EngHshman never says he saw it on the paper, but in
the paper."
The foUo-wing was part of his discourse on his death
bed. " Have you seen my barber, Binder? He is a very
singular, simple feUow. Yesterday, whUe he shaved me,
I said to him, ' Pinder, there was once a celebrated poet
of your name in Greece.'
" ' He was no relation of mine,' says the barber, ' I
never heard of him before. None of my family ever went
to forren parts.' 99

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
" ' There was another, too,' I added, ' a namesake of
yours, who relates a singular story of a man who used to
seU razors that would not shave, and which were made,
indeed, oiUy to seU. He was a poet also, and his name
was Peter Pindar.'
" ' That was a very knowing gentleman,' repHed the
barber, ' but I never seed him.' "

XXXV
Among other literary individuals -with whom I became
acquainted this year was Tom CampbeU, the Poet, a
curious compound of meanness, irritability, sarcasm,
avarice and selfishness, seasoned with almost habitual
intoxication, but to this last indulgence he resorted
rather to dro-wn painful thought and perhaps bodily
suffering than from any sensual enjoyment of its
abominations. What Campbell was in his days of glory I know not;
but a more faded specimen of Parnassian dandyism it is
impossible to conceive.
He had scarcely an atom of fire or of intellect
remaining. His view of things was icy and -wretched.
Whatsoever heart he had once possessed seemed to
have withered into a dry fungus, uninspirable by noble
sentiment, by grand idea, or by generous fancy.
Let it not be supposed that I -write this in scorn or
mockery. I pen it in sorrow. Poor Tom was a good
Poet. His battle songs are beautiful, his " Pleasures of
Hope " a finished essay. Both -wiU live. What reduced
the Bard to this state of inanity I cannot teU. Gin and
smoking no doubt helped to do so. He was weak, nervous,
fidgety, finicking, Hke Gray, a fop also in his younger days,
lOO

Father Mahony

when he wore curled wigs and blue coats, and was the
luminary of HoUand House and of other Whig mansions.
I think his associations and coimections spoUed him.
Nature, the forest, the ocean strand, the mountain,
these are the companions God has appointed for Poets.
When they desert them for drawing-rooms and boudoirs,
for lords and Cabinet Ministers, they lose their native
majesty and become apes.

XXXVl
Of Mahony, another of the Hterary tribe, of whom
I now saw a good deal, I may here pen a passing sketch.
He was a inember of the CathoHc priesthood, but did
not officiate in any clerical office. He was intended for
a Jesuit, but the Jesuits have an admirable rule of dis
covering who and of what sort are persons who design
to become soldiers in their ranks.
His caprice, waywardness and other pecuHarities
were of such a nature that he was considered an unsafe
person to be enroUed in that m5^terious body. He was
obHged to content himself, therefore, with ordinary
sacerdotal honours.
This soured him for Hfe, and fifled him with the mad
ambition of bringing as much contempt as possible on
the Order into whose ranks he had been, as it were,
pressed. Accordingly his whole career as a priest was in utter
defiance of decency and morality.
But he was not aU black.
Archdeacon O'Keefe told me that when the cholera
raged in Cork the most zealous of aU persons in the city
in visiting the sick, reHeving the afflicted, and bringing the
lOI

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
comforts of religion to the dying was this same Mahony,
who at this crisis presented an inconsistency with his
entire previous sa5dngs and doings which astonished the
whole of his brethren.
In the same manner, when Maginn died, Mahony, who
had been aU his life speaking evil of him, went to the
Literary Fund and got a vote, I believe, of sixty pounds
for his -widow and children.
As a classical scholar his attainments were great;
his memory powerful, his general knowledge diversified
and enlarged.
• His wit was ready, brilliant, but scathing, and his
after-dinner discourse, if he would only have been devout,
would have been agreeable and instructive.
But with his blasphemy he united this curious incon
sistency : he would allow no man but himself to laugh at
Rome. I saw a good deal of him in 1841 and 1842, but his
temper and mine were so utterly at variance that we
parted strangers, and have continued so still.

XXXVII
My acquaintance with Ainsworth began soon after
he started his Magazine. He in-vited me to his house
to a Hterary party, and I find in my volume of corre- ,
spondence the foUo-wing memoranda: — ¦/
" The first time I dined -with Ainsworth we had
among the company (it was a literary one) Dance and
Brookes of the Argus, Bell, author of Lives of the Poets,
and some other chaps of Helicon. Laman Blanchard
sat next to me — ^^a little fellow no way remarkable for
conversational talent or for any other kind of talent;
102

Harrison Ainsworth
he has a flash in his eye \\'hich redeems an unintellectual
face; he talked a good deal, but I do not remember a
word of what he said.
" We had a very good dinner. I was, of course, silent,
as I always am when among strangers, and I believe I
must have appeared to the company a good deal of a
booby. " There was a great deal of claret which was good,
and a great deal of talk which was not so good. We all got
merry. I came home in a carriage with Dance. To this
present moment I do not recollect where we parted.
" Ainsworth's is a pretty box of a house. He has
not many books; those he has are very exceUent. He
is a joUy, handsome-faced feUow, -with a profusion of
whiskers. He is a bad likeness of Count d'Orsay (whom
he dresses after), for the Count is as perfect a gentleman
as ever crossed a dra^ving-room."

XXXVIII
In September of this year I also became acquainted
with Talfourd on the introduction of Sergeant Murphy.
Of this person I had been long an enthusiastic admirer.
I had read his plays when a stripling at CoUege, and had
written to him my opinion, expressed, as I now see, in
very sUly and very exaggerated terms, but such as I then
honestly beheved to be orUy what his productions merited.
He sent me one or two poHte letters, which confirmed
my enthusiasm. For to a young dreamer, who fancied
that poets were the Children of God, notice from even
the least of the tribe could not faU to be interesting.
I went to his house to dirmer two or three times. His
-vulgar -wife I did not like, nor any of his coimections.
103

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
He was himself curt, and I soon saw that he was a very
false person, and that he was eaten up -with a cancerous
envy of all men, except Wordsworth and Lamb.
In the autumn of 1843 I made a tour, part of which
I published in Eraser's Magazine ; the notes for the rest
I have lost, much to my regret, for they were picturesque
and amusing.
It was scribbled in the light and careless temper of a
youthful spirit which, like Mercutio, made the best of aU
things; and although there are passages in it of which a
more mature judgment would probably not approve,
I cannot bring myself to alter it in any material manner.

XXXIX
On my return from Bavaria I resolved strenuously
to buckle to serious work.
I was now twenty-four. So old, and so littie done!
There was a time when I thought I should have immortal
ised my name by that period, and should have achieved
deeds worthy of bronze and marble. Once indeed I
rated a friend soundly for not being a man of distin
guished fame at three-and-twenty, yet now I saw Hfe
flitting by me like a -vision, and where were my exer
tions to turn it to account?
One morning I woke up, hearing distinctly in my ears
a clear voice crying: —
" Eheu fugaces, Posthume, Posthume,
Labuntur anni."
My life was gliding away like water over barren sands.
I was doing nothing useful, though many things agreeable
to myself. 104

James Roche

An invitation from the Local Council of the British
Association, which was to meet in Cork this year, and
which was conveyed to me in the most flattering terms
by the Chairman, Mr James Roche, decided me. I was
solicited to be present in my native city on the occasion
of the -visit of this learned body. The note was so hand
some that I felt a refusal would appear ungracious.
Arrived at home the gentle love and kindness of my
parents so charmed me that I resolved to give Cork
another trial before I finally abandoned Ireland.
But although I attended the terms in Dublin with
great regularity, and went a portion of the Circuit, I got
no briefs. After a time I feU back on my literary pur
suits, and with my books and a few intimate associates
forgot legal ambition for present pleasure.
First and most respected of my friends was Mr James
Roche. He always treated me with marked distinction.
I felt and feel the value of his countenance.
He had kno-wn Louvet, the author of Faublas, weU;
and he always said how much at certain moments my
looks reminded him of his. I hardly thanked him for the
compliment. During this, my second and last sojourn in Cork, I
passed a great part of my time at Eglantine, the home
of a gentleman with whom I now formed the most intimate
association. Captain Warden Flood was the author of
some military pamphlets, and of a memoir of his relative,
Henry Flood, the celebrated statesman.
We became acquainted by accident, and he asked me
to diimer. I went, was charmed, and became what Lord
Chesterfield called " domesticated " with them.
They Hved in a pretty retreat outside the city, where
was a favourite walk of mine, which I called " St Mary's
Aisle," and where I have passed many an enchanted
105

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
hour. I went there every day. Our intimacy was Hke
that of brothers.
He was an excellent scholar, with very great natural
talents, a philosophic temper, ready -wit, briUiant imagina
tion, good judgment and statesmanlike ability.
The manners of his house I caUed " palace manners,"
so refined and elegant were they. We lived in music, in
literature, songs, country rambles, and rural rides, such
a life as the dames and cavaliers of old led when poetry
and romance shed a faerie halo over the most common
place scenes. XL
On the Munster Circuit I became a sort of favourite,
and wrote a song for the members, caUed, " The Irish
Schoolmaster's Lamentation," which has become a kind
of charter song of the Bar Mess, being usuaUy sung at
the Assize dinner to the judges by J. C. Deane, a member
of the Circuit, in a style of inimitable droUery.
The father, or leader of the Circuit, George Bennett,
took a liking to me, and always had me near him in Court,
and at the lunch table, teUing me stories and anecdotes,
for I was an excellent Hstener.
A few of these I recoUect, and repeat here, regretting
that I cannot give to them the humorous grace with which
Bennett recounted, or the careless finish with which he
imitated the Irish brogue.
On a trial for manslaughter he once asked a witness
whether the deceased was not rather fond of a glass?
" Indeed, I believe," says the feUow, " if a glass was offered
to him he wouldn't throw it over his shoulder."
He once saw a -witness examined before Baron Smith,
the friend of Burke, a learned Judge who afterwards cut
1 06

Scathing Sarcasm

his throat for reasons never made known, as indeed the
suicide itself was kept profoundly secret. The witness
seemed to be a very siUy one, and laughed a good deal,
apparently -without cause, whUe gi-ving evidence.
When it was over Sir WilHam Smith said, " Sir, you
appear to have been enjoying your own folly, and I
congratulate you on ha-ving an inexhaustible fund of
amusement for the rest of your life."
Nicholas PurceU O'Gorman, the Secretary of the
CathoHc Association, -visited Bennett one Sunday and
found him reading one of St Paul's epistles. " Nicholas,"
quoth George, "what do you think of St Paul? " "A
decided Orangeman," repHed PurceU.
He once, he said, made a very powerful speech (as
he supposed) in a case which greatly interested his feel
ings. He looked in the papers next day, expecting to
find something commendatory of it, and read as foUows : —
" Mr Bennett spoke for two hours, during which the
Judge asked a question, the exact purport of which we
could not coUect."
Jonathan Henn, a lawyer unequaUed by any in
England, was also very kind to me on the Circuit, and I
was one of the select few of the Bar who always dined
with the Judges at their lodgings.
I never saw a finer body of gentlemen than the
members of the Munster Bar were then. I am sure their
superiors were not to be found on any Circuit in this
country, or in the world.
John Windele, author of Historical and Descriptive
Notices of the South of Ireland, a volume of the topography
and antiquities of Munster, was one of my most friendly
foUowers. From him I received much Irish knowledge.
But he in vain sought to inoculate me with a love for
Milesian Archaeology. 107

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
I loved the fables, the myths, the superstitions. But
I cared little to investigate the secret of the Round
Towers, or to discover whether they were Christian or
PhaUic — though that they are the latter O'Brien has
proved beyond dispute. So Maginn thought, and so my
o-wn recent study of Oriental antiquity has convinced me.
A longer notice should be reserved for Archdeacon
O'Keefe, for whom, as one of the clergymen who married
my dear parents, and who baptised myself, I ailways
entertained a reverence almost fUial.
The Reverend Thomas O'Keefe was the only man I
have known who realised my idea of Fenelon. He had aU
the submission, gentleness to authority, the mild and
yielding -wisdom of the Archbishop of Cambray.
Learned to a degree unusual among the Irish clergy,
eloquent as MassUlon or Bossuet, -with a splendid poetic
fancy, which gave to his compositions the ideal grandeur
which illumines the ^majestic style of Bacon, of BoHng
broke and Burke, a most profound theologian, and a
genial -wit, his moral virtues shone with even greater
brUliancy than his intellectual powers.
Cork tradition is full of many a well-authenticated
story of his beneficence. He was universaUy admitted to
be, without a rival, the most generous of men. Whatso
ever income flowed in, went out as speedUy as it arrived,
at the caU of charity. He was beset with applicants
from aU quarters, and he never sent away any unreHeved or
uns5mipathised with. He might himself have gone without
a diimer, or without a coat, but he could not bear that
others should do so, whose wants were made known to
him, and whose necessities appeared to him to be greater
than his own.
Such a man as this is rarely to be found in this bad
world. And of such a man as this it will always be my
io8

A Good Man
pride that I was his friend. I could not look upon him
but with reverence, nor can I now allude to him -without
the deepest veneration.
If this man be not with God, no man I ever knew is
worthy to be so. He was more innocent and chUdlike
than any chUd, and although a sincere minister of his
reHgion, he had a heart so large, a spirit so universal, a
soul so steeped in the hoHest love, that he embraced all
his feUow-creatures -within its circle, and was as far away
from bigotry as heaven is from heU.
In my thirty-two years' experience of the world I
have met two good men — the first I need scarcely say was
my dear and honoured father, the second was Thomas
O'Keefe. XLI
My amusements, during these my final years in Cork,
were innocent, my habits Hterary.
I rose late, after the B5a-onic system, and never retired
untU two or three in the moming, passing my nights in my
Hbrary, where I read eagerly, and always -with renewed
pleasure. I had a curious -vision about this time, which often
recurs to my memory.
On a beautiful calm moming I lay in bed wrapt in
reverie. An old man with white hair, and a golden lamp
in his hand, a long and snow-bright robe enveloping
him, suddenly appeared. He looked at me steadfastiy,
exclaiming aloud: —
" NiKa tyeavTov /cat iravTa viKTjffGt.^,'''
" Conquer yourself, and you shaU conquer aU,"
so loud that I started up at the words, and fancied — Nay,
am I not certain? — that I heard their echo. Whether
109

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
this were an actual Dream or a Reality, I know not, but I
have felt sometimes a strange spiritual power -within me
which foresees.
For example, the moming I was caUed to the Irish
Bar there were some half-dozen other Roman Catholics
enroUed with me.
In Ireland there is, or there was, a custom among the
newspaper people of prefixing an asterisk to those of the
newly-called who were Catholics. On going to bed I
dreamed I saw a newspaper with my name in it, and no
asterisk appended. I at once seized pen, ink and paper,
and wrote to the Editor, requesting him to correct the
mistake. Next moming, on awaking, I sent for this paper,
anxious to see how my name would appear. There it was
unasterisked, precisely as I had dreamed — about the hour
probably that they were going to Press. I called for
writing materials, and from memory -wrote the same
note to the Editor of Saunders' Newsletter (the paper
which had omitted to give me the distinctive sign), which
I had done in sleep the night before. The coincidence
was odd.
The pages of history and of biography are fuU of super
natural admonitions, of dreams, voices and presentiments,
for pmposes sometimes clearly seen, at others not so
e-vident, and I have no reason to disbelieve that this also
was one.
Cyrus dreamed that, beholding the sun at his feet,
he thrice endeavoured to grasp it in his hands, but the
luminary roUed away.
The Magi interpreted this as a reign of thirty years,
which number Cyras afterwards fulfiUed. Socrates also,
when he was in the pubHc prison at Athens, and the gaUey
was not yet expected for a long time, said to his friend
no

A Vision
Crito that he should die in three days, for that he had
seen in a dream a woman of extreme beauty, who caUed
him by name, and quoted in his presence the " verse of
Homer":— ""H/ioTi (CCK TptTOT^j idiriv ep(|3(i)Xoi> otoi/uiji'," — Iliad, ix. 363.
It is said that it happened as foretold. Plato vouches
for the truth of this. Cicero behevingly quotes it.
If these things occurred in olden days, why should
they not now?

Ill

CHAPTER III
With Father Matthew founds the Temperance Movement — Pen Portrait of
Himself — Letter to Shirley Brooks.
In the year 1845, being then twenty-six, my Father
united -with Father Matthew in his famous Temperance
crusade. Under the title of The Temperance Institute
of Literature and Science, together they founded an
organisation of which the whole later Temperance move
ment and the numerous Associations we know to-day
may be regarded as the offspring. Dr Kenealy was an
ardent admirer of Father Matthew, considering him
saint-like of character, distinguished by great talent
and enthusiasm, of commanding influence and remarkable
personal beauty.
As enthusiastic as he in this vital cause, the young
barrister was proud to be his lieutenant and accepted
gladly the office of Vice-President of the Institute of
which the Reverend Father was President.
The Institute, unfortunately, was short-lived. The
Cause attracting to it men of diverse and conflicting
¦views upon religion and politics, the Vice-President,
in a masterly address, whUe waraoly advocating the
views it had been founded to promote, warned its members
against employing it as an instrument for the objects of
the Repealers. This gave offence to certain of the
members, among whom was the Mayor of Cork.
Those advocates of the Repeal of the Union who
were disposed to use the Temperance Cause for their
political ends, a use against which Dr Kenealy's warning

A Pen Portrait
had been directed, formed a cabal against him and called
upon him to resign his official position.
Mr Dowden, the Mayor, a prominent member, even
canvassed his coUeagues with the object of deposing
Father Matthew himself.
Dreading lest the political element should injure the
Cause, the President called a meeting, at which he ex
pressed himself in harmony with Dr Kenealy's -views, and
said further that rather than permit a sHght to be put upon
his young Vice-President he would dissolve and re-con
stitute the Society. And this he did, re-forming it upon
lines which precluded the introduction of poHtics.
A petition from the more influential members of the
newly-constituted Institute was presented to Dr Kenealy,
begging him to retain his position of Vice-President. But
he did not think fit to do so. Some time afterwards
Father Matthew formed a later Society, which made
Temperance its sole object. Upon this have been
modeUed the Unions we know to-day.
In a letter written about this time to a poet friend
with whom, although they had not met, he corresponded,
my Father conveys the foUowing Hvely pen-portrait of
himself : —
You teU me not to marry — Heigho! And in the same
breath you wonder whether I am a taU Irishman, six feet and
a half high, with thews and sinews in proportion. I am a
smcdl body, not at aU frightful in appearance, but as grave and
reverend-looking as a dean. When I was on my way to
KUlamey last year a beggar-woman, seeing me enthroned on
the box-seat and looking as usual the impersonation of the
Profound, said, " Faix, you're Hke Dean Swift." " Why? "
said I. " Because," she repHed, " you look so grave and so
proud." I gave her a penny for her impudence. Nature
intended my face for a bishop's, the only character it presents
H 113

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
being that of gravity and reHgion and deep thought. There is
an episcopal rotundity about it and it looks the picture of
content. I wear gold spectacles, a white neckcloth and a long
coat, and I am mistaken everywhere for a clergyman. If I
should get one of these new Professorships I intend to wear
breeches and long boots and a shovel hat, and to pass myself
off for an Archbishop. I hope you wiU not see me tUl I get my
appointment as I should wish to appear as venerable as
possible in your eyes. I am afraid you are a fine gentleman
with your spy-glass. I stand in awe of a man who wears so
daring an appendage to his dress. My grave and reverend
spectacles are whoUy outshone by your, quizzing implement,
and I picture you regarding with a smile of supercUious cox
combry so student-Hke a habit as that of wearing spectacles.
But you are a fop and a dandy-poet, and I bet a shUHng you
wear a ring and a fine neckcloth. I never wore a ring nor a bit
of ornament in my life. And what is more I never shall.
But I feel the greatest deference toward a dandy, and par
consequence to you, and aU other parson-poets who dress well.
I am sure had I known Beau Brummel I should have wor
shipped him.
The same year he writes to Shirley Brooks: —
From a Letter to Shirley Brooks.
I prefer beauty in a woman to anything else. I shall never
marry without it. Beauty blinds me to other defects. A
consteUation of virtues and accomplishments would be as dim
as a farthing candle to my eyes -without beauty. After a long
experience of women I am persuaded that beauty is all potent,
and that it deserves to be so, being worth everything else in
the world. It may be an idiosyncrasy on my part. But my
eye is so vividly attracted by the beautiful, so sensitively alive
to aU external loveliness that I should enjoy no true happiness
without it. Therefore, as I am not rich enough now to marry
for love, I must wait until I am — and then you shall see a
vision, if I can find one in these prosaic times! I did not know
that your heart had been touched by the wand of Cupid.
These young love-dreams are magical.
114

DR, KENEALY. .-ETAT. 26
Frcm a Dig'.;erreo:%-pe'

About Love
No, truly, it is not first love, but the love of thirty or of
thirty-five or of forty which is the true, absorbing, terrible
passion. And so you wUl find. Why, I remember the
time (and it lasted for four years) when I would have faced
ten thousand cannon balls and a hundred thousand ordinary
obstacles for the sake of a woman. And I did face a hundred
social dangers, indeed, enough to have consummated my ruin.
And do you think I have not outHved and forgotten aU that
wildness? Did I not once order a respectable burgher of
Dublin, a married man with, for aught I know, a famUy, for
some piece of insolence to the lady I speak of, did I not order
him to be thrown into one of the canals by two of my myr
midons (coUege bed-makers who had been soldiers, and who
would have faced Lucifer himself in my quarrels) ? And did
he not escape drowning by a miracle? And did I not play a
hundred pranks of the same kind when my father thought I
was stud5dng law in the Temple, or the classics in my dear old
reading-room in Trinity College? And do you think these
amenities now give me any of these terrible heartaches under
which you, romantic donkey! seem to be labouring? . . .
Take my word for it, Master Shirley, you wiU out-grow it aU.
Love indeed I What is the love of girls and boys ? Ethereal,
delightful, exquisite, romantic — but a mere summer flower
which dies in short time. When you are as old as I am — I
was twenty-six last July — ^you wUl come to my opinions.
Don't despair. You wiU make a very pretty lover yet.

"5

CHAPTER IV
Defends Francis Looney — The Ministry and the Chartists — -William Dowling
— Mrs Mowatt — Richard Birnie — Stands unsuccessfully for Cork.
The Autobiography once more takes up the thread: —

XLII
I left Cork on Wednesday, 3rd June 1846, and arrived
in London by a long sea passage on Sunday, the yth.-^
The voyage was cheerful, and it seemed ominous of good
that I was not once (as I generally am) sea-sick. The
captain of our ship (the Sirius) got drunk just before we
reached the Eddystone Lighthouse, and it was not until
an hour after that he found he had been steering to the
United States instead of to Merry England. We soon
put about, and were again in smooth water. About a
year after he lost her, and -with her a number of passengers,
who paid with their lives for our skipper's love of brandy.
I was soon happy in comfortable lodgings, from which
I sent missives to my literary friends. I went to pleasant
parties, renewed many of my agreeable country excur
sions, and felt the greatest satisfaction at my emancipation.

XLIII
On Friday, the first of January 1847, my darling
mother died, my name being the last on her lips. This
compeUed me to go to Cork for a month or six weeks,
where I found my father paralysed with grief, and entirely
incapable of taking care of himself. I induced him to
116

Stands for Trinity College
sell his house, and to join me in London, and I bade a
final farewell to the city of my birth.
On the first of May 1847 I was called to the English
Bar, and three weeks afterwards addressed the con
stituency of Trinity College on Repeal Principles. I
received but few promises of support, and on the 12th of
Jifly I issued my valediction.
From the Irish newspapers, I may here remark, I
received no maimer of assistance, and those who were
loudest in their shouts for nationality were mysteriously
sUent when my claims were brought before them. I
joined the Irish Confederation, which then seemed to me
to be actuated by noble principles, and I worked very
indefatigably at the London Clubs, many of which I
founded and set going. There was a great amount of
talent put in operation, and I could not but be gratified
by seeing such inteUectual strength exhibited by my
countrymen. In this autumn I took another foreign tour,
pedestrianising a good deal, -with my knapsack on my back.
In February 1848 I again addressed the electors of
Kinsale, but received no support from either constituents or
from newspapers. I regretted this, not on personal grounds,
but because I saw that Ireland was not fairly represented
in the House of Commons; and the trading members
whom she returned did aU in their power to degrade both
themselves and their country.
This year, 1848, was rendered memorable to me by
two legal speeches of mine at the Central Criminal Court in
London: the first on 8th July, in defence of Francis
Looney, tried for sedition; the second on 15th September,
in defence of WUHam Dowling, tried for treason-felony, as
it was caUed.
The speech for which poor Looney was convicted was
a very harmless one. But it was considered by the Whigs
117

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
that nothing which breathed in the least of sedition ought
at the time to be overlooked. And as the Ministry were
about to make away at one feU swoop -with some forty
of the most violent Chartists, who were then concocting
general incendiarism, the half-dozen were tried in the first
instance for what was called sedition. This was a very
judicious feeler as to what Juries would do in the event
of a charge of treason-felony.
The jurors, being all sagaciously chosen, convicted the
speakers. Looney got, I think, two years, for what
would have been only laughed at during any other period
than this exciting year.
But DowHng's case was different, and was far more
serious. This youth — he was only twenty-one — was the son
of very respectable persons in Dublin. Finding no field
there for his talents he came to London, where he foUowed
the profession of a portrait painter with some success.
The whirl of political excitement in 1848, when Kings
were kicked off their thrones, and Governments knocked
down Hke ninepins, caught him in its vortex. He
joined the Davis Club, of which I was President.
The members of this body were, for the most part,
men of a sober, earnest, energetic cast of character; fond
of Ireland and of Irish glories, and bent, if possible, on
attaining for their country a restoration of its native
Parliament. They were seceders from the Repeal Associa
tion, which had at that time become a mere appanage of
the Whigs, O'ConneU having sold them his genius and his
position, although for what exact price no one could
discover; for neither he, nor any of his direct famUy,
derived much benefit from the aUiance. It was under
stood, however, that his private patronage was enormous.
He probably gratified his love of sway more than any
sordid principle of pelf or of profit.
118

William Dowling

However it was, the more honest repealers saw, or
thought they saw, that he was in no way earnest for
Repeal, and hence the Confederate Club took its rise, and
spread its branches aU over Ireland, and even in England
and Scotiand. Their objects were purely constitutional
and legal, although they subsequently degenerated into
downright rebeUion against EngHsh rule. But this was
long after I had permanently left them.
DowHng was for some time an unobtrusive member of
the Da-vis Club; but Looney, who was the secretary,
ha-ving been convicted, Dowling was in-vited to fUl his
place, and a wUd Irish ruffian, named Doheny, ha-ving
come over to the Club in my absence on Circuit, got them
to adopt a number of physical force resolutions, which
were against all law and order, and which no Government
could have permitted.
On hearing of the mischief which had been done I went
to the Club and proposed a resolution deprecating alto
gether pikes and swords. Dowling moved that it should
be taken into consideration on the Day of Judgment, and
this having been carried by an immense majority I
resigned my office as President and left the Club.
Very soon after this Dowling received a message from
the Chartists, in-viting him to become a member of their
Committee. This poor boy began to think he was playing
the part of Brutus or of Washington. He joined those
misguided fools, and was soon initiated into all their
insane projects of fire-balls, pikes, barricades, vitriol and
I know not what.
London was to be fired in half a dozen places, the
poHce-stations were to be attacked and burned; a repubhc
was to be proclaimed, O'Connor was to be Dictator.
There were half a dozen simUar frenzies.
AU these things were revealed to the Government,
119

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
immediately they were devised, by a spy named PoweU
or Johnson, whom they kept in their employment, and the
conspirators were arrested by the police just as they were
about to put some of their murderous foUies into practice
— although what advantage was to be attained none of
them appear to have imagined.
Dowling also was apprehended. A few days after
wards he engaged me to defend him, and gave me a large
brief, in which he took care to make no revelation what
soever of anything he reaUy did know, so that I was per
fectly horror-stricken to find at the Trial that he had
compromised himself so fataUy as he had done.
A more siUy or wicked project it is not possible to
conceive than this of the Chartists. They deserved for
it, and received, the contempt of aU reasonable men.
The thing would only have been a reproduction of
the Gordon Riots on a smaU scale; and would have
merely proved from what contemptible sources the greatest
pubHc dangers may at times proceed.
As in Looney's case I appeared alone, and some
passages-at-arms took place between myself and the
Attorney-General, Sir John Jervis, the present Lord Chief
Justice of the Common Pleas. The general opinion of
the Bar was in my favour, and Sir John Jervis's manner
was complained of as being more imperious than courteous
to a very junior barrister.
The Jury in DowHng's case were locked up for a whole
day, and at nine or ten at night they found this miserable
youth guUty, and he was transported for twenty years.
On a calm retrospect of this Trial I regret that any
altercation should have taken place between myself and
the Attorney-General. I can conscientiously declare
that I was not the aggressor. On the contrary, the entire
Bar were of opinion that I could not have acted otherwise
1 20

Sir John Jervis

than I did in repeUing what all confessed was an assump
tion of power, and a desire to browbeat and bear down by
force, a swaggering confidence of victory which ought not
to have been exhibited by the head of the profession to a
beginner like myself.
But whUe I claim this allowance I must do justice to
Sir John Jer-vis, and bear testimony to the skill with which
he conducted these prosecutions. I do not think that
any other man then at the Bar could have exhibited greater
dexterity, knowledge or tact, or could have secured a
triumph for the Government with so much success, as he
did. His entire management of these proceedings — one
or two blemishes excepted — was artistic in the highest
degree, a complete and perfect piece of forensic science.
To be sure he had a packed Jury and a packed Bench,
and a host of -witnesses who traded in perjury; but stUl
his conduct of a difficult prosecution deserves the praise
of dexterity.

XLIV
Among the persons -with whom I associated a good
deal at this period was Charles Rosenberg, a man of much
inteUectual power, considerable learning and fine sense.
Rosenberg had been employed on a London moming
paper as musical and fine art critic, and had been thrown
by various circumstances into a vortex of fashionable
people, and being quite a youth, he became dissipated
and corrupted by the -vices which he saw round him.
He fell in love with a Frenchman's wife, and became
involved in troubles which destroyed him for ever on the
London Press. He lost his engagement and went to seek
his fortune on the Continent. 121

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
I greatly regarded him. He was a most sincere friend,
but overbearing at times, and unnecessarily blunt. For
this I made allowances. I knew how severely he was
suffering for one crime, in sleepless nights, famished days,
and in the most heartrending shifts to which poverty
subjects those who are her unhappy slaves. In him the
misery of Savage was re-enacted. Yet he possessed a
large fund of the noblest virtues, and a nature opposed
to all vice.
To Rosenberg I am indebted tor one escape. I had
connected myself, as before said, with the Irish Confeder
ates, believing that they were the only Party in the
country who seriously meant Repeal. I was elected one
of the Council for conducting their affairs. When the
crisis drew near, and the examples of France, of Italy and
of Hungary had, as it was beheved, sufficiently inflamed
the members, there was wanted but a single war-note to
begin a struggle in which the liberties of Ireland were to
be finaUy achieved.
Every day seemed to bring it nearer. And as I was
at heart con-vinced that we were right, and was enthusi
astic enough even to brave death in the sacred cause
of freedom, I made up my mind to join them in the field
if they should turn out. I accordingly arranged my
affairs, and having packed my things, resolved to
set out for Ireland in time for the fray. On the
evening when the final step was to be taken Rosenberg
called. He came ostensibly to bid me farewell, but reaUy to
dissuade me from what he considered the madness of
Quixotism itself.
We sat long into the morning discussing, and it was not
until four o'clock, as the sun was rising, that he finaUy
triumphed, and by sheer common-sense compeUed me to
122

A Mad Project

abandon my projected expedition, to which the famous
one of Humphrey Clinker was wisdom itself. Had he not
come that evening, the next would have seen me in
Ireland, committed -with Smith, O'Brien and Meagher;
and I shoiUd either have fallen in the " cabbage-garden,"
where the liberties of Erin were lost, or should have been
an exile from the land for ever.
Rosenberg, in addition to his scientific and critical
knowledge of art, had considerable talent as a portrait
painter, and before he came to London he had followed
it as a pursuit in Bath, of which city he was a native.
Beckford, who knew his family, employed him to paint a
picture for which he was to pay fifty pounds. Rosenberg
did so. Beckford pointed out some defects in a blunt way,
more galling to the pride of the artist than the promised
sum was agreeable to his pocket. The painter, however,
did not allow his rage to break forth until he had finished
the picture in a manner highly agreeable to Beckford,
who declared his approbation of it, and sat do-wn to
write the cheque. Rosenberg asked him if he reaUy
liked the picture, and on Beckford replying in the
affirmative, he fiercely rejoined, " Then I'll see you
damned before you get it; " upon which he drove his
foot through the canvas, destro5dng it in a moment,
to the unutterable rage of Beckford, who never forgave
him. This Httle incident was in perfect keeping vrith all
Rosenberg's proceedings. He resembled, both in char
acter and in genius, the American poet, Poe.
There was the same energy, the same vi-vid and original
fancy, the same love of minute analysis, the same strong
common-sense -view of men and things, the same unbend
ing pride of demeanour, the same heedlessness of the con
ventions which so remarkably displayed themselves in the
123

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
transatlantic writer. Poe and Rosenberg were both
thoroughly men; frank, ardent, faithful.
The latter had not indeed the unhappy failing of the
former, for he was temperate, and consequently always a
gentleman in aU places, and at aU times. But I never
think of one without involuntarily caUing up the image of
the other; and I console myself for not ha-ving kno-wn
Poe by reflecting that in Rosenberg I beheld as in a
second self aU his good and great quahties and none of
those unhappy imperfections which so sorely tried the
temper of Poe's weU-'wishers.

XLV
Another of my friends at this time, and of whom- 1 saw
a great deal, was Henry Spicer, author of several tragedies
of merit. Mrs Anna Cora Mowatt was a lady with whom
I became acquainted, and one whom I remember
-with pleasure. The house at which I met her was Mrs
Bartholomew's, the -wife of the celebrated flower painter,
where also I met Cruickshank, and Miss Muloch, a very
clever novelist.
As an actress she was exceedingly good, her grace of
deportment and buoyancy of spirits infusing radiance into
every part in which she appeared. There was great
artlessness at times in her manner, her attitudes were
statuesque and exquisite, her voice sUvery, and her general
bearing queen-like and fascinating.
As a beautiful woman I have scarcely seen her superior.
She was smaU but elegantly made. There was an appear
ance of delicate health about her, which added to her
charms. She more than any other woman re-awakened
124

A Blasphemous Grace
in me a feehng of religion which had slumbered; taught me
to look to the future with different hopes than those
usually presented by theologians.
A circumstance which she related seems worth men
tioning. The superstitious may make what they like of it.
When Watts opened the Olympic Theatre it was re
solved to celebrate it by a supper and a baU on the stage.
Mrs Mowatt, as the heroine of the company, was of course
in-vited. She went, but had a strange presentiment that
some misfortune was about to happen. At supper Albert
Smith, who was in-vited to make the company laugh, was
called upon to say grace. He did it in the following
fashion: " For what we are about to receive, let us thank
Mr Watts ! " This irreverent parody, which was probably
meant for humour, operated like a sudden chill on aU.
Mrs Mowatt was particularly affected by it, for her
sense of reverence was great.
She said she thought she saw a flashing fire and heard
a waUing scream. She sat silent and melancholy, nor
could the monkey antics of Smith give her any pleasure.
The dancing was suddenly brought to a sad close. One of
the actresses, who wore a Hght gauze dress, went near to a
footlight, her dress ignited, and she was burned to death.
But this disastrous affair did not. end here. Nemesis
does not like such blasphemous toasts. Watts himself
was soon afterwards tried for robbery, was sentenced to
transportation, and the same night hanged himself in
Newgate. XLVI
Charles Kemble, the actor, was another of those whom
I met occasionally. He had passed his seventieth year,
and can scarcely be said to have presented an opportunity
125

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
for a favourable portrait. I scanned him closely, but
could detect no marks of genius in the man. Like aU the
Kembles he had been made by newspaper puffery.
There was no soul of fire in that sluggish brain.
I have heard people speak of his wit, of his delight
ful companionship, of his agreeable reminiscences. The
whole thing was fable or imagination. I tried him on aU
themes, and could find nothing worth the toil. He was
very deaf, and I sought to draw him out, to reHeve the
monotony of his existence, for it was sad to see Him sit
in company like a statue, cut off from all intercourse -with
his kind. But in truth there was nothing to be extracted
from the old man. Even his stage reminiscences were
worthless. XLVII
Another of my friends, as I suppose I must call him,
though Cowper was not more anxious to behold that rare
phenomenon, a friend, than I was, was Robert Romere
Pearce, the author of the Life of Wellesley, the History of
the Inns of Court, and some other works of a Hke nature.
Last among my intimate friends and associates was
Richard Birnie, son of the Sir Richard Birnie of Bow Street
reno-wn. Bimie was a barrister so far as the name went,
but he was skiUed in aU other subjects on earth save law.
Discourse -with him on language, poetry, criticism,
theology, phUosophy, history, fiction, and he was the
rarest of companions, rivalling, perhaps even exceeding
Maginn in versatihty of acquirements, in ready memory,
original humour, caustic -wit and profound leaming.
Talk to him on law and he was the merest baby. Un
fortunately it was only by law Bimie could Hve, and as
he knew nothing of it he made nothing.
126

Richard Birnie
He had run through a fortune, had shone among the
richest at Cambridge University, mixed in the fashionable
life of London, had travelled, and had seen every species
of character, from the highest to the lowest, had got
into debt, into prison, out of it, and back again, and
finaUy into a marriage and a garret, where I found him,
a laughing sage, a veritable Diogenes in his tub, treating
the world and its troubles -with scorn, making a boast of his
poverty, a jest of his starvation; recounting -with jokes
and wit of inimitable richness the thousand shifts to which
his necessities drove him; the terror, perhaps the envy,
of men at the Bar, who were counting their guineas by
thousands, while Bimie, -with a stomach intended by
nature for claret and venison, seldom soared beyond cheese
and beer.
He had the largest head of any man on earth, and the
soundest -views, whensoever he condescended to be serious.
But he was a perfect Yorick, and could with difficulty be
grave for five minutes. Like Mirabeau or ChurchiU in
bigness of Hmb, although not in asperity of feature, he
impressed you with the conviction that here was in truth
a Man! His perception was fine and clear, but he had no fixed
principles, and as he was almost always starving, steadi
ness was perhaps not to be expected from him. His ex
pedients were as numerous and as absurd as were those of
LazariUo de Tormes, or Fielding's Parson Adams ; and he
used to set the Bench and Bar in roars of laughter by his
admirable manner of recounting the various ingenious
de-vices which he and his wife adopted in order to secure
a Sunday's dinner.
But the Bench and theBar did nothingfor Bimie,and he
starved on gloriously, -without fHnching; his spirits always
Hvely, his hopes golden, his -wit sparkling, his temper
127

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
unruffled. When a dinner chanced to befal him, he rioted
in Elysium; when he had not tasted meat for a month
he luxuriated in an imaginary banquet, which instinct
told him was approaching.
As a mimic he was perfect. He adopted with equal
ease and readiness the grave neatness of Sir Fitzroy KeUy,
the see-saw reasoning of Montagu Chambers, the lisping
sentimentalities of Talfourd, the dry, cold cunning of Lord
Campbell, the loud and empty declamation of Sergeant
Wilkins, the rat-like rasping of Ballantine, the Irish brogue
and blunders of Mr Commissioner PhiUips, the melo
dramatic nonsense of Sam Warner, the old-ladpsm of
Lord Cranworth, the man-miUinerism of Sir Frederick
Thesiger. With style, diction and grimace he seemed to possess
for the moment the very soul of each. Birnie was no
longer before you, but the individual whom for the
occasion he represented.
What a rare orb is this earth where men like Birnie are
starving! As there is most certainly a God, the next
world wiU present an odd Lucianic reversal of the order
which prevails in this.
Here is Birnie, with the soul of a, Shakspeare, a man
made to be a light of the world, with only a crust of bread
in his cupboard, a few coppers in his threadbare pocket
Here again is Parry, -with the spirit of a ground tumbler,
successful, strutting and crowing, yet looking, neverthe
less, with inconceivable terror on Birnie, " the mockery
of whose cold grey eye " he once admitted was a sight
which, of all others, he could never endure. And by this,
his confessed superiority over others, Birnie was, doubtless,
more than recompensed for an empty stomach and a
ragged wardrobe. 128

A Candidate for Cork
XLVIII
In 1849 I stood as a candidate for Cork, my third and
last trial of an Irish constituency. It faUed, and I have
since abandoned aU similar efforts. I found myself
without a supporter or a friend on the Irish press, and
ha-ving, as I conceived, heroicaUy attached myself to a
ruined cause, and proved my sincerity beyond aU question,
I expected at least some welcome from its advocates.
[My Father stood on the broad principles of Repeal
of the Union, FuU Equality with England in all measures.
Increase in Number of Representatives and the Exclusion
of EngHshmen and Scotchmen untU Full Reciprocity
should have been Established.
A leading article in the Dublin Evening Herald,
1st November 1849, thus describes the event: —
" Mr Kenealy is trying if not a bold, certainly a sport
ing experiment upon the constituency of Cork. Without
a single paid agent or even the ' ghost ' of a bribe, he
proposes contesting the seat. Mr Kenealy is Hke Richard,
' himself alone.' He rehes solely upon his ovm ready and
reckless talents and on the sympathies of the electors. . . .
Against odds that are absolutely appaUing he presents an
undaunted if not smiHng front. He denounces, ridicules
and defies his opponents -with a gaiete de coeur, pluck,
pungency and exuberance, that appear to have bewildered
if not terrified them aU — the nearest approximation to
the O'ConneU vein which has, since the departure of the
Liberator, appealed to an Irish multitude."
Comment by Dr Kenealy: —
" I have lost Cork by my own indolence in not can
vassing — if it indeed were indolence and not rather a belief
in the high spirit of the electors who I thought were above
the petty exaction of this, system of solicitation."
I 129

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography

XLIX
Here in Cork I for the last time saw my ever honoured
father. He had left me in London about two years before.
One of his letters of this year details at length his mode of
life. It was written in answer to a pressing appeal of
mine, that he would Hve vrith me altogether in London.
I transcribe it here, as almost the last record of his loved
hand. "August mth 1849.
" My DEAREST Child, my darling Edward, — I am
well pleased and grateful for your kind and affectionate
invitation to go back to you again to London, than which
nothing would give me greater comfort or consolation;
but I never could persuade myself again to live in that
city. " Nothing, indeed, would give me more pleasure than
to be vrith you, but London is a place entirely unsuitable
for a man of my years.
sfe sic ^ sfc sif sk sic
"My heart is now entirely gone from me; a Httle
child could throw me down, and I never could get up.
I was very weU when I was with you, compared -with what
I am now. I am deprived of health; I am Hmping along;
I have lost the use of my right side.
*******
" Do you remember, my dear, our walks on May
mornings by the banks of the Lee, to hear the early song
of the cuckoo? Those days are gone — never to return.
The orUy comfort I now have is that I am near those
whom I loved best in my lifetime, and -with whom I hope
to be laid in the same grave. There my beloved child is.
There sleeps my beloved wife. After that, my dearest
130

A Sad Letter
Edward, you wUl perhaps feel at ease. You will know
that your poor father and mother are at rest in the lonely
place of death. Have mercy upon me, O Lord, for 1 am
in trouble; mine eye is consumed -with grief."
After his departure from me in London he had sought
to seclude himself from the world, and to devote the
remainder of his days to piety, to soHtude and reflection.
For this purpose he entered various monasteries as a
lay brother, paying the prior for his board and lodging,
and hoping to find in these imposing retreats rehgious
truth and a dignified repose.
But he who was all truth and sincerity was rendered
miserable in these places, where in his innocence he had
fondly expected to discover the simple -virtues of a
patriarchal age.
Abelard, in the midst of his prying, scandal-lo-ving
and calumniating monks, was not more wretched.
My father left them with a sad experience of the
cloister, as did also my poor sister.

131

CHAPTER V
Life in London— Devotion to Study— Philosophic Reflections— A Love-
letter — Marriage.
After a hiatus in the Autobiography this is again
resumed : —

To this part of my life I look back with pleasure, spent
as it was in thorough hermit fashion, seasoned with the
pleasures of constant study. Partly because of my
limited finances, and partly, perhaps, for a whim, I adopted
a vegetarian diet of the simplest kind. My breakfast
consisted of bread and milk, with sometimes a little fruit
to add zest to the meal. Dinner brought me figs, dates,
watercress and bread; and my evening repast was a roll
with a pint of ale. On this frugal diet I lived for several
months, not, perhaps, without a change of food some
times, but these simple viands formed the chief articles of
my table. As I remember now, I believe that at no time
of my life have I felt so healthy and buoyant as in those
few months of scant living. Probably this regime was a
wholesome change, which would not have answered if
long continued. Certain it is that I was not satisfied with
it, as I returned after a while to a more substantial
diet. When not engaged in Court I used to set off early for
the British Museum, often arriving before the gates were
opened, so eager was I to be with my beloved books.
132

Dates and Bread
Here I read and wrote for hours, often from nine
tiU five continuously, when I \\'ould come away with a
famous headache to my dates and bread.

LI
I have been always a great walker, a habit acquired
in the happy days of my youth. This, with my intense
love for the beauties of Nature, served as a pleasant
recreation either before I began my reading, or after my
day at the British Museum, to bring me back again to the
world. Some evenings I spent in looking at the briUiantly-
lighted shops, ^^^th as much pleasure as any wondering
youngster. Sometimes a theatre attracted me; not
often, however, for I had reached an age when the painted
beauties of the stage, with their -virtuous utterances, only
disgusted me with the sham and unreality of their pro
fessions. It always seems so utterly incongruous to see the
beautiful innocence and fidelity of a Desdemona portrayed
by a woman who probably knows -virtue only by name.

LII
Circuit brought a change of scene and of association
as weU as, sometimes, an income of fees. Not always
however, for I often returned without ha-ving earned even
my traveUing and hotel expenses. I always contrived to
see the sights of the country to which business took me,
and my walking capabUities were made good use of.
Among other objects of interest I have noted Bjn-on's
tomb, as Sir John Peachey's gravestone is called, at
Harrow. The prospect is most beautiful. The Poet
133

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
showed his taste in the selection. There is an amphi
theatre of trees in front — at the foot of the hill — a vast and
splendid expanse of plain, richly cultivated. Harrow, or
a portion of it, Hes to the left below, and a large tree
overhangs the monument. The wind blows gently, and
the -view extends for forty mUes. Oh, for a day of musing
on that tomb, with sunshine and my free thoughts!
What is there about Byron which so fascinates us ?
Strange to say, -with all my love of Nature I always
welcomed return to my dear London, my darling Babylon,
as I called it. To me there was and stiU is an indescribable
charm in -visiting the homes and haunts of men whose
writings have held me spellbound, before whose genius I
have faUen, worshipping.
This feeling made me always turn to London as my
home, London, the home of those whose books had
delighted my student heart.
Lately this passion has been calmed. With advancing
years the Ulusions of youth have turned to the duU fact
and reality of middle-age, and I have gro-wn more fond of
a quiet retreat from this busy Babylon.
The year 1851 proved a very eventful one for me, as
the previous year had proved a very bitter one. The
foUo-wing reflections, written in my diary at the end of
each, -wUl show the contrast which these two years had
brought. At the conclusion of 1850 I wrote this sad
retrospect of the pre-vious twelve months: —
" At the close of this year I can only say it has been
one of melancholy and misfortune. I have been myself
subjected to sad affliction; my pecuniary losses have
been great; my receipts at the Bar have sunk consider
ably. My dear father has died. I am lost in wonder
at what Providence has designed me for, or why I am
marked out for affliction. Yet I do not complain much,
134

A Retrospect
for I cannot doubt that my faiHngs, errors and vices have
deserved punishment. And if man does not suffer on
earth for the e-vils he has committed, I suppose he must
pay penalty elsewhere.
" My health has been good, and my spirits, excepting
in occasional hours of the darkest despondency, even to
tears, have not been on the whole much depressed. God
certainly tempers the wind to the shorn lamb. I have
no pretensions to the innocence of that animal, although
I have to its endurings."
Fortune looked more kindly upon me the foUowing
year, as may be seen by this extract at the close of 1851 : —
" In taking a retrospect in my o-wn mind of the events
of this year I am struck by the singular contrasts it
presents. Little did I dream at the beginning of 1851
that I should end it by being married.
" I have no reason and no inclination to murmur
against fate. On the contrary, I heartily thank God for
many blessings which he has deigned to bestow upon me.
I have enjoyed admirable health, was never in better
spirits, and have a young, innocent and fond wife.
" The whole of our worldly goods and chattels amount,
it is trae, only to the furniture of a set of chambers and to
no very considerable sum at my bankers. But I do not
despair. Nor indeed had I ever more briUiant hopes of
surmounting aU my difficulties and in the end of fulfiUing
my presentiments, which, as a child of Destiny, I feel in
my soul.
" Everything I see and hear among the Bar and from
the Judges satisfies me that I now occupy a position
-with them which no other man of my standing does, and
I am as intrepid and as fuU of spirit as ever.
" If God ever gives me money and makes me powerful,
I have made a vow to use both wealth and influence for
135

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
the benefit of the world. I suppose I shaU be a regular
Don Quixote, and shaU go forth armed cap-a-pi^ against
abuses. Why, indeed, should I not, ha-vmg m, my own
person experienced so many and so great? Like my pro
totype Mirabeau (to whom I have been many times com
pared), I have passed through a Red Sea of troubles, but
I hope soon to gain a glimpse of the Paradise of Repose."
LIII
Strange, I had long entertained an idea that this, my
thirty-third year, would work some great change in my
life. I find that presentiment verified. On my thirty-
second birthday I -wrote in my diary: "On this day I
complete my thirty-second year and enter on my thirty-
third, which I have always had a presentiment wUl be a
year of Destiny. I confess myself rather anxious to see
whether the forebodings of many years -wiU be fulfiUed
between this and July 1852." The " year of Destiny "
brought me a wife — a great event, aU must confess, in this
Hfe of ours, which is so much monotony, that birth,
marriage and death are often the only milestones on the
dreary road. A prettUy-fumished set of chambers in
town, a collection of books worthy a better library,
myself and my prospects were aU I had to offer my
bride. With these she seemed satisfied in spite of the
terrible predictions of her friends, who could foreteU
nothing happy of so impro-vident a match. We, however,
being the chief persons concerned, were satisfied to trust
to Pro-vidence, Fate, Chance or whatsoever power steers us
mortals through the sea of life, and to venture it together.
Our determination carried the day ; for before our wedding
took place I beheve we had succeeded in fiUing our
opponents with some of our bright hopes and expectations.
136

Love at First Sight

[This marriage was, as have been many other notably
happy and successful unions, the outcome of love at first
sight. ^' As my Father, writing airy theories upon the
subject six years earHer to Shirley Brooks, had said,
" My eye is so vi-vidly attracted by the beautiful, so
sensitively ahve to aU external loveHness that I should
enjoy no true happiness without it," adding that on this
account when he should marry " you shaU see a vision if
I can find one in these prosaic times." The prudent
resolution of which also he had made his friend the
confidant, that he should defer his marriage tiU such time
as he should be sufficientiy rich to marry for love, be it
observed, faded " Hke snaw wraiths in thaw, Jean,"
before the actuahty of the " %'ision."
The first meeting was romantic. Sauntering one
moming through the Keep of that most picturesque rain,
Dudley Castle, his ear was attracted hy a voice. It
sounded to him in a moment as the most charming voice
in the world. From behind a ruined ivy-mantied wall
tripped two young girls. And his eyes were riveted to a
face, a face which seemed to him to be Hkewise the most
charming in the world.
FoHowing at a discreet distance he discovered the home
privileged to enshrine this " vision " he had once despaired
of finding. He obtained an introduction. The attrac
tion was reciprocal. But Miss Nicklin was not seventeen.
The maiden Aunts with whom she Hved, as also her
parents, were averse to one so young being caUed upon to
make the momentous selection of a husband.
Moreover her fier\' wooer, having his way yet to make
in the world, was a less eHgible suitor than were sundry
others. There foUowed dehberations, perturbations,
doubtless tears, entreaties and other emotional develop
ments. The lovers were firm. This one and only this
137

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
would he or she marry. The guardians weakened. The
marriage at all events must be deferred until EHzabeth
were older.
Among papers of this date I have found an old letter,
the ink so faded that the characters are only just decipher
able. As I imagine that it decided the question, and
because, moreover, it is very pretty, I present it here.
Although it is more than half a century old it is stiU
faintly permeated by an indescribably delicate fragrance.
I am unable to decide whether this is the mere ghost of
some scented sachet in a romantic girl's desk, whether the
clinging sweetness of a cherished nosegay beside which
it was long treasured, or whether it may not be something
even yet more incalculable, some essence the years have
distilled from the fervid yet tender emotions wherewith
the now dead writer's hand was charged.

Letter to Miss Nicklin. "Monday, October "Jth 1 85 1.
" My own DEAREST Child AND LovE, — If you really
feel you are not yet able or experienced enough to under
take the responsibilities of marriage, or are in any way afraid
to face some little difficulties, I -wUl defer it. But I told
you the night I saw you last I was in no way afraid, and
that I feel I could endure anything -with you. This is the
only answer I can give.
" A year hence I am sure I shaU be in no way richer than
I am now. While I should have the dissatisfaction of
living in the most solitary manner, under the great suspense
of being parted from you, of being, except at rare intervals,
deprived of your delightful companionship, and of drifting
into a side sea without any human sympathy.
138

A Love-Letter
" Prudence, as I said, suggests delay. Yet Love,
omnipotent Love, counsels us to lose no time, but to be
happy whUe we can. Which wiU you foUow? I leave
it whoUy to my love, and will be implicitly bound by what
she sa}^. Yet it would be the most ungracious task I
could perform to defer our union even for a day ; whether
indeed I should bear up against it I know not. It would
wound me in the tenderest point. Yet ha-ving candidly
laid before you much that you ought to know I leave the
decision to you; again and again repeating that no fears
of any kind on my side, but only hope, confidence and
faith in Heaven and a con-viction that in our love aU
difficulties -wUl be as nothing.
" Your dear letter has moved me even to tears. I have
read it again and again. I can appreciate your good
Aunts' wisdom. But it is really no question of wisdom,
but one of the heart, and I feel sure it is better to obey the
heart than to obey the head.
" Of what is my darhng love afraid? That she would
have too much to do in looking after a quartet of rooms?
That she would not have food enough to eat? or money
to buy a fine frock? My o-wn love, when you ask yourself
why should we defer our happiness, you wiU find there is
reaUy no good reason. Unless, indeed, you are more
difficult to please than am I. You did right in sho-wing
my letter to your Aunts. But you vriU do -wrong in
foUowing any dictates but those of your own heart. What
soever that counsels you to do — Do. My grand principle
is that Nature is always right
" If then your o-wn sincere heartfelt inclination is to
be my dear -wife, foUow it, and cast prudence to the
winds. We wiU repose in God's Pro-vidence and in our
perfect love. The falsest and basest proverb ever spoken
is that which says when ' Poverty enters at the door love
139

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
flies out of the window ' The man who uttered it never
knew what love is. True love is immortal and unchange
able as God Himself, from whom all love emanates.
Lesser love may indeed fly when privation assails it. But
my love, my o-wn dearest one, is not love of this kind.
I love you because I feel that you love me, because I am
lonely, because I am sure God has given you to me in
answer to my prayers. If God has joined us, shaU pru
dence and poverty keep us apart ? No !
" Let me know at once, dearest darling, your deter
mination. I shall be in an anguish of suspense until I hear
from you. Again I repeat consult your own heart. My
good kind Aunts will not suppose I mean disrespect to
them, but -will I am sure agree with me that it is a question
for you only to decide as Heaven prompts you.
" What are these troubles of a wife, my o-wn dearest
love, of which you speak? I know of none. You must
confide them to me. My dear little child Lizzie shall
certaiiily have no trouble I can avert. In one word I have
again carefully read over your letter, and have weU con
sidered its contents. The result is this, I am ready to
marry my own darling not on the 29th of November,
as we fixed it, but on the 29th of October, or even on the
gth, or better stiU this very moment. So you see how
little these dreadful troubles affright me.
" And yet, if on the other hand my own love is not
ready, it shall be deferred, of course. But you, not I,
shaU be the person to defer it From all of which it
clearly follows that we shall be married on the day originally
fixed. This is a bit of woman's logic, but I think it very
fitting and fine for the occasion.
" And now, my own love, how go those astonishing
preparations? Slow — slow. Too slow, I fear, for my
lightning thoughts and hopes. Shall I buy our dear
140

A Postscript Verified
wedding ring here? Or shall I buy it in Dudley, where
I can better fit your finger? If the former I must get the
exact size of that dear little member so soon to be mine,
although it perversely wishes to remain its own master
for another year, a perversity to which its future lord and
master wiU consent on no account. Oh! I was nearly
forgetting. Has your trae constancy run out that you
have laid aside your pretty blue-bordered paper? For
blue is an emblem of constancy, is it not? I am glad
you did not use the seal. I am angry that you waver
about the 29th. I am sorry you are iU. I am eager to
learn about the ' preparations.' I am pleased with you
for working at my sHppers. I am charmed with your
promise to kiss my portrait. I love you more and more
with every day. Remember me to your dear, wise,
calculating, pro-vident Aunts, and beheve me ever your
own dearest trae love, E. K.
" P.S. — We shaU be married on the 29th of November
prox." My Mother being no more than mortal woman, and
moreover, a very young, beautiful and romantic one, the
prophecy of the postscript came true, as the foUowing
extract from The Times attests: —
{November 2^th 1851.]
" Kenealy — Nicklin. — At Dudley, Edward
Kenealy, LL.D., of Gray's Inn, London, to Miss
EHzabeth NickHn, daughter of WUHam Nicklin, Esq.,
of Tipton."
And the yoimg wife developed into a devoted friend
and comrade, an invaluable helper in her husband's work,
an unremitting nurse in sickness, his inseparable companion
untU death. 141

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
The beautiful girl was an object of attention, and
doubtless drew pedant eyes from dry-as-dust tomes as
she took her place morning after morning in the Reading
Room of the British Museum, where she would make
extracts from abstruse works of reference, extracts which
found place later in my Father's Theological Writings.
In after years, when the press of professional duty
made every minute precious, he would sometimes go into
Court -without having found time to read a word of his
Brief, relying solely upon her careful reading and her
verbal abstract of the case.]

142

CHAPTER VI
Autobiography continued : — Hollowness of Life — Success of Mediocre Men —
CajoUery of Juries — Inconsistencies of Law — Anecdote of Lord Campbell
— Lord Brougham's Terror.
The Autobiography continues: —

LIV
I now had a fresh incentive to work. The golden
spur is less a stimulant when one has no worthier
object than oneself in view. I resolved to lose no
opportunity of making way in my profession, much as
I despised it.
In youth, when life was clothed in gayest colours,
I had considered the Bar a noble profession, with fuU scope
for leaming, eloquence, and aU the powers of inteUect.
But by this time these fairy gardens had changed into
a wilderness, and the Hfe of a barrister seemed but a
gaUey-slave's existence — a trade to coin gold out of
faUacies. " All is vanity, saith the preacher." These words
were continuaUy crossing my mind, unnerving the wings of
ambition. A worse, although a wiser doctrine, was never
taught. Act upon it and the whole world is undone.
Neglect it and what becomes of your soul? In medio
tutissimus ibis. Pish! Canst thou serve God and
Mammon? Yet this is what men try to do, if indeed they
attempt the service of the former.
The morning sun rises over a world where aU is peace
and loveliness, save in the hearts and souls of its inhabit-
143

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
ants. It shines into our homes, fUling us with a hoUness
and calm only to be blotted out by the evil passions
of our natures. God made the world beautiful, a
house of prayer, man has made it loathsome, a den of
thieves. We have the passions of demons and the sentiments of
divinities. We act like devils while we have the aspira
tions of gods. Shall I be told that life is not a torment?
How know we that ? How can we sit in this Pandemonium
where guilt is shown with the mask off, and not see the
passions of the Inferno round us?
In many cases we see vice triumphant, virtue slain,
innocence betrayed by guUt, learning and -wisdom crushed
by cunning, honesty dishonoured by roguery, religion and
piety trampled by hypocrisy. Might rules the day, and
as the -wicked are in the majority, the just, so greatly in
the minority, must 5deld to the greater strength.
To make one's way in a profession, more especiaUy
at the Bar, it is necessary to be of a sociable disposition
and inclination ; to issue and to accept invitations ; to be
in fact hail-feUow-weU-met with all likely to influence
one's future career. This I could never be. My natural
love of solitude, increased by early education and by
habit, made me sUent and reserved. My pride prevented
me from seeking any man's* society. If offered I accepted
because of its congeniality, not from any consideration of
expediency. How much grandeur there is in that Hne of Gold
smith's :
" Too fond of the right to pursue the expedient."

144

Fatality

LV
It must be that everyone has justice done to him and
that we all have equal opportunities if we only use them
to advantage. But it has seemed to me that I have
been singularly marked out for misfortune. Those sudden
and unexpected pieces of luck which fall to some men's
lot, -without their seeking and often -without their deser-ving
them, have never come to help my struggles. I remember
losing a Deputy-Judgeship of the County Courts from the
mere fact of the Judge who had the appointment forgetting
my address, so that he could not communicate -with me.
It went to a man of whom he knew nothing, but whose
name was -mentioned to him by accident.
Had I chanced on the appointment I should in course
of time have succeeded to the Judgeship with fifteen
hundred a year and three or four hundred for traveUing
expenses. Not a great thing truly, but I should at that time have
been wiUing to accept it, as my health was not sufficiently
good to make me rehsh the hard and uncertain life of a
young barrister. It would have given me a fixed income
and the leisure I coveted for the pursuit of higher know
ledge. Another time I lost a Recordership through not
kno-wing it was vacant sufficiently long before it was fUled.
Never indeed have I been lucky. AU that I have acquired
in life has been the result of sheer hard labour.

145

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography

LVI
In my long observance of human nature I have seen
men of very little abihty advance step by step from
insignificance to wealth and position, merely from practis
ing the art of being agreeable ; while men of high culture,
with minds too great to stoop, have been left far behind,
stragghng -with poverty and even with beggary. And it is
not only for future preferment, but also for present success,
that this talent of agreeableness is of advantage. At the
Bar more verdicts are obtained and juries convinced by
cajolery and jest than by clear argument and logic. The
man who can -win a jury has almost won his case ; for these
inteUigent gentlemen are most susceptible to flattery, be
it directed to their persons or to their understanding.
Doubtless it is a grave consideration that in many cases
the liberty of an unfortunate being hangs almost as much
upon the favour of a jury to his counsel as upon the evi
dence of his guilt or innocence. Yet this truth is so
recognised, that members of the Bar are distinguished as
successful or unsuccessful advocates according to their
powers of cajolery, rather than from any faculty they
possess of clearly stating and explaining the teUing points
of their own or of their opponent's side.
Hawkins is a notable example of the success which
attends this style of advocacy. By a wink or a gesture he
can send a whole Court, judge, jury and counsel, into roars
of laughter, a trick which not only puts the jurors into
good humour, but leads away their attention from the
points at issue. By an elevation of the brows and a glance
at the jury he is able to convey as much meaning as though
he said in words, " Really, gentlemen, this e-vidence is too
much of an imposition. The witness evidently believes
146

Cajoleries of Counsel
us most guUible." At the same time it pleases the jury
by taking them into his confidence, and appearing to
credit them with an amount of inteUigence which is not to
be deluded by the artful creature in the box.
The artful creature, if he be, as so many country
witnesses are, somewhat obtuse and slow to perceive the
quips and jokes which are circulating at his expense, goes
on blundering through his e-vidence, whoUy imconscious
that his words assume in the mouth of the skUful la-wyer
a meaning which he never intended and could not have
foreseen. If, on the other hand, the -witness have sufficient
perception to see where he is drifting, he has rarely enough
confidence to parry the question Eind so to extricate him
self from the false position in which he is placed. He
becomes hopelessly entangled in the confusion of his
ovm statements, and leaves the box with the convic
tion that he has greatiy damaged the cause he came to
assist. This is one reason why verdicts are often so entirely
contrary to the sense, and in opposition to the evidence.
The jury rely on the acuteness of counsel to discover the
worth of persons caUed before them, and too readUy
surrender their o-wn judgment to the representations of
these gentiemen.
The pubHc, who learn from the papers the facts ehcited
at Trials, are often astonished at results. The reason
is that they use their o-wn sense in forming an opinion
of the merits of the case, without being prejudiced and
bamboozled by the Httie comedies of learned brethren.
Too much cannot of course be said against such a dis
reputable method of success, but custom has made it
legitimate. If people only knew what trifles turn the scale of
Justice, how easUy juries Eire flattered and deceived, and
147

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
as a rule, how little they depend upon themselves, and ho-w
much upon the lawyers, there would be a considerable
diminution of legal business.

LVII
There is a great deal of cant too about the purity of
the Bench, as there is a very -wide-spread faith in its
honour and integrity. My experience of the Bench has
been otherwise.
I have seen such old rogues in scarlet and ermine as
it would be difficult to match even in Norfolk Island.
CampbeU, from whom I have myself suffered much
injustice, was a man of great talent, but, from the cruelty
and bias of his disposition, quite unfitted to be the repre
sentative of the majesty of the law, certainly not in any
capacity so comprehensive as that of Lord Chief Justice of
England. He used from the Bench to display so much
ferocity, even mahgnity, as to render everybody present
most unhappy; the inffiction of torture appeared to be a
luxury to him, a luxury in which he frequently indulged.
His acrimony and want of humanity resembled the
characteristics of a fox, to which animal he has been
likened. I remember an incident which shows, although only in
a slight degree, his natural lack of courtesy and con
sideration. A number of ladies crowded into one of the passages
at Westminster HaU for the purpose of getting a glimpse
of the Lord Chief Justice, who was then a celebrity of some
note. As he passed his button caught in a beautiful lace
berthe worn by one of his fair admirers. After a vain
straggle to disengage himself CampbeU deliberately took
148

Lord Brougham's Dread
out his penknife — everybody thought for the purpose of
cutting off his button and releasing the lady. Not at all.
He cooUy cut a hole in her handsome lace and passed on
-with his sweetest smUe.
It was said that Lord Brougham was desperately
afraid lest CampbeU should outhve him and insert his life
among the ChanceUors. His terror was so great at the
idea of being deHneated by such an unfeeling biographer
that one day he involuntarily cried out, " He has added a
new pang to death."
On the Bench, clothed in wig, robe and authority. Lord
CampbeU looked the very personification of dignity and
justice. The transformation was wonderful when one saw
him without the insignia of state, clad in ordinary walking
attire. He looked then the picture of mediocrity and
meaimess. Lord Brougham once remarked of him to me that if
he had been brought up to fiddling or tinkering he would
have been neither a first-rate fiddler or tinker, but he
would have made more money them any others who fol
lowed the same employment.
As he grew older the rat-Hke cruel look in his face
settied immovably there. He acquired the stony gaze
which with the ever-increasing love of hanging grows
upon so many Judges. The constant association with
crime seems to demoralise them. Their faith in human
goodness diminishes tiU it is nil. They look upon every
man as a criminal who deserves but Httle mercy and they
mete it out accordingly. There are, of course, just and
humane men on the Bench, but they are not many.
It may be thought that I speak too harshly of those
whom I depict. If so it is unintentional. Every man is
entitled to justice, and his own Hfe decides whether he
deserves weU or iH at the hands of those who portray his
149

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
character. Justice to good men demands that the bad
should not be placed on the same level. Truth requires
that they shaU be painted in their true colours. This I
endeavour to do in my descriptions of persons who have
crossed my path. I can only show them as they appeared
to me ; their characters, their lives and personality.

ISO

CHAPTER VII
Letters to and from Disraeli — The Press, a Projected New Journal — Interview
with Disraeli — Resignation of Post and of Prospects.
Dr Kene.\ly for many years kept up with Jlr DisraeH
an interesting correspondence upon political questions of
the day. He was gratified to find his -vie-ws acted upon
from time to time by the great man.
The subjoined is a letter of the earliest date which
I have found among his papers : —

Letter to Disraeli.
" Gray's Inn Square, /a/w/ary 15/A 1850.
" Dear Sir, — I \\1shed very much to see you as I think
I might possibly suggest to you a %-iew on the present crisis
which would not be undeserving of consideration.
" I do not affect to be the organ of any body, but I
have no doubt you are acquainted with my standing -with
a great portion of the Irish people, and with the CathoHc
Priesthood, who, I beheve, have some confidence in me.
" AU Tory traditions and poHcy have almost always
been to support the Papacy. The W^gs, on the contiary,
have invariably been its enemies.
" The Irish people since the Emancipation have been
the sole obstacle to the permanent attainment of power
by the Tories. It Hes at this moment -with the Tory party
to win the Irish people for ever, and to destroy utterly the
Whigs. Lord John RusseU has in contemplation a penal
measure in consequence of the recent assumption of tities
151

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
by CathoHc Prelates. If the Tory Party opposes this
measure (on the broad ground that it is adverse to the spirit
of the times, that it would be a -virtual repeal of Emancipa
tion which has been productive of no evil results in Ireland
or in the Colonies, and that the Protestant Church is too
weU founded on its o-wn purity to be shaken by a con
temptible bugbear such as is the cry against these titles)
they -wiU defeat the Whigs, and on an appeal to the
country aU Ireland, priests, bishops and laymen, in their
anger against Lord John and the Cabinet, wiU support us
at the hustings.
" But if, on the contrary, they commit the folly of
proposing a stronger measure of policy than that of Lord
John they wiU exactly play his game of small cunning and
stUl further alienate from the Tories Ireland, which may
now be said to be whoUy their o-wn on the question of
protection. I send you for perusal an article on this
latter subject by a friend of mine who is authorised to
put forth the opinions of the farmers of Ireland.
" I need not remind you that on a question of religion
like this, if you once get hold of the Irish people you will
never lose them. You wUl secure also the powerful body of
the Puseyites of England, who reaUyare the active InteUect
of the Age, And I can venture to say you -wUl not lose a
single Tory supporter either in the Church or State.
" If I had seen you I think I could have satisfied you
of the feasibility of this recommendation, and could have
proved that it would be in perfect accordance with the real
Spirit of old Toryism — ^not Eldon or Percival Toryism,
which was only idiocy, and which has done incalculable
injury to the party,
" I am lea-ving town to-night, but if you write to me at
Chambers, saying when I could have an interview with you
on the subject, I shall feel obliged — unless, indeed, your
152

Letter from Disraeli
opinions are diametricaUy opposed to such a view. — I have
the honour to be faithfuUy yours, "E. Kenealy."
Mr Disraeli's reply I have faUed to find, or to learn
whether, as on many other occasions, he adopted my
Father's view of the situation.
Three years later came an interesting episode with
regard to The Press, a projected weekly journal. It began
with a letter from DisraeH.

Letter from Disraeli.
\ConfidentialP\ " March iTth 1853.
" Dear Sir, — Mr Lucas, a barrister and a very dis
tinguished member of the University of Oxford, caUed on
me some days ago to consult me on a subject of importance.
I recommended him to confer with you as a gentleman
whose talents I greatly admire, and in whose welfare and
advancement I was interested. I promised him to write
you a Hne, but the pressure of affairs has prevented me
doing so as soon as I could have wished. I trust my
omission has not been an obstacle to relations between
Mr Lucas and yourself, for I think they would tend to
your development, which I desire. — I have the honour to
be, dear Sir, yours very truly, B. Disraeli.
"E. V. Kenealy, Esq."
The episode is thus dealt with in the Autobiography : —

LVIII
In April 1853, after some correspondence on the subject, I
had an interview with Disraeli (who was then the acknowledged
153

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
leader of the House) with regard to The Press, a new weekly
paper which was to be published under his auspices. I wrote
down at the time an account of my visit while it was fresh in
my memory: —
" To-day at one o'clock, by appointment, I saw DisraeH.
I was shown first into a library or studio on the ground floor,
-with a decent coUection of books which seemed to have been
read, a marble bust of DisraeH himself on a bookcase, prints of
Lord George Bentinck and others, and one or two faded Indian
cabinets. In a few moments I was ushered upstairs to the old
room where I had seen him in 1846.
" He is greatly changed since then. He has gro-wn thin, old,
and is no agreeable portrait of the harassing anxieties and
wrinkled records of itself, which ambition bestows as trophies
of her gratitude. He received me very civUly, shook me by
the hand and seated me opposite to him.
" He sat down for a short time and then asked me to excuse
him for walking up and down, stating that he was obliged to
sit so much at night in the House that he was glad of an
opportunity for exercise.
" I thanked him for allowing me to correspond with him
when he was in office, and for recommending me as a party in
the present new project of The Press, or Anti-Coalition, which
is to appear on the 30th of AprU.
" Looking at him now earnestly he impressed me with the
idea of a man who is suffering much from iU-health, and
perhaps an overwrought brain, although his step is firm
enough. " He has a horrible House of Commons mannerism about
him, which is exceedingly ungraceful and rather fidgets
one. His movements are restless and his voice sometimes
faUs. " There is perpetual motion in him. He is wearing out
from too much excitement, and I think unless he greatly alters
his style and becomes more at ease he must break down in a
very few years.
" There is no repose, no quiet, no statue-like imperturb
ability, such as he exhibits in the House, and did to a certain
extent possess when last I saw him.
154

Impressions of Disraeli
" His abstraction in the House is evidently studied, for
his brain is at work, and terribly in earnest in its work, while
to the spectator he seems grcinite. In this he differs very
much from myself, who in the midst of action am a mountain
of ice, both in appearance and in absolute reality
" He has grown less Jewish than when I last saw him and
the impression which he leaves is one of pain rather than of
pleasure. " In his prefatory dedication of Venetia to Lord Lynd-
hurst, he speaks of the ' sorrows of existence,' and he presents
all the externals of one who has deeply felt them.
" I was sorry to see him so careworn and restless, and
wonder he bothers himself to death about such miserable
cheats as the rewards of poHtical battle. For my own part,
were I in his place I would treat them just at their exact
worth, and would worry myself not one whit about their
possession or their loss.
" We plunged at once in medias res. He said from his
knowledge of my ' great leaming, classical tastes and peculiar
genius,' he was led to mention me as one of the confraternity
of supporters who were to bring out the new weekly paper;
that it was intended to be highly classical in its style, and quite
the opposite of the Barbaresque style of composition which at
present prevails, making the daUy newspapers absolutely
unreadable; that the master minds of the eighteenth century
were to be its models, and that a combination of sound political
philosophy with Aristophanic pleasantry were what was most
desired. " That there was no person in whom he had a greater
confidence for aiding in such a project than myself, and that
as my views were poHtical and pointed to the House of Com
mons, he thought it would serve as a good opening and an
introduction of myself to a confraternity of men, some of whom
were in the House and some likely to get in, and that, under all
the circumstances, I must derive considerable reputation from
being connected with it.
" He spoke of his views with reference to myself, which
pointed to a time when matters were ripe, in which he would
place me in the House of Commons, and said that in the mean-
155

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
while I could not employ my time better than in devoting
such leisure as I had from my profession to aiding the new
journal. " That Lord Stanley, of whom he spoke highly as a young
man of solidity and great skiU, and pointed him out as a
probable future Prime Minister, and Smithe, late of
Canterbury, were others of the brotherhood on whom he
depended. " The Anti- Jacobin was to be, to a certain extent, the
model; and those who like myself had poHtical tendencies,
would find this one of the best modes of advancing them.
" The Coalition was to be attacked and the true principles
of the Tory party were to be put forward.
" The Tories were at present a great mass but destitute of
ideas, and The Press was to furnish them with these.
" The Morning Herald and Standard, which are supposed
to be Tory organs, are in reality only the organs of sections,
and nothing could be in worse taste than was their style of
articles. " The political leaders in the new paper are to be first-
rate, like those of the Times, and Canning and Frere would
be the models for those of lighter nature. So far he spoke
of the literary aspects of the project.
" I listened as I always do, merely assenting by a nod to
aU his sentiments and scarcely speaking a word, so that no one
can deny I am a good listener. I then told him that Lucas,
the editor, was about to caU on me to make the pecuniary
arrangements, and that I had a distaste for such a thing as
money in connection with politics, but that I would regulate
myself altogether by his advice.
" He entered rather diffusely into an exposition of what
their views were with reference to this, and said that after great
deliberation among the projectors it was resolved that all should
be paid, himself and Lord Stanley for instance, as weU as the
others; and that the very persons who might subscribe largely
would nevertheless receive their cheque as regularly as those
who made literature their profession and who might be em
ployed upon it.
" That Lord GranviUe, Canning and Lord Ripon, all of
156

His Discursive Style
them Prime Ministers, had themselves been paid by Murray
for their contributions to the Quarterly, and that therefore, as
this was one of their rules, I need have no hesitation in taking
money. For if a Duke were asked to write he would be paid
as weU as a commoner.
" What the rate of remuneration was to be he did not
mention, but he spoke of five guineas for an article as being a
price not unreasonable or unHkely.
" AU this occupied about three quarters of an hour, and
was very discursively spoken and in a style of which, although
fuU of compliments to myself, I grew rather tired, as being a
sad abuse of time and of the EngHsh language, which was
made to express its meaning point blank -without needless
circumlocution. ' ' I then spoke to him about Ireland. He is rather disgusted
with the Irish and said that he had appointed Lord Naas as
Irish Secretary, against the strong remonstrance of many of the
Cabinet, who were altogether averse to conciliatory measures
which they declared would be useless, and were anxious to
appoint an Orangeman of high standing who had been twenty
years in Parliament and would have given the greatest satisfac
tion to aU the Tories. (This I take to be Sir WUliam Vemer,
which would have been quite an insane appoiatment.)
" How had the Irish priests responded to that conciliatory
nomination? Why, by at once raising an ' Irish howl,' and
kicking him out of the CathoUc county of KUdare. This, he
said, had paralysed his exertions in the Cabinet for Ireland,
and had thus produced the proclamation, which he admitted
had greatly injured the Government and had even upset it.
" At two o'clock I took my leave, and promised, as I mean,
to do aU I could for the paper.
" He saw me outside the door, which was a piece of great
courtesy, and shook hands with me at parting.
" I plainly understand from him that he means to put me
in ParHament, and there, indeed, I believe I could more
effectuaUy serve Tiim than by contributing to fifty newspapers."
This is a rough sketch of the conversation we had on the
subject of this new Tory organ, which was started a short
whUe after and is stiU, I believe, published weekly. It did not
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Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
unfortunately realise the expectations of its projectors, who
destined it to be a first-rate literary production as well as a
powerful aid to the advancement of their party.
I wrote several squibs for the few first numbers, but
subsequently withdrew myself from its staff of contributors,
in consequence of a misunderstanding which arose as to the
position and relation I was to hold with regard to the Editor.
This gentleman, a Mr Lucas, seemed very desirous of centering
all authority in his own hands. I was unwiUing to contest his
right to so much power but preferred to disconnect myself
with the undertaking.
A letter which I had previously written to Mr Disraeli wiU
best show my feeling in the affair: —
" I had some correspondence with Mr Lucas about the
matter to which you refer. I was requested to become a
contributor to the light department of the projected periodical,
but having had considerable experience in these matters, and
your name not having been communicated to me, I decHned
to have anything to do with it unless I received some interest
in the copyright, publishers being very difficult persons to
deal with when their periodicals are securely established;
and, as a general rule, not disinclined to get rid of those who
have mainly contributed to their foundation.
" I had no reason at that time to suppose it was anything
but a private speculation supported under certain distin
guished auspices.
" My letter declining crossed Mr Lucas's letter mentioning
your name, and in terms with reference to myself which
greatly influenced me. It held out very briUiant promises of
money remuneration, but stiU treated me merely as a con
tributor and subordinate. I informed him, in reply, how much
I felt bound to defer to any wish of yours, and added that as
my profession made me independent of aU money considera
tions, I was wiUing to be gratuitously associated with such a
project, but stiU declined to be employed.
" I intimated my desire for a personal interview with Mr
Lucas on the matter, and named next Saturday week as a day
when I should be in London and could see him. I need not
say that I shaU do everything in my power to assist Mr Lucas,
158

Wise Counsels
but it must be on a footing of complete independence of
pecuniary considerations.
" I am wilHng to play Swift to his Arbuthnot, but I cannot
be employed by him. I have no doubt whatsoever that we
shaU come to a complete understanding in the matter, and that
I shaU be enabled to render whatsoever aid I can to his under
taking. " For your own kindness and remembrance I feel most
highly obHged, and shall be eager to manifest in some way
my appreciation of it.
" As I am writing to you may I mention one or two matters
which may be worthy of your consideration? The Whigs and
their organs are afiecting to look upon the Irish Brigade as
wholly theirs, and their votes on the Clergy Reserves and the
Jew BiU seem to countenance that claim. But I have reason
to know that a large section of them is stiU as independent as
ever, and as much opposed to Whig legislation as they are
favourably disposed toward yourself. It would be impossible
for them, representing Catholic constituencies, to go out of
their way to back up the Protestant Clergy of Canada, although
I am told Sir J. Pakington seemed to expect they would
assuredly do so. Your TeUer must never reckon on them in
matters of this kind, although, if properly treated, he may do
so on others of a general nature.
" But the gross foUy of the Morning Herald in perpetually
abusing them, their country and their religion, stiU opposes an
insuperable obstacle in their way. ReaUy, the madness of
this course ought now to be manifest. Of what possible use
can it be perpetuaUy to force one-third of the Empire to be our
foes, when, if the Press be discreet and silent, they can be so
easUy made friends?
" I read with the greatest pain these perpetual effusions of
bigotry, prejudice and absurdity. They are ruinous to all
hopes of a fusion, and play the absolute game the Whigs desire.
" It was precisely in the same way that the Scotch were
treated — as foes — after the union of 1700, and they continued
discontented and rebeUious to aU authority until wiser,
because opposite, measures were adopted.
" With this plain historical lesson before us, what madness
159

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
it is to persist in a policy of alienation. You may depend upon
my information in this matter as being most authentic."
The first portion of this extract explains my wish to
contribute to the paper, quite independently of remuneration,
so that my views might not be limited or cramped by such a
consideration. The conclusion contains suggestions on the Irish question
then raging vigorously, a subject on which I was weU-informed
and which I was desirous of discussing in the columns of the
new paper.
Disraeli answered in most courteous terms, regretting that
any vexations should have arisen, at the same time stating
that Mr Lucas had been invested with an amount of authority
as editor, but hoping that we should be able to arrange without
any more difficulties.
However, Mr Lucas, who was an editor of some experience
and likely to be of more service to the project than myself,
would " bear no brother near the throne." And I was not
wiUing to be under control. So I resigned my post, and with
it, I suppose, some rather briUiant prospects.
Disraeli had shown himself on every occasion very desirous
of assisting me, and had expressed much interest in my
welfare and advancement. I was therefore blamed by my
friends for letting slip this favourable opportunity of rendering
service to so influential a person.

i6o

CHAPTER VIII
Autobiography continued : — William Palmer the Poisoner — His Personality
and Bearing — His Methods of Poisoning — Dr Kenealy a Junior Counsel
for his Defence — Capital Punishment — Libel Case against Liverpool
Herald — Chetwynd Divorce Suit — Burke (Fenian) Case — Attempt to
blow up Clerkenwell Prison — Many Victims killed and injured — Dr
Kenealy withdraws from Defence — Takes "Silk" — Overend-Gurney
Case — Wood Green Murders — Bidwell Brothers — A Piece of lU-Luck.

LIX
In the spring of 1856 I was engaged as one of the junior
counsel for the defence of WiUiam Palmer. This remark
able criminal, who was indicted for one and suspected of
having committed fourteen or fifteen cold-blooded,
hideous murders, was a man whose image is still fresh in
my mind, so striking and characteristic was his personahty.
His face bore the impress of honesty, calm, passionless
and truthful. At first I was somewhat deceived by the
clear look of sincerity which characterised him, but on
closer acquaintance I observed that whensoever my eyes
met his he quickly dropped his lids as though he feared lest
I might read there something he -wished to conceal. From
a habit of closely scanning the features of witnesses during
cross-examination my eyes have acquired a steady,
searching look, which I am told by those who have been
under fire is not easy to withstand if there be need for
concealment. Palmer was one of those who could not
retum my gaze; he invariably drooped and seemed
uncomfortable. Otherwise he displayed the greatest composure on
every occasion. His manners were courteous, bland and
sympathetic. Yet there was something in their very
L 161

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
smoothness which reminded me of some creeping reptile;
not repulsive, on the contrary attractive, but suggestive of
the gliding, stealthy movements of a snake
He entered the room with a gentle tread, making no
sound, like a man walking over a thick carpet. Gliding
forward he laid in one's grasp a soft small hand which
seemed to slip from the touch so soon as taken
His voice was low and unctuous, almost tender. One
acquainted with him can picture this gentle, quiet man
inviting his victim, in the most soothing, seductive tones,
to drink the fatal draught. One can picture the poor wife,
whom he so fondly and assiduously tended, taking her
food from him, almost conscious of its nature, yet sub
mitting to the deadly meal which was offered in so seduc
tive, so caressing a fashion.
He would aUow no other but his o-wn hand to ad
minister her food, his solicitude appeared to be so great.
She grew weaker and more feeble. As her strength declined
his attentions were redoubled, and she passed from the
world, her dying moments soothed by the hand from
which she had been daily drinking the draught of death.
Four out of the five children who were born to him
died very shortly after their birth from unaccountable fits
of sickness which speedily exhausted them.
Palmer turned to profitable account the lessons he
had received on toxicology at his medical college (he was a
doctor), and seems to have been wonderfuUy successful in
his fatal dosing. Although so many members of his
family died under suspicious circumstances no suspicion
seems to have been aroused until the number of his victims
was considerable, or perhaps until " grown bold by
custom " he took less pains to conceal his guilt.
His wife seems to have had an intuition that some iU
fate attended her offspring, and when the like sickness
162

A Terrible Death
carried off one after another, she resigned herself to the
fact that their death would be speedy, even before their
birth had taken place.

LX
WUliam Palmer cultivated his deadly instincts and the
science of accompHshing them, untU he acquired a perfect
insensibihty to human suffering, and was able, under
pretence of rehe-ving, to further administer the drag
which gave rise to his -victim's insufferable tortures
There is something pecuHarly horrible in the evidence
given concerning the death-bed scene of Cook.
This miserable -wretch was dosed with strychnia untU
his whole frame was cramped and writhing under its
terrible influence. Every muscle of his body was con
vulsed, the contraction of his limbs being such that he
assumed the shape of a bow, resting on head and heels.
His inteUect retained its fuU -vigour so that he was acutely
sensitive to the agony which racked him.
Cook had been his most intimate friend and companion,
yet Palmer could -witness and aggravate these tortures.
His -wife was a woman of kind and affectionate nature,
who had always been gentle and submissive. There had
been no disagreement between them. He treated her aU
through with apparently the tenderest consideration,
apart from the fact that he poisoned her mother, her four
Httle babies, and last of aU her unsuspecting self.
He was present at her death and gave her poison within
an hour of its occurrence. He kUled her in a manner more
merciful than that which he chose for his friend. He
did not subject her to the horrible convulsant action of
strychnia. But it was probably chance, or a fear that
163

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
suspicion might be aroused if aU his -victims died with
similar symptoms, which made Palmer select the various
drags employed. Had he been content -with the poison
by which his brother was removed it is probable no jury
could have found him guUty, as after the time which
elapsed before the bodies were subjected to examination
no trace of it could have been found.
As it was there was difficulty in proving that Cook
had met his death other than by disease, to which the
tetanic symptoms were attributed. The body of Mrs
Palmer was completely saturated -with antimony; there
could have been no doubt after the analytical investigation
as to the manner of her death.
I was present at post-mortem examinations of the three
of his victims whose remains were tested for poison.
There was great public interest excited in the case and I
was anxious to gain as much information as possible by
personal investigation.
Mrs Palmer when exhumed was in a fair state of
preservation, although the corpse had been buried for
more than a year. This was o-wing to the antiseptic
properties of the drug which was found in aU the tissues
of her body. She was very pale and attenuated, but
decay had made but little progress.
Palmer was indicted for the murder of his friend Cook
as this was more difficult to prove. Had they failed to
convict him of this there would not have been the least
trouble in hanging him for the murder of his -wife.

LXI
Cockbum, who was then Attorney-General and prose
cuted for the Crown, got the credit for this arrangement
164

Lord Campbell's Injustice
which gave the prisoner no loop-hole of escape. I have no
doubt that it was his suggestion.
Another proceeding damning to Palmer's chances was
that of bringing the case to London for trial. Had it been
tried by a local jury they would never have convicted. But
by removing it to London so much and such universal
interest was excited that every investigation had to be
made, and the detailed circumstances published in fuU,
laying bare the prisoner's life and character to the scant
mercy of pubHc opinion.
In his o-wn neighbourhood Palmer was such a general
favourite and had so many personal friends and acquaint
ance that no verdict of " GuUty " could have been
obtEuned. The Trial would have attracted Httie notice
and aU would have passed off quietiy.
I have now not the least doubt but that Palmer
committed not only the murder for which he was tried,
but probably the dozen others of which he was suspected,
yet he was hanged on evidence very confficting, especiaUy
in regard to medical witnesses on whose reports the chief
strength of the prosecution rested.
That he had a " fair, impartial Trial " cannot be
maintained. Lord CampbeU had prejudged him and was determined
to con-vict. On the first day of the proceedings he showed
an unfairness which graduaUy increased, untU his con
duct can be justiy described by no other word than in
famous. Not so much in language as by look, tone and
gesture, highly significant and dramatic, did his Lord
ship convey to the Jury his assurance of the prisoner's
guilt. During Shee's speech for the defence everything in
Palmer's favour was met by frowns and by dagger looks
from Campbell, whUe he made a point of writing down fuUy
i6s

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography
everything against, noting scarcely anything to, the
prisoner's advantage.
His proposition of a pleasant country excursion for
the Jury can hardly be looked upon other than unduly to
influence these gentlemen, who are easUy flattered into
coinciding with a Judge when he shows so plainly what
verdict he desires.
Cockbum remarked shortly after the commencement
of the Trial that he could " see Palmer's death in Jack
CampbeU's face." This was the impression conveyed by
the Chief's features to everybody present during his
summing-up, and indeed from the very first day he
assumed an expression of intense hatred toward the guilty
¦wretch. On the last day of the Trial Palmer passed the foUowing
notes to me: "Did not Campbell sum up sufficiently plain
for the jury to say that I am guilty ? All I can say if
they do, they are great liars. — Wm. P." and " If I had a book
I would send it at Campbell's head, for I think he behaves
ill." Of Mr Justice CressweU I cannot speak too highly,
both with respect to the consideration and fairness he
showed to aU and of the quiet dignity of his demeanour.
On several important occasions Ulegal e-vidence would have
been admitted, had it not been for his firm and just
interference. His conduct throughout was most im
partial, fair and honourable.
Amidst the uijustice and bad feehng sho-wn by his
confreres on the Bench he may truly be said to have set
an estimable example of that judicial purity and justice
which we are taught to believe exists in the heart of aU
ministers of the law.

i66

Capital Punishment

LXII
Whether from interest in Palmer's welfare, or after
wards from regret for his fate, there was aroused at that
time a feeling against capital punishment which resulted
in several pubhc meetings as weU as in letters to the Press.
At the meetings it was resolved that " legalised murder "
was against the interests of human nature and the principles
of Christiaiuty, and that it should no longer be permitted
to disgrace the annals of our English history. Yet, despite
these demonstrations which have from time to time
decried the practice, hanging is as much in vogue and
indeed flourishes more -vigorously and with greater
frequency than it has done since it was adopted only as a
penalty for murder.
For my own part I strongly disapprove of this barbarity
and deny the right of man to take away Hfe. The old
Hebrew law, " an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth," was
canceUed by the introduction of the Christian reHgion,
which rules, " That which God hath joined together, let no
man put asunder.
This command, which the priests have Hmited to the
ordinance of marriage, was intended by Christ to apply to
all conditions. There is not one of His marveUous teach
ings which wUl not bear universal appHcation, so infinite
are they in their -wisdom.
There are many arguments in favour of death as a
punishment for murder, but moraHty does not teach us
that we should commit a crime to enforce a -virtue. We are
led to suppose that the end does not justify the means.
Yet in permitting the practice of hanging we exemphfy
this pernicious doctrine. 167

Dr Kenealy's Autobiography

LXIII
This year, 1856, was a very successful one to me as
regards the amount of my business and the proceeds
obtained; but I must confess that the habits of thrift
which my father practised did not descend to his son. It
has been my custom to act upon the idea that I may spend
to-day, to-morrow wiU bring its own cost, a most im
provident notion doubtless, but one engendered by the
indulgence of my youth, when I needed only to ask and
possession was mine.

LXIV
This year was a memorable year because it brought
forth that august idea which has been my one aim since
it flashed into my mind. I aUude to the intention I
conceived of embod5ing my deep theological researches
and rehgious reflections into the small compass of a few
volumes, in order to give to those who might desire it the
beneflt of my long years of study and reflection.
The thought, once developed, gave me no leisure for
more trivial considerations, but urged me ever onward to
my goal.
It was always present with me; at home or abroad, day
or night, it was the theme on which my mind was constantly
working. Every beauty of Nature, every act of man
represented to me some attribute or power of the Almighty,
manifesting itself to the soul if only we would probe its
meaning. The beauties of Christianity have been either by de
sign or by ignorange (doubtless from both causes) so
perverted in application and hampered in expression
168

The Conversion of England
that the teachings have been brought do-wn to be a con
sideration of the letter rather than of the spirit, which
reveals a splendid and universal system of religion.
[Among other interesting and notable cases in which
my Father was engaged and acquitted himself with dis
tinction was a famous action for libel against the Liverpool
Herald, a case which gave rise at the time to much contro
versy and partisan feeling. The event took place in 1856,
the libel being a charge against an EngHsh Government
official of traitorously attaching himself to the Roman
Catholic Association for the Conversion of England, an
organisation sanctioned by Pope Pius IX. Dr Kenealy
was retained for the defence. An odd point in law arose
in the course of the proceedings, when Dr Kenealy was not
aUowed by the Court to cite the New Testament -without
ha-ving first put in the book as e-vidence.
The Plaintiff's defence was that his wife had, more or
less unkno-wn to him, made him a member of the Associa
tion. The Editor was found guilty of having described
him in capital letters as a " Rebel " and " Traitor," and
the Official was awarded forty-five pounds damages.
In 1864 Dr Kenealy acted as junior for the defence
in the Chetwynd Divorce Case. Mr Hawkins, Q.C., was
leader, but he being otherwise extremely occupied, the
working up of the case feU to his junior. The Trial lasted
for ten days and excited much attention, as it was one of
the first important decisions under the then new Divorce
Law. Mrs Chetw5md, the Petitioner, was a very hand
some person and set the fashion of appearing in Court,
dressed, so to speak, for her role. Her diary was put in
e-vidence and her memoranda of the fervid emotions she
entertained for her lover, Mr Matthew, were regarded by
a section of the pubHc and of the Press as being highly
indelicate and hysterical. 169

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
She won over the Judge, Sir James Wilde, however,
and he granted her petition for divorce on the ground that
her husband's cruelty and drunkenness had contributed
to her infidelity, a verdict from which a great number of
persons dissented.
At the end of 1867 Dr Kenealy was retained to defend
Colonel Burke and Casey upon charges of Fenianism. He
had been prepared to use aU his energies, as was his custom,
for his clients, but in consequence of the attempt by their
adherents to effect their release by blo-wing up the entrance
to Clerkenwell Prison — in which attempt twelve persons
were kiUed and 120 were injured — Dr Kenealy declined
to act further for the prisoners. And at Bow Street on
14th December, the foUo-wing moming, he vrithdrew
from the defence in the following terms : —

Dr KENEALY'S SPEECH IN THE BURKE CASE
I cannot any longer act for Mr Burke or for his companion.
When I was originally solicited by a deputation of their friends
and relatives to give them my assistance as an advocate, I
consented to do so as a matter of duty
I felt that no member of the Bar, no man of honour, is
entitled to refuse his professional services to accused persons
who have sought those services. If he do so he pre-judges
them, and if he stand aloof, because he feels that he himself
may become the object of misrepresentation, he sacrifices his
independence in a way which I think no gentleman would Hke
to emulate. In these circumstances I attended on behalf of
these persons and gave to the case my solicitude and attention.
Nor would I have felt myself released until a jury had pro
nounced a verdict of guilt or of innocence. But the dreadful
proceedings of yesterday have to my mind so changed the
aspect of this case that I cannot any longer act in it. When a
Counsel is called upon by the friends and advisers of prisoners
it is supposed that henceforward the law alone must ultimately
170

The Burke Case
decide the issue; the appeal is no longer to brute-force, and it
is understood that all resort to it is definitely abandoned.
Upon this understanding, and upon this alone, Counsel, who are
merely ministers acting in the interests of justice, hold their
retainers, and they cannot, even by their presence, appear to
sanction proceedings of a lawless nature. Yet of what nature
were the proceedings which yesterday shocked the metropoHs,
and which to-day, flashed from East to West, wiU shock
Europe? A crime of the most dreadful kind has been com
mitted — not, indeed, by the prisoners, but by their avowed
friends and partisans. Upon the prisoners themselves I make
no imputation, and seek to cast no suspicion, but I cannot
disguise from myself that their proclaimed friends, in reality
their most deadly enemies, have perpetrated on their behalf
an unexampled outrage. For aught I know some of the very
persons who retained my solicitor, and through him engaged
m57self as Counsel, may be implicated in these proceedings.
Under these circumstances, therefore, my compact -with
them is at an end, the understanding with which I went into
the case has been abandoned, but abandoned by them. They
cannot in one moment invoke the imperial, the impartial
majesty of the Law, and in the next moment seek to annihilate
that Law, by aiming a deadly blow at the very primal elements
of civUised society.
The Home Secretary, who has shewn the greatest possible
fairness to the prisoners in this case, even promised to give
copies of certain documents which might have been useful to the
prisoners in their defence, and which he was in no way bound
to give. The Prosecution has been conducted hitherto -with
the most perfect moderation on the part of those who represent
the Crown, and without anything which in the least savours of
severity. I consider, therefore, that aU connected with them
were bound to abstain from any Ulegal course, and I desire to
say that I can no longer appear as Counsel for the prisoners.
Sic libere, liberavi animam meam.
It transpired later that for some hours previous to the
attempted demoHtion of the prison the prisoners had
sho-wn s3rmptoms of agitation and excitement, a fact
171

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
which supported the opinion that they were aware of the
projected explosion.
Dr Kenealy's action in throwing up his brief, and in so
avowing his dissent from this atrocious outrage, was very
generaUy applauded.
In 1869 he was retained as leading Counsel in the
famous Overend-Gumey Case, the huge Bank faUure
which brought ruin to thousands.
Ever an eloquent and impassioned speaker, and one
Hghtning quick to see a weak point in his adversary's and a
strong point in his own case, he now made rapid headway in
his profession. He became soon so weU kno-wn outside legal
circles that sometimes in taking a case to their lawyers
both Plaintiff and Defendant woiUd demand that he should
be retained on their sides. Forlorn hopes flocked to him.
" If anybody can get us off," was said, " Kenealy wUl."
During many of these years of which I write my
Father occupied, when in town, his classic chambers in
Goldsmith BuUding, The Temple, overlooking the
venerable Church of the Knights Templar and the tomb
of OHver Goldsmith, whUe my Mother, -with her chUdren,
lived for the most part at the seaside -village of Portslade,
a few mUes from Brighton.
My Father aU his Hfe passionately loved the sea, in aU
its many moods and tenses, although, unfortunately, in
none of these did it suit his health. His custom was to
escape from town at the end of the week or whensoever his
work permitted him to do so, and to spend it -with his wife
and young faimly in this quiet retreat. It was here that
the greater portion of his theological -writings were done.
Seated in a large bay window, with a fine sweep of
ocean and of saUuig ships before him, he would remain
absorbed for hours, his face serene and happy, the sunshine
lighting his fine brows and luminous eyes. The forehead
172

A Sad Error
was remarkable. I have seen no man in whom was
equalled the impression of massive intellectual power
conveyed by that smooth, broad and solid frontal develop
ment. The conformation of the whole head indeed was
noble in its suggestion of moral and of spiritual quality.
The eyes were fuU and dark and luminous, yet behind their
almost phosphorescent brilliance was a gaze steady, and
keen and penetrating, a gaze many persons found it
difficult to withstand. The nose was strong and promin
ent, perhaps combative. The Hps were rather thin and
flexUe, charged with expression, and when need arose
expressed a biting, subtle irony which had tones in the
voice to match it. For the rest he was not, I suppose, a
handsome man, although his look of energy and of power
of -wUl and brain made him ever a man to be remarked.
He committed the common error of supposing that
prolonged muscular exertion would recruit the nerve-
exhaustion resulting from his mental labours. To this
end he uidulged all his Hfe in lengthy and fatiguing walks,
which proved unfortunately merely another although a
different source of nerve-expenditure. And he accord
ingly suffered. He was subject to violent and racking
headaches of days' duration. And later the strain he had
aU his Hfe put upon himself, the strain of a strenuous will
and brain -within a never strong physique, and of an un
remitting heart-whole devotion to aU duties, developed
diabetes, the grave disease from which in a chronic form
he suffered during the last fifteen years of his Hfe, and of
which he eventuaUy died. As is weU kno-wn one of the
most grievous of diabetic symptoms is a supreme and
harassing mental irritability, and some of those im
patiences for which he was blamed during his terrible
labours and provocations in the Tichbome Trial were the
outcome of this distressing factor.
173

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
In 1868 he contested unsuccessfuUy, upon independent
andjadvanced principles of Reform, the Parliamentary
seat of Wednesbury.
In February of the same year he " took silk," exchang
ing the stuff go-wn of the barrister for the silk gown of the
Queen's Counsel.
His way now to advancement and success, and as
all the Bar predicted, to a Judgeship — even to the Chief
Justiceship — seemed to be assured.
It was singular, seeing that he had been bred a
CathoHc, and had for many years been a devoted adherent
of that faith, that my Father should have been called
upon so frequently during his later professional career
to conduct cases which, in some or another manner,
arraigned the methods of that great and powerful Church.
This fataHty culminated in his defence of the Tichborne
Claimant, against the successful issue of whose claim the
powers of Rome were strenuously arrayed
In his defence of the editor of The Liverpool Herald,
a defence which even Mr Serjeant WUkins, who was
counsel for the other side, united with others in eulogising
for its talent and eloquence, Dr Kenealy deprecated aU
attempt to make the question before the Court a con
troversial one. The case was tried at Nisi Prius before Mr
Justice Willes in March 1856. The jury, swayed by a
very partial charge on the part of the Judge, awarded to
the plaintiff for the aUeged libel the sum of forty-five
pounds damages with costs. In the foUo-wing month
Dr Kenealy appealed from this decision before the Court
of Exchequer, there being present Lord Chief Baron
Pollock and Barons Alderson and BramweU. Upon four
separate counts he moved for a new trial. First, the
improper rejection of evidence by the Judge; secondly,
the improper interference of the Judge with the speech of
174

The Wood Green Murderer
the Counsel for the Defendant ; thirdly, misdirection upon
points of law; and fourthly, for the partial influence
exercised by the Judge upon the jury.
Dr Kenealy addressed the Court for three hours, his
most able representation being listened to with the pro-
foundest interest and attention. Nevertheless the Appeal
was rejected in -violation of both law and of justice, it being
felt (so said the authorised report) " that if a new Trial
were granted in this case by the fuU Court it would so
damage the judicial reputation of Mr Justice WiUes that
he would have to resign his seat on the Bench.
In another famous case in which he was engaged. Baron
Martin, the Judge who tried it, pronounced from the
Bench that Dr Kenealy's defence of the murderer of Dr
Baggot was the most powerful defence of a prisoner that
he had ever heard.
In June 1866 he was prominent in the weU-kno-wn case
of O'Donovan v. Flood and Wife, and in 1869 was Counsel
for Frederick Hinson, hero of the so-caUed Wood Green
Murders, his junior being Mr Warner Sleigh.
Hinson was a respectable and industrious artisan of
thirty, who had been Hving for some years with a young
woman, Maria Death. There were several chUdren of the
union, and he was devotedly attached to her, treating her
always with undeviating kindness. Meeting her one day,
however, at a railway station in the company of a dissolute
married man, Boyd, and a couple of wandering musicians,
he learned from her, to his amazement, that she had been
unfaithful to him and that, moreover, she was about'to
desert him for her new-found lover. In a frenzy of despair
he immediately shot her, and shortly afterwards, mad with
jealousy and grief, shot Boyd, her lover.
Dr Kenealy made, on behalf of the unhappy prisoner,
an impassioned address to the jury. The Times in a lead-
175

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
ing article drew attention to its eloquence and forensic
ability, which was said to have been seldom equalled if
ever surpassed. On the recommendation, however, of
the Judge, Mr Justice Byles, and notwithstanding strenu
ous efforts subsequently made to commute the death
sentence, on the grounds of extreme provocation and of
the prisoner's frenzied mood at the time he committed the
murders, Hinson suffered capital punishment.
In the celebrated criminal trial, " The Queen v.
Gumey and others," Dr Kenealy was leading Counsel for
the Prosecution. The case came on for hearing in the
Court of Queen's Bench, sitting at the GuildhaU, on
December 13th 1869, before Lord Chief Justice Cockbum
and a special jury. The indictment charged the De
fendants vrith a conspiracy to secure shareholders in a
certain Company by publishing and circulating a fictitious
prospectus, as a result of which the pubhc losses amounted
to about £4,000,000.
Feeling ran high upon the subject, and it was amid a
silence, almost breathless, that my Father opened the
case for the Prosecution. The sole paraUel with the
charge, he said, which occurred to him was that of the
South Sea Bubble, which had been the wonder and the
disgrace of the eighteenth century. In a briUiant and
vigorous oration he appealed to the jury to discard aU
false sentiment and sympathy with the men upon trial, and
urged them to support to the utmost the commercial in
tegrity and honour of the country. Should the evidence
satisfy them that the Defendants had been guUty of fraud,
and had conspired to deceive and to deprive others, then
he trusted that the jury would not protect them against
their weU-merited punishment, but would permit them to
suffer the due penalties of their offence.
As is known, the case ended abortively, no punishment
176

The Bidwell Forgeries
ha-ving been inflicted upon the offenders, notvnthstanding
that the transactions in which they had been involved had
resulted in enormous monetarylosses, had wrecked numbers
of homes and had shaken to its very foundations the public
faith in the honesty of London's commercial magnates.
Lord Chelmsford, then Lord Chancellor, it was who
appointed my Father one of her Majesty's Counsel,
and he it was who, later, ad-vised the friends of The
Claimant to secure Dr Kenealy for his defence. " He is
the one man at the Bar," he told them, " who wiU be able
to do anything with the Case." In the interval, however,
between taking silk and that disastrous hour in which
he consented to defend the Tichbome Claimant — from the
close of the year 1869, that is, until April 1873 — Dr
Kenealy had a very large and lucrative practice in tiie
superior Common Law Courts, appearing frequently, too,
upon the criminal side. He was, during this time. Leader
of the Oxford Circuit and a Bencher of Gray's Inn.
Perhaps the most notable criminal case in which he was,
during this period, engaged was in the defence of Ed-win
Noyes, an American impHcated with the Bidwe^ Brothers
in obtaining a sum of over £100,000 by means of forged
biUs of exchange.
This was one of the earHest evidences of the huge
dimensions in their financial operations — nefarious or
legitimate — in which our Transatiantic cousins so delight.
There was, from the first, no shadow of doubt as to the
guUt of Noyes and of his confederates, and their condemna
tion to a Hfe-sentence concluded the proceedings.
In the year 1861 occurred an example of that un
toward luck which my Father regarded as his attendant
shadow throughout life, and which he accepted for the
most part with phUosophic resignation.
As a result of his prolonged researches in OrientaHsm,
L* 177

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
and of his keen absorption in the theosophies and wisdoms
of the East, the East caUed to him vrith an ever-insistent
cry. He desired beyond all things to visit India. The
Chief Justiceship of Madras, having fallen vacant, seemed
to him to present a unique opportunity. The position,
should he succeed in securing it, while giving scope to his
legal abihties and experience, would at the same time
transport him to that land of magical and mystical at
traction, the cradle of all Sacred Knowledges, source of all
Light, the stage of those Religious Mysteries and Rites
and Symbols which were to him luminous vestiges of man's
spiritual progress. He made formal application for the
post. Chancing, at this date, to be lunching with DisraeH, he
told him of his hopes.
Disraeli, ever his good friend, at once repHed, " You
shaU certainly have the position if you wish for it, although,
for my part, I think in taking it you would be throwing
away your career and talents. I wiU myself see Lyndhurst
this afternoon and ask him to get it for you." (Lord
L37ndhurst had then retired from the Lord ChanceUorship,
but a word from him would have been aU-sufficient to
secure the post for his nominee.)
The foUo-wing morning a note from Disraeli conveyed
the news that he had, as he had promised, caUed upon Lord
Lyndhurst, but that the latter, being confined by Ulness
to bed, had begged him to caU again in a few days.
In the course of a few days Disraeli again caUed, only
to learn that the old man had just expired.
The Chief Justiceship fell to some other, while my
Father was left to deplore one of the bitterest disappoint
ments of his professional life. And he died with the
haunting, mysterious caU of the East unfulfiUed. He
died without having seen India.]
178

CHAPTER IX
Memoranda from Diaries, 184S to 1859: — A Dramatic Duel — Dinner at
Cockbum's — Lord C  cheats at Cards — Reflection on Men and
Books — Legal Anecdotes— Children's Sayings — Marri^e of Princess Royal
— Letter to Disraeli — The Price of a ^Yife.
The Autobiography having now run out, the life-story
is continued by Extracts from Diaries: —
March 17, 1848. — Stafford Assizes. This evening I met
a Dr Chevasse of Smethwick, who gave me a strange
account of his adventures in India and California. He
was a stout-bmlt, broad-faced man, with a nose like an
eagle's beak, and strange dead-looking eyes of intense
earnestness. His descent was French, his ancestor ha-ving
been one of the refugees. Nor had he lost the fire of
his nation, although the colder temperament of England
had subdued his -vigour within bounds.
When he began his story a strange, wUd expression
of ferocity took possession of his features, and as he
detailed it I rejoiced that I was within haU of assistance,
for his passion and excitement seemed almost that of a
madman. One of his adventures was in this form : —
" When I was in Cahfomia I was one day standing in
a large circle of various characters round a fire in a log
hut, when a taU, horrible-looking Yankee came in. He
was upwards of six feet high, broad and massive, and his
features were dark, lank and cruel in the extreme. He
strode in Hke a giant and we aU seemed to shrink into
dwarfs before him.
" ' I am told,' sa.y% he, ' there's an EngHsh doctor
about here. I should Hke to see him.'
179

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
" AU present pointed to me. I stood forward. The
moment I did so the feUow spat in my face and said,
'Take that.' I thought at first it was an accident (for
those Yankees spit about in all directions), and I have
had my coat covered -with saliva in a public room without
the least observation or apology from the men who
squirted it.
" I asked him to apologise, but instead of doing so he
again spat a large globule of tobacco into my face, and
striding up to me stamped on a bunion which I had on
my foot, putting me to excruciating agony.
" I was no match for him in strength or size, but nerved
with force beyond what I ever felt before, I sprang at him
and knocked him do-wn. He rose -with an oath, and puUing
out his bo-wie-knife said, ' I guess I'll soon drive this
through your English liver.'
" He was about to rash at me when the assembly
interfered, declaring that as I had knocked him do-wn the
affair could now be settled by no way but by a duel.
My antagonist at once said he was ready, and pointing to
a place in my forehead said, ' A hundred dollars to ten
I put a buUet through him there.' He immediately
pulled out a revolver and flinging up some cents in the
air fired at each while it whirled and struck it -with a
bullet. " I could hear the clink of the ball as it struck each
coin. After this I thought a duel was scarcely a fair
way for me to meet this horrible antagonist, who had,
by-the-bye, already kiUed fourteen men in combat. I
therefore said: —
" ' Gentlemen, I have never fired a shot in my life,
except perhaps at a rabbit. I am no marksman, and we
shall not meet on equal terms, but I wUl fight him foot to
foot if we stand within grasp of each other and both fire
1 80

A Terrible Encounter
at the same instant, or will decide the battle in any other
fair way the majority of you -will suggest.' "
" My Yjinkee was all this time striding and swearing
furiously, he seemed like a -wild beast robbed of its prey.
He panted, he raged, he lashed himself into madness.
" The company deliberated, and it was at length agreed
we should fight in the cave. This was a long dark under
ground pit or cavern, situated in a gloomy hollow of the
mountains, about half a mile in length and as dark as
midnight. It had been the scene of many a deadly duel,
and it was now selected for this of mine.
" We were both stripped naked, ha-ving nothing on
except our smaU clothes. We were armed with revolvers;
the Yankee had his bowie-knife, which was about ten
inches long; I had my dagger, which was about eight.
We were first to exhaust all our shots and then to have
recourse to knives.
" For fifteen minutes there was a dead silence. We
watched for each other's tread and Hstened to each other's
breathing. At the end of that time I suppose he got
tired, and he fired at random; the moment he did so I also
fired, in the direction of the blaze, but scarcely had I
pulled my trigger when I felt a buUet skim along the upper
surface of my head, clearing away a quantity of hair and
lea-ving a scar across my scalp which I shall bear to my
dying day.
" I recoUect no more distinctly now. I oiUy know
that -within ten minutes more we had exhausted our
pistols. I then drew my dagger and walked about on tip
toe scarcely daring to breathe, making the most deadly
plunges at random in the air.
" At length I thought I was near my Yankee. I smelt
him out and felt the seethe of his tobacco. My senses
were pretematurally keen, for I knew that either must
M i8i

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
taU in this duel. I got near to him — led, as I said,
by the smeU. I was like a -wild beast, not a human
being." The features of the narrator swelled, his eyes
gHstened, he trembled like a man in ague. The contor
tions he underwent were most painful to see and made
me shudder.
" I made plunge after plunge with aU my strength.
I thought my arm had the power of a dozen men. At last
I was positive he must be close by. I raised my dagger,
and making one plunge I felt it go into his heart. He feU
dead at my feet -without even a groan."
This awful narration quite sickened me. I went to bed
blessing my stars that I had never sought gold in Cah
fomia. January 12th. — Dined at Cockbum's. Played whist.
Lost £1, i6s. I saw Lord C  sHp his cards several
times, but I did not think it worth whUe to make a row.
I did not before know that men did these things for
smaU sums at private tables. The thing was quite
ob-vious. ^ist. — Read Hyperion, by Longfellow, the American,
a cento of other people's best thoughts skUfuUy put
together. There is something dishonest in book-making
of this quality. His reading is extensive. He has used
bad means to a good end, for the book is an exceUent
one. February 2nd. — Home all day. In the evening
Handel's Oratorio of Samson at Exeter HaU. Heard
Braham, the remnant of a very fine singer. Got tired and
left. Read Luther's German Bible. O wondrous man!
182

.a^ -;

*?

«^:

WILLIAM NICKLIN, MRS. KENEALY'S FATHER
{From a Pencil Sketch by Miss Wilkes, daughter of the Patriot)

Crossness of Swift
and not less wondrous than grand and beneficent, an Alp
in Majesty, a Garden of Delight in blessing the earth.
With him came Freedom. He broke and for ever the iron
bondage under which the West groaned. And the West,
the East, the North and the South must for ever bless
him. 4th. — Dined at Cockbum's. What are these dinners?
Dulness itself. We meet, we eat, we drink, we talk trifles.
No man becomes wiser, or better, or happier, and we go
away saying we have passed a pleasant evening, thus
consuming life in utter foolishness.
'^th. — Home aU day. Read Humboldt's Cosmos.
This book has been praised by aU the savants — as the
scientifics delight to hear themselves called — but to me it
seems sadly overrated. However, I suppose that they are
right and I am -wrong. So I shall replace it on my book
shelf with all due reverence until I grow -wiser and better
able to appreciate it than I am now. Will that day come ?
I heard to-day of one of those stupid rich men in the
country, who imagine themselves smaU gods and are
almost worshipped as such in their o-wn localities. A
friend went to Paris where the other had never been.
When he heard of it he said, " What does he want in Paris ?
This place (home) is enough for me." And he would not
speak to him for three months.
21st. — Out walking and paying visits. Looked into
Swift. His CeHas and Chloes and Strephons, etc., are
very disgusting pictures of human nature, and I have
often wondered why he left such horrible portraits to
posterity. The thought struck me to-day that they were
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Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
suggested as an antidote to the filthy scenes which
Rochester portrays of men and women, and which are, in
fact, just as loathsome to an honest mind as are the gross
indehcacies which Swift describes. A youth fresh from
Rochester would do well to study Swift.
What crotchet had got into Voltaire's head when he
praised Cicero beyond aU other Romans — Cicero, who
seems to have been born (like Bacon) only to demonstrate
the meanness which may co-exist with great abilities
successfully cultivated.
As Sterne imbued the whole prose inteUect of Burns
essentially, so did Voltaire imbue poor Byron. So that
when we read any of the latter's notions about God,
theology, the soul, etc., we can almost lay hands on the
page of his master from which they were taken.
March 2yd. — Home all day, reading Mirabeau. This
man was immensely sagacious yet there was a -wUd vein
of madness in aU he did. Every man may be called mad
to some extent who aUows his passions to get the better
of his reason. And this Mirabeau did. Compare him
-with Franklin — a statesman also of a high class of sagaci-
ousness — a happier man. Yet who would not rather
have had the glorious sensations of Mirabeau dying at
forty than the plodding, comfortable feeling which no
doubt warmed B. F.?
2%lh. — A soiree in Portland Place to which I was
invited. A very tiresome affair. Met Cruikshank there.
Calder Campbell, the sonneteer, was also there. Rosen
berg made fun and foolery of him all the while, tiU at
length it grew so transparent that even poor Calder saw
through it and sneaked off -with his crest down.
184

A Noble Englishwoman
May 2ist. — " I have said some things in my sleep
which I should have some difficulty to say when I was
awake," said Voltaire. " I have had thoughts and reflec
tions in spite of myself and without the least voluntary
operation on my own part, which nevertheless combined my
ideas with sagacity and even with genius. What am I
therefore if not a machine ? " Can anything be more
pitiable? And who after this can say he was not a
materialist? Yet many say so.
When Caesar told the Roman Senate in his famous
speech for Cataline that death left man without feeling,
that all died with him, and no one rose to contradict or
refute him, he must have felt that he was addressing a
degraded crew, fit only to be his slaves.
2^th. — When the spirit of materialism wholly pervades
a nation it is near its death. So it was with Rome when
Caesar so spoke. So it is beginning to be with England.
When I am in low spirits I read Mrs Judson's Life, and
particularly that portion of it in which she describes her
husband's imprisonment when the English army was in
possession of Rangoon and about to attack Ava itself.
She had the spirit of an Englishwoman. Greater praise
than this cannot be bestowed. Mrs Judson dies, as yet
in the prime of life, animated by the noblest views.
Lord CampbeU lives, infiuenced only by the basest.
Eheu! June yd. — To Highgate early. I had a pleasant walk,
and fed my fancy on the clouds which were castles, and
abbeys, and mammoths, and I know not what grotesque
splendours. A man might write a romance of the skies,
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Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
particularly the sunset ones, so fuU of airy" and poetic
wonders are they.
Lord Kames, in conversation with his gardener one
day, said, " George, the time -wiU come when a man shaU
be able to carry the manure for an acre of land in one of his
waistcoat pockets." To which the gardener replied, " I
beheve it, my lord. But he will be able to carry the crop
in the other."
%th. — Home aU day reading Rabelais. I suppose he
is very fine, and that everybody who says he is a man of
genius — one of the Dante or Homeric type — is right.
Coleridge, I think, says something to that effect and talks
of his " creative mind." And he is a great authority on
literary and critical matters. But I must say I do not see
the " creativeness." There is human talent and an awful
amount of blackguardism, which some persons think is a
certain indication of genius. (Byron did.) But after all
that is aU, and I should very much doubt whether any man
ever read Rabelais three times.
i$th. — In Court. Returned and read Bunyan's
Pilgrim's Progress. It is not an aUegory or a fiction.
Why may it not actually represent the pilgrimage of the
spirit after it has passed from life and is on its way to the
Holy Land? The ethereal path is doubtless as beset -with
temptations as this earth is. Viewed in this light this epic
derives a new and increased interest.
20th. — Home all day reading the Queen's Trial.
Looked into Keightley's Mythology. He is a stupid old fool.
Did not the foUo-wing passage suggest to him the utterly
Pagan character of the Christian mediation by death?
1 86

Tim Flanagan

"It is not unlikely that the myth of Athamas took its
rise from the sin-offering, a real or symbolic human
sacrifice which prevailed in various parts of Greece, and
of which this was the most subHme form, as it represented
not criminals as elsewhere, but the noblest members of
society, the descendants of Zeus himself, expiating by
their Hves for the sin not of themselves, but of the people."
—335- July 6th. — Read Newton on the Prophecies. Can
anything be more dishonest than the following? " Read,"
he says, " the i8th and 20th chapters of Leviticus, and you
-will find that unla-wful marriages and unlawful lusts,
witchcrafts, adultery, incest, sodomy, and the like mon
strous enormities were frequent and common among them
(the Canaanites)." But it is among " the chosen people
of God " that they were common. There is no real proof
against the others.
Read the first book of Apothanius the Rhodian. Virgil
and MUton have borrowed largely from this writer, and as
nobody reads him, of course they have done so with
impunity. " The Argonautics " is a very good poem.
18th. — StUl reading Suetonius's XII Ccesars. A pretty
lot, indeed ! Wrote some poetry. Ah me ! I shaU never
again, I suppose, feel as I once felt — when every thought
was poetry, and I lived in a perpetual Terapfe. How time
changes us into clods !
May i8th 1849. — Charles Phillips tells a story of Tim
Flanagan, who was always ready to make up any deficiency
in e-vidence. The attorney's brief always ended with,
" N.B. — My clerk, Tim Flanagan, will prove anything else
required." 187

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
January 1854.
" The Spirit of God came unto me.
She whispered peace into my heart,
She said confide not in thy knowledge
Nor in the lore which books teach.
But unto the Supreme One open thou thine heart.
He wUl teach and He wiU guide thee.
Not as men teach, nor as their books guide
But as wisdom only can inform."
Many of the writings of Ovid are a revelation — but
disguised — of the Sacred Mysteries and the Secret Books,
and it was for this crime he was banished.
What an utterly narrow mind and little soul Milton
had. AU his pretended great leaming was but reading —
not true knowledge. He and Johnson were akin. But
who cares for Johnson now?
August. — The Prince of Wales' nurse, Brough, who
murdered her six children, has been found insane.
Walking in Worcester Cathedral I saw the tomb of my
ancestor. King John, whose bones are here, whose soul is —
nowhere. I felt not a Httle when I reflected that from the
ashes in that charnel house I had myself sprung. The
Cathedral is a fine relique worthy of those noble old
primitive Papists. I asked the Sexton why they bmlt
none such now. He said because they could get no one
to endow them.
November (Congleton). — Rain and misery here! But
there is news of a victory won by the EngHsh troops
in which many thousands of Russians were kiUed or
wounded. Read Adam's Religious World. Falsehood with
reference to Paganism seems characteristic of aU writers

Disraeli as Orangeman
who regard themselves as Christians. After that read
Cicero's De Natura Deorum, where the arguments against
Providence are the most siUy and sophistical that can be
imagined. Cicero was a poor philosopher, Plato a mass
of fine words for the most part, except in the Phcedo and
Timceus. December. — Read Lady Guion's Life. I think she had
a pure and elevated spirit, but clearly disordered. The
revelations which she gives of convent life are like my
poor sister's experiences. And Madame Guion is like my
sister in her enthusiastic mystic piety.
December. — Wrote to Disraeli remonstrating -with him
in that he seems to be turning Orangeman — and entreat
ing him to alter his course.
December. — This year is now ended. What shaU I say
of it? I have passed through a martyrdom of physical
suffering. I seek to drown the pangs by reading, musing,
-writing. But for these I should succumb.
I have tried exercise ; it fails. Every kind of medicine,
all are inefficacious. Nor would I persist, but that it is
my duty to act my part as heroicaUy as I can while here.
Vale. January 1855 (Portslade). — The number of men who
disbeheve not only in God, but in a future for Man, is, I
fear, very great. I am sometimes awe-stricken' when I
meet such.
I wish that Gibbon, instead of his Roman History,
had written that of India, Persia or Arabia.
Walked twice to the sea-shore — a majestic scene
which I never tire of contemplating -with awe and
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Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
sublimity of feeling. I find it more impressive than a
Cathedral. Read MUman's Life of Tasso, a grave wordy work in
two volumes, which would do pretty weU for a young lady
if cut down to one fourth of its present dimensions. Tasso
should have written his o-wn life. Every man of inteUect
should. What volumes of beauty and instruction would
not such works be? Biographs beyond aU other transient
subjects delight me.
2gth. — Read a good deal of Cicero's De Republica,
more remarkable for vigorous thoughts than for
philosophy. February. — I have been for long endeavouring to find
out what is Nemesis, that mighty power which interposes
and blights the fondest projects of some men. It is surely
more than Chance.
There is a strong feeling even in the upper classes
against our old Queen in backing up Aberdeen and his
Peace Policy.
March 2)^th. — Stoke County Court tUl 12, when I
walked to Wulfercester's Castle beyond Tittenser, buUt
by an old Pagan ancestor of mine, Wulfercester, King of
Mercia, in the seventh century. I inspected the ruins
with interest. Dined and remained -within aU the evening,
rain falling heavily, amid the usual misery of an inn.
April (Portslade). — Read the elder Disraeli's Curi
osities of Literature, an amusing misceUany by an in
elegant writer.
Walked on the sea-shore. I know no sight of regal
splendour equal to the lonely ocean, the echoing beach,
the sUver skies and the presence of Nature.
190

Og, King of Bashan
Looked again over Goethe's Autobiography. He does
not give one the idea of honesty.
Finished Lorenzo Benoni, an interesting clean book
which pleased me. His love adventures were cold and
tame enough, and I cannot forgive LiUa for loving a man
with big red hands.
April. — Got to London at two. The Town seems to be
in possession of the French. Tricolour flags waving
ever5^where and nothing talked of but Louis Napoleon
and his Empress. Everyone is in love -with her elegance
and prettiness.
Bought some old China plates.
May. — Lounged on the sea-shore. In the Vedas there
is the foUo-wing sentiment : " Thus much know aU men and
spirits, that they know -not." This is the original of the
Socratic speech. Plato and aU that school knew Oriental
theology weU.
I am dehghted -with those Je-wish Rabbins who teU us
that Og, King of Bashan, was i8o feet high, and when the
bed of that monarch, mentioned by Moses, is cited against
them (being only nine cubits), say that it was not his
bed, but only his cradle that the Hebrew Legislator
meant. July 2nd. — This day I complete my thirty-sixth year.
My Hfe is one long ordeal of physical suffering.
In Court — a day lost from my books.
^oth. — StUl by the sea. I was here this moming
at half-past five, and sang the old CathoHc Hymn,
" Venite Adoremus," until I grew again half a Papist.
What magic in this majestic strain !
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Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
September. — Still by the sea. I can understand
why Demosthenes harangued on the sea-shore and
imagined in the roUing billows the angry democracy of
Athens. Until there is a high standard of private moraHty
demanded in public men it is not possible that the country
can be well governed. Who can expect from Palmerston
any of the -virtues which make a great statesman? AU
Lady Cowper's famUy are said to have been his and now
she is his wife — so the World wags.
November. — Lichfield County Court. I was pleased
with this City and -with the courtesy of aU I met, high and
low, rich and poor. Johnson's statue is that of a country
bumpkin, but the Cathedral impresses one with a grand
awe. I only regretted I had not leisure or light to examine
its glorious reliques as they deserved
The Emperor of the French has given our Princess
Royal a fan which belonged to Marie Antoinette — a fatal
and Medean gift as it seems to me, though whether so
given and intended by that mischievous little body,
L. N., I cannot say. For my o-wn part I would rather
be the bestower than the recipient of such a present,
although I should not like to be either.
December. — I am told the Duke of WelHngton carried
a pebble in his mouth which he moved about to promote
saliva and thus to strengthen his digestive powers.
People wondered why he moved his jaws so much.
The cold is arctic, cutting like a Damascus blade.
Capital weather for Sam Rogers' journey to his old
master Satan. There is a mawkish eulogy of Sam in
to-day's Times in which his moraHty is praised. His
conversation was most unclean. 192

A Medean Gift
" AU that women and that men do,
Glides forth in an innuendo,"
says Byron, who knew him well.
(Wolverhampton). — Read Doddridge's Rise and Pro
gress — a -wretched scribble, but famous among men of
dissent as all little things are. What poor ideas, petty
stuff! Yet thousands cHng to, and are led by it.
Gave an hour to Aristotle's Ethics — subtle, ingenious,
but useless to an enlarged inteUect. Finished with
Ossian, which pleased but depressed me.
December. — Stafford Assizes. In the evening read the
Life of Mrs Judson. What a heroine, what a noble speci
men of womanhood!
Christmas. — Within aU day. Read the Life of Pytha
goras, one of the Apostles of God to man. How beautiful
his wisdom and purity. Now that my health is getting
better I shall recommence my labours. Heaven grant
I may complete them!
December 315^. — This is the last day of the year and the
retrospect is more happy than last year's. But though
physically better I feel that spiritually I have not ad
vanced as I should. I must go back to London even
though I die over my Hterary work. I am lost away from
the Museum and those matchless tomes of wisdom and
Oriental lore which form my delighted study.
January 2'^rd 1856. — The scenes of perjury, robbery
and falsehood which I see in these Courts absolutely
appal me. We seem to be as bad as was Rome in its
worst days.
The Coroner's Jury have found a third verdict of
193

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
murder against Palmer, and I have no doubt whatsoever
of his guilt.
A pleasant journey to London, pleasant day and
pleasant thoughts. Quite pleased to find myself away
from the odious County Courts. Visited my book-shops.
Thank God I am beginning to feel some pleasure in
existence. Attended a Mormon preaching. The ignorant blas
phemy of these poor creatures is. appalling. My blood
ran icy as I listened to their foUy.
January. — Newcastle Sessions. Spent the day reading
a cheap print caUed The Reasoner. I had no idea there
were such maniacs who hold that there is no God.
Women too! What sort of Sirens they can be I cannot
guess, nor do I think any atheist even would like to make
one the mother of his children.
These men wiU outgrow their foolishness. Who, indeed,
ever died a professing atheist? I believe no man yet.
Stafford C. C. At Rugeley, attended inquest on Mrs
Palmer, supposed to have been poisoned by her husband.
I am engaged for the defence at the Assizes. So I must
make myself fully acquainted -with aU the facts. To-day's
proceedings prove nothing.
February. — At the British Museum at nine. Thank
God I am at work. I feel a new being, my happiness is
complete. I hope to make up for time lost in iU-health.
There is no science so sublime as this of Theology. It
expands the spirit and fills it with rapture.
Brought home a portrait of a beautiful ancestress of
mine, painted by Sir Peter Lely — a fine work. The
cleaner in restoring it has changed the date from 1663 to
1643, when the lady was scarcely born.
194

!^v./:./-.7V-^^'

LADY O'KENEALY, WIFE OF SIR MAURICE O'KENEALY, PRINCEPS
(From an Oil Painting by Sir Peter Lely I

Need of a Voltaire
July. — I have sent a long letter to John Bright giving
him an account of my o-wn illness and of my apparent
cure of it by cold water ablutions to the head.
Working very hard over Maurice's //^istory of Hindustan.
There are some curious things in it. But the priest always
gets the better of the philosopher and the historian. His
pitiful allusions to his poverty seem to have availed him
nothing -with the Bishops, to whom he inscribed his plates
of Mythology. Maurice was a very superior fellow for a
parson. 28th. — Went to the Bank of England and got two
one hundred-pound notes, which I am about to give for a
set of chambers adjoining mine.
August. — Have been working at great pressure tiU
my headaches became insupportable. Read Zanoni for
relaxation. When I was a boy I was as angry as
possible with Eraser and Maginn and Thackeray for
holding up Bulwer to ridicule. I thought it unfair in the
highest degree. Now I can see things better I sympathise
with them. His morality is most unsound — he is a
dangerous -writer, but boys and girls, poor souls! think
him sublime.
August. — Read Voltaire's Philosophical Dictionary
again. I don't wonder it drove Christianity and Popery
out of France. We want a new Voltaire in Europe to
knock down clerical dogmatism. But to attack or
demolish a system without substituting another and a
better is mere foUy.
End of the Year. — I have made a good stride in my
profession, but have lagged behind sorely in other studies
19s

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
which are necessary to me, and which if neglected would
make of my life a mere cobweb, fraught with regrets.
I have framed to myself an august idea, and if I live
-wUl carry it through whatsoever it cost me.
Though I have made a great deal of money I shaU
begin the new year without a shilling (as I always do) for
I spend on books and things valuable just as fast as I
receive. I hate all money-grubbing.
January 1857. — There is a queer story about LordS 

possessing himself of diamond rings, etc., a month ago, at
K  . Field, the detective, brought it from London.
A curious eclaircissement between him and Lord D  ,
and no doubt a very grave coUoquy between father and
son! Everybody has some bother.
At home aU day reading and writing hard. But to
enable me to do so -with comfort I am living on tea,
potatoes and cod-liver oil.
In the evening to Congleton. When I am in one
of these dirty little close towns I feel myself but half a
human being.
i^th. — Drove to Brereton HaU — a noble old mansion
of the Breretons — now tenanted by a Mr Howard. He
showed us over the place and asked us to dinner. He is
unable to appreciate the beauty of antiquity and laughed
at famUy pride and birth. He is the son of a Manchester
cotton man who made a large fortune.
February 12th. — The Hebrew word Tzelem, in which
God is said to have created man, does not maan strictly
Image, but rather Shadow or faint Resemblance. Also
the Hebrew word Hevhe, or Eve, means as well Serpent.
Observe, it is immediately after the Temptation Adam
196

The Feast of Mithras
caUs her by this name. Hence the Scythians and many
of the most ancient people said they were born of a
serpent. Not a word of this in Parkhurst.
Rabbi Moyses states that Ihvehe or Jehovah, as we
caU it, or Iheuhe, denotes the two sexes, the Generator and
the Genetrix.
The Feast of Mithras was celebrated according to the
Roman Kalendar on the 8th of the Kalends of January,
that is on the 25th of December — the Nativity of Christ.
Did the Popes select this date designedly?
Cicero's book on Di-vinity contains an amount of daring
and blundering ignorance of his own theology which is
astonishing. March. — I should have liked immensely to have had
an hour's talk with old Gibbon. There was such deep
erudition in the man, with such acute slyness, that his
conversation on Theology must have been rich. Lord
Sheffield could not appreciate him.
There was a great resemblance between Hobbes and
Gibbon. Both were men of vast leaming and of the same dry
humour. I think Hobbes was the greater man, but it is so
long since I have read his Leviathan that I almost forget it.
Wrote to Lord Ward and to Disraeli.
" Abel," says Calmet, " is thought to have been
bom in the second year of the world." Now as the
world is miUions of years old how foolish all this seems !
Huddlestone expects W. H. Cooke to speak against him
on the day of nomination at Shrewsbury. He asks me to
answer him. I have promised to do so and will so retum
good for e-vU.
Walked about to various places. Bought sUver,
pictures and books. The moment I get money I begin
N 197

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
to think what pretty thing I shaU get for it — so shaU
be always a child, I suppose.
April 4th. — I am furnishing my new house and reading
Lamartine's Travels in the Holy Land. His book is a
chapter of descriptive scenery, the manners and customs
of men he does not touch.
6th. — I did a hundred things to-day and left for the
Potteries — arrived at 8. Read Sir Thomas Browne — a
sad pedant.
Easter. — When I was a boy of nine or ten I used to rise
at 4 to see the sun dance in the Heavens on Easter Sunday,
and once indeed I thought I saw it — an optical delusion,
I suppose. Was not Napoleon's contempt for man based in great
measure upon a consciousness of the very smaU power
which enabled him to triumph over so many miUions?
He knew himself and must have thought little of those
whom he so easily ruled.
When Dr Franklin was in Paris his daughter wrote to
him for a supply of feathers and thread lace. The Doctor
declined in the following characteristic note: — If you
wear your cambric ruffles as I do, and take care not to
mend the holes, they will come in time to be lace. And
feathers, my dear girl, can be had in America from every
turkey's tail.
May. — The mother of George III. attempting to cure
her cancer by sucking toads is a pretty picture of Royalty
and of the way in which things are balanced on this earth.
Went to the B. M. and read for the first time
198

A Verified Prophecy
in the new Room. It is a splendid amphitheatre of litera
ture. Would that I could spend my Hfe there. The
very air is suggestive of thought and of phUosophy.
Portslade. Oh, how I am delighted with this sea-
scenery and with my Httle marine hut ! The musical waves,
the ethereal atmosphere, all make me feel as in the olden
golden days when I was a boy and dreamed of Heaven.
July. — Madeline Smith's case is now the popular topic.
She has taken the place of Palmer. I think the Scotsmen
who are trjdng her wUl never hang a compatriot for
poisoning a mere Frenchman.
September. — Read Anastatius for the sixth time. The
-vi-vid nature with which the vagabond hero is painted
deserves aU praise. Byron learned a good deal from it for
his Don Juan.
Read Volney's Ruins. This is a Canto from Dupuis
as Queen Mab is from Volney. But Higgins' Anacalypsis
is the only great work on the subject.
On Circuit. Read Ingoldsby Legends. They are pretty
good, not so exceUent as Peter Pindar, but worthy of these
days when ever5rthing is smaU and everybody is afraid of
everybody else.
2gth. — ^There is one prediction I may hazard as a
restUt of the Indian Mutiny. General NeUl, who has
dipped the Brahmins in blood, flogged them and hanged
them, is doomed. The Brahmins wiU never let this man
come back to England.
[General NeUl was kUled on this day. — A. K.]
November. — The King of Delhi is slain. So perishes
in his 90th year the last descendant of Shaw AUum and
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Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
Akbar, and so ends the dynasty of the Mogul Emperors —
never again to be renewed while India remains. We are
making history even in this prosaic century.
January 1858. — Remained at home aU day writing.
In the evening dipped into Rousseau. There is little true
delicacy in the French mind. They speak of things
which to an English reader are eminently distasteful, and
without the least notion that they infringe upon the laws
of taste. Rousseau is a dangerous -writer for youth.
Once I thought him a demi-god. Now I see his feet and
body of mere clay.
All the butterflies are in London for the wedding of the
poor Princess Royal to that brainless ass of Prussia. Poor
girl! I pity her. She has a good head of her own, but
the Prussian has a head no better than that of one of our
MiHtia recruits.
At the wedding the little Princess behaved so weU.
I -wish she had not married that feUow.
February. — The glorious news, the defeat of the
Ministry, made me feel ten years younger. Palmerston's
conduct has been so mean and false and swaggering.
Thesiger is to be chucked into the post of ChanceUor.
It seems like a scene in a pantomime. Never before was
such a man-miUiner ChanceUor of England, and queer will
be his pranks. The wags say his title ought to be " Baron
Luck-now." February. — Wrote to Disraeli, pointing out the measures
which he ought to take —
I. Reform of real Property Law.
2. Reform of Irish Grand Juries.
3. Reform of Court of Chancery.
200

Advice to Disraeli
These will carry him through the Session. He may
then, as I have said, prepare with Lord Stanley a good
Reform BiU and defy the Whigs. I have warned him of
the French Bill — they are the only dangerous breakers
ahead which I see.
March. — The multitude adopt the expedient — the few
who do not get into " scrapes " and are called " im
practicable." But theirs is a noble impracticability
nevertheless. The men who straggle with the evil, the deceit
and rascahty they encounter every day, and strive to
overcome it, are trae knight-errants and deserve honour
even although they are conquered.
July. — The papers announce that Bulwer Lytton has
arranged -with his -wife. This has saved him. Had he
persevered in keeping her incarcerated Lord Derby must
have yielded to the clamour and dismissed him.
August (Portslade). — Walked to Hangleton Church
yester evening. It is a primitive Httle place like a barn.
In such I should Hke to sleep — the open arms of Nature
aU about me and the song of birds to carol over my
remains. In the evening gave my -wife her first lesson in Homer.
She learned twenty-one He.''; -with perfect ease.
Dipped into Calmet, which is a curious record of
creduHty and superstition.
April. — There is a superstition as old as the hUls, that
whoso has a mole on his left side is fated to be unlucky.
I have such a mole, and often when I looked at it as a boy
I strove to persuade myself that the notion was erroneous.
20I

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
May 13th. — Wrote to Disraeli on the rumour that he is
to have India, teUing him he ought to get an Earldom with
it. Bought a panel portrait of the lovely Countess of
Somerset, who was con-victed of poisoning Sir T. Overbury.
Sent it to be cleaned and am greatly pleased with this bit
of luck. May lyth. — A letter from DisraeH which gives me hope
he -wUl assist me in getting into Parliament. I have sent
an answer saying I do not think I have a good chance for
Dudley, but believe I have an exceUent one for Newcastle-
under-Lyme. June. — Most of what I reaUy know has come to me
rather by intuition than by research. I have indeed
read a great deal, but books have never taught me one
twentieth part of the knowledge I possess. That seems to
have come spontaneously and to have needed no labour
ataU. June. — John Bright refused to be present in the Queen's
train at the opening of Aston HaU. He did weU. When
she went to Oxford WheweU behaved in so magisterial a
manner that she complained of it sadly. The natural
superiority of the man broke forth and he could not brook
royal ceremonies. I respect John Bright for his refusal.
M'Mahon speaks with wonder of the moral cowardice
of members of the House. Half a dozen men said they
supported the BUI for the AboHtion of ParHamentary
Freedom from Arrest, lest had they taken the opposite
side their constituents or the public should have supposed
them to be in poor circumstances.
June. — There was a scene at the Herts election.
Bulwer's -wife came to the hustings and harangued the
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Est-il Heureux ?
electors from a carriage. B. disappeared. Each had
sought a divorce from the other and proceedings had to be
-withdra-wn from the records of the New Probate Court
before B. could get the Colonies.
Sir W. Peel, his father's favourite son, is dead in India.
This is an instance of Nemesis. Peel appoints as Governor-
General of India Lord Dalhousie, who spoliates, annexes
and revels in injustice. Peel defends him and the East
India Co. give him ;f5000 a year. The annexation ends
in rebelHon and massacre, and Peel's son is one of the
-victims. Est-il heureux ? was the question asked by Mazarin of
anyone who presented or named another for court pre
ferment. The wUy old Itahan was right. Unless a
man have a certain amount of luck he can achieve
nothing. August. — Walked about Portslade Passed a gipsy-
van, and a young gipsy foUowed me and begged to teU my
fortune. I decHned, but gave her a piece of sUver. Hers
was exactly like the Egyptian faces in the B. M. I have
no doubt whence the race came.
Wrote to Disraeli again recommending M'Mahon for
Woodstock. September. — Old Mr FuUer, the man who, they say,
had sold his soul to the DevU, died yesterday at Portslade.
I have not heard the particulars of his departure — whether
Satan flew away -with his body or is to have it after it is
committed to the earth. I suppose for the sake of appear
ances it wUl be the latter.
London — glorious London ! I got here early and went
on my rambles. Scott's grand-daughter is dead. Here
is a strange mystery. Is there never again going to be a
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Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
Scott of Abbotsford? The old man's hope, for which alone
he lived and toUed, frustrated in its dearest point !
My -wife took her first sitting to-day for a portrait.
It is kit-kat size and promises well. I shaU have my
own taken next, I suppose.
Bought a violin in the evening to amuse those boys at
home. That young rogue Charlemagne* said, " I shaU do
what I like — there isn't a time when I shan't." I am
afraid it requires the Triple Cro-wn at least to be able to
put this fine notion into practice. Another remark of his
was, " Ahmed, Mamma gets her feathers from an ostrich,
does she get her trunk from an elephant? "
November $th. — Visited the National GaUery. I am
never tired of that marveUous Doge's head by BeUini.
It shows into what a mere icicle the State poHcy of Venice
reduced its instruments. The man is no longer li-ving.
He is stone.
Read Lepsius' Letters on Egypt. He establishes that
the Egyptian dynasty began nearly 5000 years before
Christ — which sadly bothers the orthodox.
2Tst. — Met Mr Bennett, ex-clerk in the Bank, who
says the very least Lyndhurst got for his wife from a
certain Earl was £150,000. When he was in the Bank
he knew weU all the transactions, ha-ving access to the
accounts.. She had a latch-key to let herself into Park
Lane, unknown to anyone.
December. — Looked in at the National GaUery — had no
time to go to my enchanted land, the British Museum
Library. Walked do-wn to CressweU's Court. The Counsel
* Now a sedate magistrate in Cape Colony. — A. K.
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A Witty Retort
concluded his address : "I hope your lordship will decree
a separation between these parties and let this lady pass
the rest of her days in peace and happiness." CressweU
replied, " This Court has no power to decree that this lady
shall pass the rest of her days in peace and happiness, but
what it has power to decree is that these persons be judici-
aUy separated." It was very neat, and his manner of
sajdng these things is perfect.
March 1859. — I have this afternoon finished Jane
Eyre and am dehghted with the author of it, poor Charlotte
Bronte. What nobodies do L. E. L. and Hemans seem
compared with her! What poor creatures Jane Austen
and Mrs Bray ! The vivid beauty of the book consists in
its strong reahty — it seems to be the fervent revelation of
the real spirit of a real woman who has moved and mixed
in the actual scenes so finely described. But the more I
Hke and love Miss Bronte the more savage I grow with her
lazy father, who should have sacrificed even life itself to
have removed his precious treasures from the poisoned
atmosphere which brought them to premature graves.
Yet he would make no effort to uplift himself out of that
toad-Hke swamp. And so those glorious ones died.
I asked an old country feUow near eighty what was
the most wonderful thing he had ever seen. " Well, I
doan't know, I'm sure," was his answer. I gave him
time to think. But he was as dense as a tree. I said,
"Did you ever see a ghost?" " Noa," he said, "I
didn't." And this was aU of his past life I could extract
from him. I wonder what purpose he has served in the
economy of this little ball?
4c * * * 4s * 4:
Here is a good story related by Goethe. He and a
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Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
brother courtier were walking in the Palace Gardens at
Weimar. They saw a young lady, the relative of the
Grand Duke, embracing a young guardsman. Goethe's
friend said to him, " Well, I should not have believed that
unless I had seen it." Goethe answered, " I have seen it
but I don't believe it, and I recommend you to be equaUy
incredulous." This is worthy of Talleyrand himself . But
what a flunkey-soul!
BaUantine says he knows two religious men in the whole
world, and that each believes the other wUl be damned to
all eternity. There is a Staffordshire gentleman whose constant
toast is, " May every la-wyer shoot a clergyman and be
hanged for it! "

206

CHAPTER X
A New Pantomime — Letters from Cockburn, Disraeli and Thackeray — Poems
and Translations — Advice to a Judge — " Song of the Guardian Angel "—
Theological Works — Methods of Writing — Extracts.
In 1862 Dr Kenealy published A New Pantomime, a poem
in blank verse, which aroused a conflict of criticism in the
Press. Scholars hailed the book as a work of genius.
But the conventional critic — who presumably intones the
" Benedicite Omnia Opera " at Moming Service — was
offended by that he styled its " Pantheism." An ex
ample of this was cited in the foUowing: —
" And thus they gleamed most beautiful; the life
That is in Nature and in Nature's works,
The least of which is animate with Soul;
For there's no rose nor lUy in the garden,
There is no stream, there is no tree, nor gem,
There is no wind that skims along the sky.
Which represents not some immortal life.
The rivers have their spirits; the great woods
Have essence in them of eternal splendour,
Fair emanations of the gods divine.
The sky, the space, the air that circles round us
Is fiUed with spirits, some as fair as light
And some as dark as darkness. The human eye
Beholds them not indeed, but to the Soul
They are revealed — in impulses to good
Or impulses to evU, as they chance."
The tragedy in the New Pantomime, like the motive-
power in Wagner's dramas, is concerned with the conflict
between physical man and his Soul : —
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Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
" The acrid poisons of dark human passions
Dye the white soul so deeply that it grows
Even of their own nature; and when deatn
Resolves it from the body, stUl desires
The Idols which it worshipped in the flesh
So he, who for so many years has dwelt
In contemplation of mere worldly things,
StUl is enticed away, as in his life.
From the Ideal-lovely to the Actual."
Of this volume Sir Alexander Cockbum, then his
friend, later to be his most bitter foe and the prime mover
in, and instigator of, his professional ruin, -wrote the sub
joined letter.
Cockbum, despite those sad moral faUings which his
friends deplored, was a man of fine and cultured inteUect,
and one eminently qualified to pronounce judgment
upon such a work.

Letter from Sir Alexander Cockburn.
"November 2%th 1862.
" Dear Mr Kenealy, — I have devoured your work
— reading nothing else since I received it. It is
indeed a marveUous production, the Hke of which has
not appeared in modem days. You have passed Dante,
Spencer, Goethe, Byron and Aristophanes in the alembic
of your o-wn mind, and given us the quintessence of their
genius in one united whole.
" I regret some things — but the faults are those -with
which Dante has been (I think justly) reproached, and the
faiflts, as in his case, only serve, perhaps, to make the
transcendent power of the poet the more strikingly
manifest. " On the whole I cannot sufficiently express my
208

Praise from Cockburn
admiration of your work, or the pleasure I have derived
from it. — Yours faithfuUy, A. E. Cockburn.
"E. Kene.\ly, Esq."
Among other laudatory letters from weU-known men
I find one too from Mr DisraeH, in which he speaks of
" your incomparable Pantomime."
A year later came a further criticism from Cockbum,
this time upon Dr Kenealy's Poems and Translations,
which had just appeared.
Letter from Sir Alexander Cockburn.
"Rectory, Dalton, Devon,
"October i6th 1S63.
" Dear Kenealy, — On my way through to-wn into
Devonshire I found your work which you have been kind
enough to inscribe to me. I am proud to have my name
associated with a coUection of poems of so much beautj'
and merit, for even on the cursory glance which as yet I
have only been able to bestow on them, I see the beauty,
genius and power which I have so much admired in the
New Pantomime. Your translation of Irish songs into
Greek is as amusing as it is clever. The facihty, fehcity
and fideHty -with which the comicahty of the original is pre
served is reaUy marveUous. Lord Broughton writes me
word you have sent him a copy. I am sure, as a scholar,
he would especiaUy rehsh this part of the coUection. I
am very sensibly touched as weU as flattered by the
language of your dedication. If I feel that you have
said more than the Bar would be prepared to ratify, I
ascribe it to a kind partiahty, which is very gratifying to
my feelings, and for which I am sincerely grateful. — BeHeve
me. Very tnfly yours, A. E. Cockburn."
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Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
Disraeli -writes of the Poems and Translations as " a
volume distinguished by aU the flow and fine scholarship
for which your writings are remarkable."
'' Lord Stanley of Alderley comments on the " Genius and
fancy which dehghted me."
The Duke of WelHngton commingles praise and an
in-vitation to dinner in pleasant fashion.
Turner, of whose poem-paintings Dr Kenealy was an
enthusiastic admirer, in-viting him to -visit him at Brighton,
warmly commends his muse.
Here again are interesting letters from Cockbum and
a characteristic note from Thackeray : —

Letter from Sir Alexander Cockburn.
"West Hall, December %th.
" My dear Kenealy, — Many thanks for your letter
and your amusing Hnes. I can only say I prefer having
been passed over, even under such circumstances with the
expression of opinion which has been elicited — among
the many mstances of which I value no man's more than
yours — than have had the office -with a feeling on the part
of the profession and the pubhc that I was unfit for the
post. " I am, however, a good deal aimoyed at my refusal of
the peerage being put by the Press on the ground of its
being incompatible -with the duties of my present office.
" I have refused simply because I would not accept it
at Gladstone's hands after ha-ving been so scurvily treated
by him. And I have given him to understand so in
unambiguous, though of course courteous terms. And I
shaU be glad to have it kno-wn as generaUy as possible.
" There is one point on which I wish to set you right,
2IO

Thackeray's Bantling
as you are under an erroneous impression. Lord Palmer
ston never faUed me as to the peerage. I might have
had it at any time, but for personal reasons never deemed
it desirable to take it. — Yours very truly,
" A. E. Cockburn."
Letter from the Same.
"40 Hertford Street, Maypair, W.,
" October 24M 1864.
" Dear Kenealy, — Your letter has reached me just
as I am leaving town. I can only write a hasty line to
say I shall be happy to stand Godfather to your new-bom
son. The best wish I can make for him is that he may
have his father's genius. My daughter brought a little
Cavendish into the world this moming, thereby making a
grandfather of — Yours very truly,
" A. E. Cockburn."
Letter from W. M. Thackeray.
"Palace Green, Kensington, W.,
" Thursday, November yd.
" My dear Sir, — Your volume and the kind note
accompan5dng it were put into a room of the house which
I seldom frequent and only discovered after many days.
I did not want to write and thank you for the book until
I had read again many pieces which I liked and remember.
Your second note came to me just when I was in labour
with some verses of my own; and when I'm in that con
dition, and untU the little bantling is bom, I neglect my
duties, my letters, even my invitations to dinner.
" My baby finaUy made its appearance last night, and
I have leisure to thank you for sending me yours, and am,
dear Sir, faithfully yours, W. M. Thackeray."
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Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
For those of my readers who are unacquainted with
the Poems and Translations I include the subjoined fine
conception of a Judge's functions : —

ADVICE TO A JUDGE
When on the regal seat of Justice throned.
Bear this in mind : thou hast not been advanced
Beyond thy fellows to give loose to temper.
Or prove thyself capricious, weak or spiteful;
But to administer the law with truth.
And to be honest, just and fair to aU.
Sully not thy grave place with jests and jokes,
Or low buffoonery, ever on the watch
To win the thoughtless laughter of the crowd.
But be at all times decent, grave, reserved,
DweUing alone upon the Matter in hand.
Take not a cunning, subtle view of a cause.
Such as a sophist would; but let thy mind
Contemplate it in all its bearings, broadly.
Ever regarding equity as the star
By which thou shouldst be guided through the maze.
For equity is true law; and they do wrong
Who strive to separate those heavenly twins,
And both are as the Voice Divine of God.
Lean not to rank and wealth, for these themselves
Are naturaUy strong; but rather bend
To him who is weighed down by poverty.
Yet not so as to win that base applause
Which rises from the rabble when they see
A Judge who tramples right to catch a cheer.
Give each man hearing with an ear attent.
Whether he be most excellent or most mean.
And talk not ever about public time.
That hackneyed phrase which hasty magistrates use
When they pre-judge a cause, are tired, or wish
To go to lunch or dinner, or are moved
To vent some petty spleen upon the pleader.
Who, after all, seeks but to do his duty.
212

Advice to a Judge
Think no time lost which gives thy mind new facts*
For even the humblest man may haply place
His argument before thee in a form
Which may clear up the doubt within thy mind,
But if he see scorn in thine eye or lip,
How can he hope his mocker to persuade?
Perhaps thou dost not Hke him. Good, my lord !
Thou wert not made a Judge to let thy likings
Bias thy judgment, but to minister right
To ah who come before thee in thy Court.
A Judge should be Hke God — far, far removed
From aU the petty faiHngs of a man.
And he shoiUd have a reverence most august
For his high office, fearing to poUute
That kingly dignity by aught debased.
And he should watch himself with wary eye,
Lest he may do some grievous giant -wrong.
Because he loved this man, or hated that.
Guard thyself also from unseemly haste,
There is no -virtue more becomes a Judge
Than patience — the chief jewel in his crown.
What rank injustice have I known committed
Because the Judge would hurry on a cause.
And snub some wretched counsel into silence.
Be kind; be courteous as a King should be
To aU who come before thee. I have seen
A Court where all were scorned and snapped at daily,
And self-respect was moved with hate or pity
To see the Seat of Justice so defiled.
And I have seen a Court where every man
Felt himself in the presence of a gentleman,
Whose genial courtesy made aU things genial,
Whose exquisite bearing captivated aU men's love,
Whose sunbright justice lightened every cause.
And sent even him who lost away content.
In a different strain is this from A New Pantomime
— the FareweU of the Guardian Angel taking sad leave
of the dying and doomed Poet : —
O 213

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy

FAREWELL SONG OF THE GUARDIAN ANGEL
Oh! and alas for Thee! spirit of splendour.
Born in bright heaven, but fashioned to woe;
Long have I watched thee with fondness as tender
As only the hearts of young mothers can know.
Long, from the first placid hour of thy springing
On earth, like an innocent flower in its bloom.
Till now when the cold hand of Destiny's bringing
The mist that shaU wrap thee for ever in gloom.
Clear shone the stars on their thrones, and serenely
Silence smiled o'er the calm brows of the skies,
When as I watched, came a Presence most queenly
Borne on swift lightnings, and bade me arise!
This was thy Genius, and thus was I chosen.
Even in that hour thine own Angel to be;
Whiter than dew in the winter flowers frozen
Was thy young soul when 'twas yielded to me.
****** ie
Then came a change o'er thee — aU that was vernal
Faded, and wasted, and withered away
Even as young Paradise, when the Eternal
Spake, and it vanished, and aU was decay.
Gone were the flowers which the Angels had planted,
Gone the fair sunshine that Hghtened the scene ;
SUent the music that once had enchanted.
Silent as though its voice never had been.
Crowds came around thee, the -vUe and base-hearted
Luring and lying, and leading aside;
Strong was the conflict, and tears often started
Hot from thine eyes, but were lost in thy pride.
Oh! that the world should corrupt the undying
And seraph-taught spirit of beautiful youth!
SpoUing its heavenly lustre, nor sighing
O'er the sad wreck of faith, -virtue and truth.
There where the Virtues had made them a palace.
Golden and Virgin, and grand and divine,
214

Farewell of the Guardian Angel
In rushed the Passions — and each bore a chaHce
Brimming with poisons that tempted like wine;
Till that chaste soul, which I fondled and tended
Truly and faithfuUy, faltered and failed,
Spurning the counsels I gave it, and bended
Down in the dust to the foes that assailed.
*******
Round thee, unseen by thee, like sunshine o'er thee
Moming and night saw me fixed by thy side;
AU the winged splendours of thought that before thee
Burst Hke a heaven were the gifts of thy guide.
Spirits I brought to thee. Visions and Dreaming,
Voices of angels, to win thee once more;
But the dark Idols of Earth whose false seemings
Charmed thee, were all that thy soul would adore.
Oh ! and cdas for thee ! deep was thine error.
Fatal the change to the False from the True,
Ever since then the thick darkness of Terror,
Known to the fallen ones, stUl round thee grew.
Manhood confessed it — Old Age shrank in sadness.
Awed by the prospect of death and the grave;
Now, when thou'rt d5ing, and owning thy madness,
Gladly I'd claim thee, and gladly I'd save.
But the great voice of The One hath forbidden;
I must away, and thou too must depart;
Ere a short hour, and the secret that's hidden.
Deep in the skies shall iUumine thine heart.
Oh! and alas for thee — exiled for ever,
Some ray of happiness stiU o'er thee dweU,
I, thy true Angel, stUl love thee, and never
Came from my heart more despairing fareweU.
I regret that I have not the space, nor indeed have I
tithe sufficient of the leaming required to deal adequately
¦with my Father's Theological Works. They represent
the studious labours, close and exhaustive reading and
2IS

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
reflection of more than a quarter of a century. Ha-ving
conceived the idea of giving to the world the rehgious
conceptions he had derived from his extensive study and
deep thought, he threw himself heart and soul into the
project. Every hour he could snatch from his professional
and social obligations he spent in study and research,
sometimes at home, sometimes at the British Museum.
He would arrive upon the minute for the opening of the
Reading Room and would remain tiU the great mental
treasure-house was closed.
In order to read at first hand and to come at the source
of ancient Scriptures he learned Sanscrit and Hindustani,
and made himself acquainted -with the roots of that prim
eval language from which Chinese and Persian and Sanscrit
took origin. He spent days together in deciphering the
Bible in Stones as it was to be found in the Sculpture Halls
and Vaults of the British Museum. He acquired too a
very complete and valuable library of such books as he was
able to procure upon these recondite subjects. (This library
he bequeathed at his death to Trinity College, Dublin.)
His own publications, which appeared from time to
time. The Book of God, The Book of Fo, The Book of Enoch,
The Introduction to the Apocalypse and Commentary on the
Apocalypse, are held by OrientaHsts and Theologians to be
works stupendous for the profound research and original
thought which they reveal. They are indeed standard
books and have been founts of knowledge and of spiritual
truth whence many later -writers have drawn inspiration.
A number of great truths (not all of them generally
accepted nor understanded of the people) are set forth in
these books, supported by evidences from the rehgious
literature of all lands and creeds.
Among them is the doctrine of Re-birth (and surely
spiritual evolution must be the very keystone of the
2l6

Spiritual Evolution
scientific truth of phj^sical evolution), the doctrine that the
soul in its onward way to perfection passes through myriad
lives, progressive or retrogressive according to the -will of
the entity, but in the main aU upward tending, employing
its mifltiple existences as instruments of knowledge and
of experience, whereby the spiritual ego is informed and
developed. UntU finaUy ha-ving accreted and assimilated
all the experiences and knowledges derived in every form
and shape from every one of the countless multitudes of
worlds of the vast Universe, it shall have purified itself
of aU e-vU (that is ignorance) and shall have fitted itself for
that final Heaven, wherein reigns the Father and Creator
of aU things.
Another great teaching, supported by incontrovertible
e-vidences, is that of the Naros, or Naronic Cycle, a dis
pensation which pro-vided against mankind having been left
in spiritual darkness (as is generaUy believed) untU the era
of Moses. The Naronic Cycle was a span of some six
himdred years, at the lapse of which an inspired Teacher
arose to dehver a new Gospel or Apostolic Message of
Di-vine Truth, apportioned to the mental and spiritual
recepti-vity of the people to whom it was vouchsafed. So
an AU-Merciful Father had not, as is rather presumptu
ously supposed, left His chUdren in heathen darkness for
aU those miUions of years of existence before the Mosaic
dispensation. AU races had in turn their Messiah — India its Buddha,
Arabia its Mahomet, China its Fo — aU, as has been
proved by the universal acceptance of their Messages,
Inspired Teachers who revealed such measures of Divine
Law as would be inteUigible and their observance possible
to the people to whom they were brought.
Proof incontestible of these recurring Revelations is
dra-wn from ancient sacred writings and prophecy.
217

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
The Apocalypse which has come down to us in frag
mentary form in Revelations, Daniel and Isaiah was part of
such a Teaching, given to the world 4200 years before the
time of Moses by Oannes (Johannes, John). Eight of
these Messiahs are indicated as ha-ving arisen, giving
impulse to progressively broader and higher waves of
Spiritual Truth and preparing the way for that Greatest
and Most Divine of aU Teachers, Jesus of Nazareth.
All creeds of aU nations are sho-wn to possess the same
fundamental principles, and even the most primitive are
sho-wn to have held in germ conceptions and images of the
profoundest and most spiritual doctrines of our Christian
Church. The history of human Religion, like the history of the
human Race, has been a progressive turning of the pages of
the book of Evolution. Each page has been trae and
perfect for its time. On each page has been -writ no doubt
every letter of the human and rehgious alphabets, these
being on each successive page knit into ever-increasing
complexities of combination as our unfolding inteUigence
and aspirations have demanded fuUer, and broader, and
higher expression.
The first page of our book of evolution and reHgion was
but an A B C. Yet every element from A to Z was doubt
less there. The second page held words it may be of two
letters — and so forth untU our own day, when the page has
become almost too complex for us, vrith its infinite be-
-wUdering and subtle combinations of those once simple,
isolated letters. Yet, looking back -with informed and
intuitive mind, the discerning are able to see, from the first
page to that now set before us, the same thin silver thread
of religious thought and impulse round which the once
simple letters have through the ages grouped themselves
in ever more complex association. 218

Baby on Knee

Reading these profoimd works I look back with
amazement to the maimer in which I saw some of them
-written, in hours snatched from sleep, from recreation,
from the busy professional life of a successful barrister,
who spared no pains upon his duties.
Written at odd moments upon slips of every size and
shape, resulting in " copy " which must have proved a
sore puzzle to the printers, -written amid the family group,
-with talk and chUdren's play and chatter buzzing, many
indeed of these leamed pages were vmtten for an hour at a
time with the Baby of the date upon a knee — (there was
usuaUy a baby). The Httle thing would sit as quiet as a
mouse, knowing that the penalty of noise or of disquieting
movement would be a forfeiture of its proud place. It
watched -with solemn, interested gaze the Hghtning passage
of the pen and would look up wondering from time to
time into the grave, absorbed face and to the eyes fuU and
luminous with the great thoughts fulminating in the brain
behind them. Sometimes it would Hft a hand to touch
vrith tiny finger and -with awed delight the shining rim of
the gold spectacles, which were ever a source of admiring
wonder to the infant mind.
These things did not disturb the vmter, his mind ages
back in the past, among days and scenes before the Flood.
He was ever devoted to the babies, devoted indeed to
his chUdren of aU ages, walking with them, talking with
them, all the whUe bestowing on them gifts from his richly-
furnished memory and imagination, privUeges which they,
alas ! were but too frequently too young and too crude of
understanding to appreciate.
Through the last half of his Hfe he battled with, sadly
faUing health. Of a highly-strung, nervous temperament
his long, close days of study and his strenuous days in
Court, took toU in weariness, in raging headaches, in weeks
219

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
together of severe prostration. Yet he permitted none of
these handicaps to daunt him. He was demanding from
his deHcate organisation the nerve-force necessary to
sustain two strenuous Hves : the professional and social Hfe
of a man of the world in busy practice, the life of a man of
letters, whose subject-matter, apart from the mere literary
work involved, necessitated deep and prolonged research
and the greatest exactitude of expression in rendering.
The one life was compulsory. His large famUy
required to be supported.
The other, a self-imposed task, was a spiritual caU,
which neither his conscience nor indeed his incHnation
woifld allow him to neglect. For it was ever a labour of
love. The life spiritual was that from which he drew his
greatest happiness.
The worldly--wise may ask : — Why spend life and health
in -writing books which were within the comprehension of
but few? Such could bring neither renown nor profit.
But my Father did not ask himself this question.
The work was there to be done. He felt in him the
spiritual insight and knowledge necessary to its achieve
ment. This belief in the importance of his o-wn life-work is the
impeUing force of every man's development. And those
profound -writings which are to-day beyond the inteUectual
and spiritual depth of the many wUl be one day, I venture
to predict, very vridely read and wiU exert a profound
influence upon religious thought.

Extracts from THE BOOK OF GOD.
There was a beautiful recondite meaning in likening to
a Rainbow the form of the Holy Spirit, whom philosophers call
Nature or Providence, but whom Christians irrationally
220

The One-ness of God
designate the Holy Ghost; a false version of the word Geist
in Luther's German translation of the Bible.
******** This absolute identity or one-ness of God with aU existence,
and of aU existences with God, is divinely iUustrated by Jesus,
the Ninth Messiah of Heaven, in one of His most striking
parables, the true Pantheistic meaning of which has wholly
escaped the Biblical commentators, or which, if it should have
been made manifest to them, they purposely conceal. When
the Son of Man shall come in His glory, says Jesus, and all the
holy angels with Him, then shall He sit upon the throne of His
glory : and before Him shall be gathered all nations ; and He
shall separate them one from another, as a shepherd separates
his sheep from the goats : and He shall set the sheep indeed on
His right hand, but the goats on the left. Then shall the King
say unto them on His right hand, Come, ye blessed of My Father,
inherit the Kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the
world: for I was an hungered and ye gave Me meat : I was thirsty
and ye gave Me drink : I was a stranger and ye took Me in : naked
and ye clothed Me : I was sick and ye visited Me : I was in
prison and ye came unto Me. Then shall the righteous answer
Him, saying, Master, when did we see Thee an hungered and fed
Thee ? or thirsty and gave Thee drink ? When did we see Thee
a stranger and took Thee in ? or naked and clothed Thee ? Or
when did we see Thee sick, or in prison, and came unto Thee?
And the King shall answer and say unto them, Amen, I say unto
you, For as much as ye have done it unto one of the least of these
My brethren, ye have done it unto Me. Then shall He say unto
them on the left hand. Depart from Me, ye cursed, into everlasting
fire, prepared for the devil and his angels : for I was an hungered
and ye gave Me no meat : I was thirsty and ye gave Me no drink :
I was a stranger and ye took Me not in : naked and ye clothed
Me not : sick and in prison and ye visited Me not : Then shall
they also answer Him, saying. Master, when saw we Thee an
hungered, or athirst, or a stranger, or naked, or sick, or in prison
and did not minister unto Thee ? Then shall He answer them,
saying. Amen, I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye did it not to one
of the least of these, ye did it not to Me. And these shall go away
into everlasting punishment, but the righteous unto life everlast
ing. — Matthew xxv. 31.

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
This august creed, although it shines upon the thought so
exquisitely clear and true, that one wonders how it could have
been misconstrued, is by reason of that misconstruction whoUy
lost to European churches. And yet was ever any so nobly
adapted to fiU even the most inconsiderate with solemn feeling?
How consolatory to reflect in the spirit of that sacred simUitude
which Jesus used, that every good and holy act we perform on
earth toward a feUow creature is done absolutely not merely to
that creature but to God who receives it in them. How dreadful
too to be assured, and to know, moreover, that the assurance
is beyond aU doubt, that every evU act which we commit
toward any is, in effect, committed against the very God of
Heaven, represented in him.

Extracts from INTRODUCTION TO THE APOCALYPSE.
In the first part of the Book of God I have furnished proofs
that, from a very early period of the history of man, a belief in
God and in the Holy Spirit was the universal religion; that
this belief originated in a Heaven-descended Revelation given
to the first Messenger of Truth in the Apocalypse, and by him
communicated to the earth; and that aU antiquity held it for
a holy doctrine that God periodically sent messages and
legates from Himself to mortals in order to iUumine their
souls with sacred knowledge.
I showed also what constituted the real Triad, or Three
Powers, One in essence, which forms so great a feature in the
religious history of aU peoples; and I explained in clear
language (as I hope) the origin of aU we now see or feel; of
the Spirit-existences which fiU the visible Universe, and of the
First Cause in which that visible Universe itself originated.
I proved also that the most sublime articles of religious faith
were inculcated in the Greater Mysteries, and that the Apoca
lypse was the secret volume which was used on full initiation,
and whose magic pictures were presented to the disciple.
This development of hallowed truth in great part constitutes
the first Book.
For the second Book I aUuded to the arts and sciences,
and to the profound knowledges which characterised ages
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Messengers of God

which are generaUy regarded as having been so barbarous as to
be caUed pre-historic. I showed how all learning flowed as it
were from one mighty centre until it gradually encompassed
the whole populated earth, and how with it came the hallowed
Teachings which the First Messenger propounded to mankind
and which were based alone upon the Apocalypse, with such
coroUaries or conclusions as necessarily sprang from that
divine tree. For this purpose I did not hesitate to make
use of the discoveries of aU who had preceded me; and I
preferred to use their own language rather than to recast it,
as I might have done in language of my own. I did this for
two reasons : firstly, because I do not value literary fame as an
original writer (or rather as a new-fashioner of that which had
been previously committed to the Press) ; secondly, because I
regarded it as safer, in citing witnesses, to use their own language
in evidence of the facts for which I caUed them, rather than to
express, in my own words, the result of their researches. I
hoped thus to avoid all pretext for charges of misrepresenta
tion, knowing weU the arts which priestly critics always
introduce into rehgious controversy.
My sole object in putting forth these volumes is to teach
rather than to dazzle. I write neither for applause nor for
gain, but to fulfil a sacred and imperative impulse. I am
indifferent to criticism. I care only to instruct, and if I can
do this by means which may be called simple, or even ele
mentary, the object of my Hfe wUl have been accomplished.
In the third Book I showed that the Messengers of God
are of two kinds. Messianic and Cabiric; that the first are
Teachers, that the second are Judges; that God is not respons
ible for their acts, but that they are themselves alone re
sponsible for them as being voluntary Emissaries from Heaven,
Emissaries to whom permission to descend is accorded by the
Supreme. I proved, however, that the judicial function is
quite as consistent with their character as Angels of Truth
as is the doctrinal, and that archangelic men like Amasis,
Mohammed and Chengiz Khan are as necessary to the cause
of God as are Brigoo, Thoth, Lao-Tseu or Jesus. The first are
Heroic, the second are Minerval, orders of the highest rank in
heaven. The fourth Book was devoted to an examination of the
223

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
authenticity of .the common Apocalypse. I showed that the
authorities against it were far stronger than were those in its
favour, and furnished eyidence of an incontrovertible nature
to demonstrate that it is the most ancient writing in the world
and that it is in reality a translation into a modern (albeit an
. incorrect) dialect of the very Revelation which Adam himself
received from God.

224

MISS ARABELLA KENEALY, L.R.CP, (DUBLIN)
(From a Photograph)

CHAPTER XI
Memoranda from Diaries, 1863 to 187 1 :— Lord Houghton's Breakfast-party
— Letter from Lord' Bronghton — Meets Bulwer Lytton — Anecdote of
Carlyle — Anecdote of Wordsworth — Saying of Byron — The Tichborne
Case. '
Lord Houghton's breakfast - parties were famous as
gatherings of distinguished literary and artistic men. Dr
Kenealy was on several occasions a guest at these. The
subjoined extract from a letter, dated July 3rd 1864, to
Mrs Kenealy describes his first -visit to one of these interest
ing functions: —

Extract from a Letter to Mrs Kenealy.
" I drove to Lord Houghton's and got there at 10.10.
There were only two others — Aubrey de Vere and Patmore
— both of them poets. Lord Houghton was in a dressing-
gown, which he soon changed for a frock-coat, and we went
in to breakfast. There were tea, coffee, stewed fish,
cutlets, cold pigeon, and jeUy and griUed goose bones.
No eggs ! Then came peaches and grapes.
" He showed me a copy of Queen Mab, vrith SheUey's
name -written by himself in the title-page. He keeps it in
a case — it is certainly unique. He has several books
which belonged to Byron, with his writing in them; a
copy of Churchill with MS. notes in the neat copperplate
hand of Gray. The original portrait of Keats by Severn.
A picture of his wife by BoxaU — she has lovely bright eyes
and must have been a very charming woman. His wife's
mother was also a beauty, and her grandmother. Lady
225

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
Crewe, a famous woman in her day. He gave me a copy
of his new book and I think you -will be pleased with it —
I am amazed to find how exceUent a poet he is. He is
anxious to edit SheUey's life and letters, but he has not
got his papers, which he is annoyed about.
" He has a motion in the House of Lords about Convo
cation. He wants to stop these discussions and he asked
the ChanceUor to support him. W. said, ' I can only
promise you a very limited support, as I don't think we
ought to interfere -with the harmless amusements of these
siUy people ' — meaning the Bishops and Clergy who form
the Upper and Lower Houses. Patmore says that Moxon
told him he sold only three copies of Bro-wning's poems in
fifteen years. This beats me out! He (Lord Houghton)
showed me a series of original sketches of Blake for the
Book of Job and Milton's poems. I -wish I could have
seen his wife and her charming eyes. His boy about
eight has a nice honest English face. Much to his disgust
the Academy would not hang the portrait, but returned it.
So you see you are not the only person whom it rejects.
You have companions in misfortune. Lord Houghton has
promised to call here and see my Pitt. The first idle day
I have I am to let him know. I told him about Lord
Broughton 's in-vitation to stay at Tedworth to meet the
Lord Chief Justice. He said it was a pity I missed it as I
might not have another chance."
A Letter from Lord Broughton.
"Tedworth House, Marlborough,
"7th October 1S63.
" My dear Mr Kenealy, — Your letter reached me
only yesterday, otherwise you would have heard from
me before this time. It is very good of you to think
226

Letter from Lord Broughton
of me — and the oftener you do so the better I shall be
pleased.
" I have heard of the Chief Justice but not from him,
and I am sorry to say the account of his health is not so
good as I could -wish.
" I hope, however, he -wiU be soon weU enough to visit
his friends, and I shaU make strenuous effort to aUure him
to this place.
" I trust I shall prevaU on you to meet him if he comes,
or to come -without meeting him.
" When I see you I wUl teU you a saying of Macaulay's
about Sir W. Jones — ^it was addressed to me and startled
me, as it wiU you. — Very truly yours,
" Broughton."

Memoranda from Diaries, 1863-71.
December 1863. — Thackeray is dead. I am sorry.
I -wish I had met him. I never did, although we w£oie.
together in Eraser and he often spoke of me. He visited
at the Maginns' and at other houses where I did, yet
strange to say we never met. He is the greatest master
of novel-fiction since Fielding, whose legitimate heir he is.
Thackeray is superior to Scott and Dickens and Bulwer.
For Scott is tedious, Dickens frequently but caricature,
and Bulwer affected and untrue to life. Thackeray's
powers of observation were truly wonderful; he seems to
have known mankind as it were by instinct or by
di-vination. Nor is there any foible of the heart of
which he does not appear to have had a most wonderful
insight. January 2nd 1864. — Some awful idiot has discovered
227

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
that poor Thackeray died on Christmas Eve in order that
he might spend his Christmas Day in Heaven.
ofh. — ^The Httle Princess of Wales had a boy last night
unexpectedly. No one of any consequence was there.
However, all seems right and we have another future King
for Merrie England. And Prince Alfred's nose wiU be out
of joint as the Prince of Wales won't die childless, as
predicted. 8th. — I wonder does a man who appoints incapable
dolts to places of responsibility go to the Devil for it?
He ought to, for he is the cause of aU the injustice which
they do. I wonder do some of these Judges ever really
weigh their acts when they sport as they do with human
life? February. — At British Museum, after which I walked
to my bookseUers and bought books, among the rest
Procopius. I want if possible to get every classical work
in prose and poetry Which has ever been pubHshed— I
mean, of course, which has relation to Greece and Rome.
8th. — At home aU day reading over the fire. I was
utterly frozen and did not find out or guess that it was a
thin dressing-goviTi until the day was gone !
I2th. — In Queen's Bench. Serjeant Hayes showed
me a baUad caUed " The Cock and Dog," which he sings
on Circuit. He gave a copy to Cockburn, who sent a note
thanking him as he " had a few hours of Bo-vill and meant
to read it during his speech." CampbeU, when ChanceUor,
said to Hayes, " Brother Hayes, it is one of the infehcities
of my position that I shaU never again hear you sing ' The
Cock and Dog.' " 228

Bishop Colenso
WoUatt told me he heard Cockbum say to a man who
kept on his hat in Court, " Take off your hat, sir, or take
yourself off."
Bought more books — what a library I would have if
the fees came in ! My head ached. Not weU. I want a
breath of the sea, and the calm melody of home. I never
feel the want of anything when there.
igth. — BaUantine said he saw Colenso at a club warm
ing the most venerated part of the episcopal person,
" Whereupon," he added, " I immediately turned about
and spat — as I always do when I see a bishop." M.
Cambon said Colenso walked and talked and looked as
though he were a new Deity before whom aU persons should
bow down and worship.
March. — When Lord Derby made DisraeH and Bulwer
Lytton Pri-vy CounseUors and Ministers, Lady Bulwer
-wrote to the Queen direct, stating that she might as well
have chosen two of the inhabitants of Sodom and
Gomorrah. June. — Dined to-night with the Lord Chief Justice,
Lord Houghton, Bulwer Lytton and other senators and
ladies. Bulwer Lytton is a clown. He was shabbily
dressed and sidled into the room with slouching air and
gait. He held his hat in his hand as though about to drop
it and looked as though he did not know what to do with
his legs. He gaped, his eye was lack-lustred, and he said
nothing. It is almost impossible to believe he wrote
the works which pass under his name (his wife says he did
not write them). He had a great nose like Fitzball or
Bardolph, but not so red as the latter's. He has cut off
his beard and the hairs are scanty and scrubby do-wn his
p 229

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
lank Don Quixote jaws. I expected a fine gentleman —
perhaps a fop Hke his ovrai Devereux or like BoHngbroke,
and I saw a crapulous fossU. He took Mrs Round down
to dinner but never spoke a word to her, remaining sUent
or mumbhng to himself. I thiiik Cockbum was ashamed
of him, and although he asked him especiaUy to meet me
he did not venture to soHcit my opinion of him. But I
told it to him. And he was ashamed of his guest.
July /\th. — Evening at the Lord Chief Justice's. HaUe
and Joachim played, it was scientific and stupid. There
was what is caUed a briUiant party. Cockbum unweU
with a cold. He said a friend told him he suffered from
throat attacks as a punishment for infficting long speeches
on the pubhc. His spirits and youthful buoyancy are
wonderful; he makes me feel a boy in heart. I sat
vrith Mrs W. Currie aU the evening and we talked a good
deal, but the music was stupid.
24^^. — On the Home Circuit, a poor devU of a coimsel,
named Wood, got his case into a sort of hitch and did not
know how to get out of it. He appHed to WUles — " My
lord, what shaU I do? " Justice WiUes made answer,
" Mr Wood, that is a question which only the Queen or
the House of Lords has a right to put to one of her Majesty's
Judges." August 2nd. — To-day I bought a book I have often
wished to get, Ireland Shakspere Forgeries, pubHshed in
1796. Surely there was never a more transparent fraud.
What a pretty crew of critics those must have been who
thought it genuine! Did not old Dr Parry faU down on
his knees and kiss the manuscript ? Why, the mere spelling
might have proved it an impudent fiction
230

A Judge's Answer

6th. — This day Mr Paul finished my dear wife's portrait.
It is the best likeness of her he has yet painted. It will
be fine for all these rogues to have so many portraits of
their Mamma. I only wish I had as many of mine, who
was indeed a good woman. WeU — it was not to be, I
suppose, and I was never to have what I really wanted.
Witness — let me see — why a thousand things.
September 20th. — Sent my eldest boy to King's College.
The headmaster examined him in Homer and Virgil,
sixth books,and said he had translated them "beautifully."
October $th. — Bulwer's son was married the other day
to Miss VUHers, a niece of Clarendon's — a good connection
which vriU help him to that peerage he longs for.
January 1st 1866. — Some one told the Chief Baron
that CoUier wanted his post, adding, " CoUier's friends say
you often faU asleep in Court." The Chief Baron said,
" I do much less harm when asleep on the Bench than
CoUier would do if he were awake."
April I4.th. — Went to see the National Portraits at
Kensington, where they exhibit my Countess of Essex.
I offered them half a dozen things better and more
interesting. I saw the two Archbishops there — the
A.-B. of York with a lady in traihng purple velvet; the
other A.-B. as Hke a cunning old badger as it is possible
to be. 20iA.— Motion in the C. P. for Mr Shuter. L. C. J.
Erie smUing on me the whole time; barristers around
saying, " Now you may be sure he means to cut your
throat. He always does that when he smUes." And the
231

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
old scoundrel did, and gave no reason, although I made out
an unanswerable case.

September 2gth. — Mrs Broadwood (late Miss Tree) is
said to have been the author of this hoax on Huddy. A
few days ago Mr Huddlestone arrived in Baden-Baden
and duly inscribed his name and his " Q.C." and " M.P."
in the hotel book of visitors. But to this inscription some
body subsequently added the words " Tuft-hunter and
Toady," in handwriting so similar that the whole read as
one continuous and genuine announcement. In this light
the authorities seem to have -viewed it. They copied the
words literatim, honestly believing them to convey some
social distinction, and next moming, greatly to the amuse
ment of the social coterie, " Huddy's " name appeared
in the official list of visitors vrith the queer additions of
" Tuft-hunter and Toady " tacked on to his titles.
A story is told too of Huddlestone, that when traveUing
as the guest of some titled friends his obsequious de
meanour toward them resulted in his host being charged
half the ordinary rate for his expenses, under the supposi
tion that he was a courier.
January 1867. — London is wildly talking of the fearful
calamity which has taken place in the Regent's Park and
of the forty or fifty skaters who have been immersed and
have lost their Hves. Yet London -wiU not depart one
whit from its skating mania. I believe that if a man were
standing within sight of damnation he would still, if the
opportunity offered, commit one of his favourite sins and
trust to chance for his escape.
28^^. — Rain, damp, wretchedness! At the British
Museum all day working at the Book of God. I have come
232

Children's Lessons
home thoroughly exhausted. But it is my destiny and I
must fulfil it. And yet how far off, alas! is the day when
there shaU be one fold and one Shepherd. If I can only
Hve to see the first stake of the fold driven in 1 shaU he
satisfied — at aU events I shaU have done something.
February y^d (Portslade). — Too Ul to go out although
the sun is shining. Heard the boys their Lucian and
VirgU — or rather I dozed whUe Madoima heard them,
waking up occasionaUy when the}" went wrong.
February. — I am much pleased with an expression
of Jean Paul, which I have met for the first time : Better
to be an outlaw than not free. I have always felt this but
never saw it so forcibly expressed.
March 8th. — Worcester Court at nine. James opened
the Case for me in my absence yesterday. It was a horrid
slander case. Huddleston, my leader, did not half fight
it. He did not Hke his fee and was in bad temper, so we
were beaten.
Am now reading Scott and Henri's Bible.
lyth (Congleton). — ^A terrible east wind. I faced it and
-walked up the hills to see my favourite Bride Stones.
The upright monoHth was to represent God, the bed is a
s\"nibol of the Holy Spirit. The monks destroyed those
mighty Masses by fire, and they are rent in twain. In the
afternoon went to the Httie church and heard Mr Brierley
preach a sermon on Schechem and Dinah — fuU of unction —
whatsoever that may be.
20^A. — Got to Salop. Looked into Voltaire's Dictionary.
Was the old cynic serious in his praise of Cicero?
23?

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
I have always likened Lamartine to this sham heroic
Roman; both fluent; both conceited; both close-shaven
and lantern-jawed. What I caU humbugs, what the
world calls great men.
" Saint Clement of Alexandria," says Voltaire, " re
lates that Moses kiUed a King of Egypt by sounding
Jehovah in his ear, after which he brought him back to
Hfe by pronouncing the same word. St Clement is very
exact ; he cites the author, the leamed Artapanus ! Who
can impeach the testimony of Artapanus? " Here is the
gem of that which makes the pride of Gibbon's Decline and
Fall. Byron aUuded to it weU: —
" Sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer."
But it has always occurred to me that this idea was sug
gested to B. by Shelley. There is a subtlety in it which
B. lacked, but which S. possessed. But B. had a greater
brain than S. not-withstanding. B. was a man, S. a poet.
S. finer in spirit, B. stronger in brain. ^ «*
I have been reading some of the Countess d'Anois'
Fairy Tales. I buy all the fairy tales I can for my
children, and these volumes are for them. In this world
of realities the more often we soar into the Realms of
Imagination the less we experience the miseries of
existence. March. — The longer I live the more I feel inclined to
doubt that the plays of Shakspere were his writing. It is
one of the grand delusions of which this earth is fuU, and
which it is almost a pity to dispel. Only for its Ulusions
what indeed would mortal life be? But a weary business.
Easter Monday — March. — Cold, wet, tempestuous.
I cower over the fire looking at parts of Taylor's Diegesis —
234

Carlyle and Hunt

the death-bed comforter which Serjeant Allen studied in
his last illness.
Carefully studied the Books of Esdras in the Vulgate
and the .^theopic, and am persuaded that it contains a
great many fragments from the genuine Enoch, worked up
into one of those curious gallimanfrys which the Jew
forgers so delighted to make.
January ist 1869. — Spent most of the day over
Buxtorf. His hatred of the Jews is refreshing in these
days of atheistic tolerance. He is perfect master of his
subject. I wonder his book has never been translated into
EngHsh. It would teach the poor Paulites things they
ought to know.
January. — In the Exchequer till two. Home at three.
Expected to do some work but a person caUed in the
evening and kept me in idle talk tiU 10.10. So I lost all
those valuable hours, and the aroma of his cigar was the
only agreeable part of the inter-view.
10th. — They say that Carlyle and Hunt disputed a
whole winter evening on the world and humanity. As the
friends were saying good-night. Hunt, pointing to the
Heavens studded -with stars unutterably bright, said,
" How can you be melancholy when you behold these? "
But Carlyle, looking up, answered, "Eh! but it's a sad
sight." Each of these men said weU. The glorious firmament
with its mUHons of worlds gladdens the soul and gives
it a glimpse of sublimity, fills it with joy also, for the
reflection that it is akin to such grand powers. But the
joy is dashed -with melancholy, remembering that by our
o-wn lapses from -virtue we postpone our right to roam at
¦wiU amid these infinite spheres. 235

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
What a fund of deep mystery is in that saying of
Christ : " He that loveth his life, shaU lose it, and he that
hateth his life in this world, shall keep it unto Hfe ever
lasting." There is nothing on the subject of self-denial
equal to this in any of the ancient Greeks.
lyth. — A duU day at Chambers. I worked at The
Book of God, and when the labours of the day were
concluded I looked over Newton on the Prophecies — a clever
piece of work, which I suppose helped him to get his mitre.
Newton takes a particularly one-sided view. It would not
be difficult were it worth while to show how wrong he is
in many of his most important premises and deductions
But nobody nowadays cares much for such treatises.
Gold is the universal magnet.
30th. — (King Charles I., Martyr.) Martyr quotha! as
poor Byron would say. What does his death testify?
I -wish I had half-an-hour's talk about Charles' Martyrdom
-with the new Archbishop of Canterbury, who seems an
honest, kindly feUow.
February lyth. — ^The Queen's Speech — oh, what a
mess ! I have read many, this is the worst and most petty
of all. A grand occasion — but Gladstone only blows a
penny trumpet
March. — Read Homer. He is the King. After him
what a poor chap VirgU is. I have been going through
Virgil criticaUy of late, in teaching those boys and girls of
mine. The Eclogues, which I once thought so fine, are
not to be named -with those of Theocritus.
March. — I have just heard Gladstone make his speech
236

The Lord Chancellor's Lev^e
on the Irish Church and was disappointed with this new
Messiah, as his brother called him. He gave me an
impression of a Methodist preacher of a superior order,
but of the orational fire and flashes of the man of genius
there was not a sparkle.
The Marquis of Westminster is d37ing, the lord of so
many millions is now confessing the nothingness of life.
AU on his mind is that he is about to be hanged for some
undi-vulged but awful crime, and whensoever one enters his
room he adjures him in the most abject and touching terms
not to hang him! not to hang him! but to let him Hve a
little longer. This is the report.
Worcester Assizes. Reg. v. Merest. In this case
Huddlestone, never ha-ving read a word of his brief, pro
posed a settlement which we were only too glad to accept.
April 15th. — Went to the Lord ChanceUor's Lev6e, not
a large attendance. Cockbum did not go, but sat in
Court. Lord Hatherley looked hale, active and strong.
He vriU outhve Cockbum, who can never be the holder of
the great Seal now. His chances are gone for ever.
16th. — At Westminster, sat two hours in Wilde's
Court. He sent me a note in reply to my congratulations
to him as a new Peer. I like Wilde and think he well
deserves his elevation; but why take a Cornish title
(Penzance) when neither he nor his ever held a rood of
land in that country?
In the evening at Gray's Inn. Lord Romilly told me
it was generaUy reported that Miss CampbeU in publishing
Lord C.'s libellous lives of L5mdhurst and of Brougham
had extracted a great many of the plums.
24th (Portslade). — Came home last night, and once
237

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
more enjoyed the Elysian air of home, of love and of the
sea. Why can I not ever have them?
After prayers we walked over the Downs inhaling
Elysium, blessing God and -viewing Nature with enthusi
asm. We leaned over the wall at Hangleton Church and
in idea marked out the spot amid the rude forefathers of
the hamlet where we should like to sleep when Death the
Comforter comes.
Working hard at my Book of Enoch, and at intervals
sent my spirit into the bosom of the placid sea which, Hke
a sheet of molten silver, lies asleep before my -window.
In the evening heard the children's lessons.
26th. — Cockbum's daughter, Mrs Cavendish, died on
Sunday — a conceited piece of siUiness, poor thing! But
the Chief was foolishly fond of her.
Lord Romilly told me to-day a story of Lord Lyndhurst
which he heard from a Registrar of his Court. A counsel
addressing Lord Lyndhurst for some time seemed to make
little way, and Lyndhurst muttered audibly, " This
man is a fool." The counsel continued for some time and
got into the heart of the matter, upon which Lord Lynd
hurst muttered, " Not so great a fool as I thought."
Toward the close of the address, which was masterly. Lord
L. a third time muttered, " It is I who was the fool."
This was a fine trait in Lyndhurst.
2gth. — To-day at Gray's Inn, talking of CampbeU,
Lord Romilly said he was once in the pit at the Itahan
Opera with a couple of barristers whom he named, when,
as they were admiring Taghoni, one said, " What a pity
CampbeU didn't go on the stage. He'd have danced to
perfection! " The other said, " No, he never could have
238

Anecdote of Wordsworth
danced Hke Taghoni. But after he had been on the stage
a year he'd have got a higher salary than any other dancer."
The reason why beautiful eyes or voices affect us so
much is that they are images of the spirit. How beautiful
then must be the spirit itself, when its reflex charms us so
strongly. So, evil eyes and croaking voices image a spirit
which is base and ugly.
May. — Dined with Muloch, who talked as usual with
out ceasing. He mentioned ha-ving met Wordsworth and
his sisters at Lausanne. He walked -with Wordsworth,
who had never been there before, and showed him the
Castle of ChUlon, " the subject of B5n:on's beautiful
poem." " Do you call that beautiful? " says Wordy.
" Why, it's nonsense. What means ' Eternal Spirit of the
chainless mind? ' " Muloch said there was a very deep
and very fine meaning in it. But Wordsworth flew into a
rage, and from words they came almost to blows. And
Muloch, instead of going back to breakfast with him,
rushed off and left him.
2is^. — Coleridge was perpetuaUy talking in the Queen's
Bench of the " eternal principles of justice," to the great
disgust of Crompton, who was his junior and who preferred
law to abstract principles, such as C. enunciated to catch
the gallery. When Coleridge retired from the Bench and
HiU succeeded him, Crompton said, " Thank God, now
we've got a la-wyer we shaU hear no more of the eternal
principles of justice! "
2nd. — My birthday. Alas! for things undone! Dined
vrith Cockbum. Amongst the things the Chief Justice
told us was that the late Chief Justice (Tindal) bought
Coke's gold chain or CoUar of S.S. from the Leicesters,
239

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
and bequeathed it as an heirloom to the Chiefs of the
Common Pleas. I told the Chief I had heard many
odd things in my time, but that Bo-vUl should wear
the collar of Coke was the oddest ever known, and I
added that the S.S. could in his case only signify Stultus
Stultorum. July 8th. — ^To-day at Marlborough St. PoHce Court in a
case where the poHce prosecuted. Gods ! how they sware.''
It was perjury in platoons. Every shot was a falsehood.
But I think I shall defeat them.
Left in the two o'clock train for London. Picked up
Charles Dickens just outside Reading, who traveUed with
us the rest of the day. He looks better than his photo
graphs represent him.
August 6th. — What did old Broughton mean by locking
up all his MSS. for the next thirty years? By his wiU he
directs that his diaries, manuscripts, correspondence and
other papers may be dehvered to the Trustees of the
British Museum, to be kept without examination tUl the
year 1890, when they may if desirable be pubHshed. By
a codicU he desires that papers relating to State matters
shall not be made pubhc vrithout the sanction of the
reigning Sovereign.
I wonder is there a copy of Byron's Life among
the papers. Byron's autobiography was entrusted to
Broughton, it being left to him to decide as to whether or
no it should be pubHshed. Broughton himself told me it
could not be pubHshed, that it was the story of a man whose
soul was in Hell while he wrote it.
January loth 1870. — A man who has the habit of
talking to himself was asked by a brother barrister why
240 •

A Man of Sense
he did so. He repHed, " I Hke to talk to a man of sense,
and I Hke to hear a man of sense talk."
Lord Kimberley teUs me the Prince of Wales would
very much like to be Viceroy of Ireland, but the Queen
won't hear of it.
February. — Remained vrithin doors in the Temple
working at the Book of God, which I now consider finished,
and glad I am. No other work gives me such pure delight.
I dined on eggs and tea, and kept brain and mind perfectly
clear and laboured incessantly until past ten at night —
nearly twelve hours. But when I got to bed I could not
sleep. June (Portslade). — I have worked so hard that I felt
I could do no more and so ran home, and my heart opened
with deHght and joy as I arrived.
June. — Went to opening of Ardingly CoUege. Wilber-
force, Bishop of Winchester, preached the inaugural sermon,
conveying to my mind by manner, tone and gesture, a
profound conviction of insincerity. Soapy Sam laid down
two notions which rather startled me: "A Christian child
has more real knowledge than the greatest heathen
philosopher." The second was nearly as bad : "Property
is an institution of even greater importance than marriage."
What, my lord Bishop — even than universal concubinage?
Is this Winchester Christianity?
October lyth. — The Commentary, or rather the Key to
the Apocalypse, for so I should have designated it, is
published this day
November 4th. — The Empress Eugenie says she was
driven out of Hastings by the roll of the waves, reminding
241

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
her of the roar of the Paris mob as they attacked the
Tuileries.

iith. — Dined at Gray's Inn. Lord RomiUy repeated
what he has so often told us, that he never joined in the
prayer against sudden death because he thought it was
the best of aU deaths, and led us to believe he thought he
should die in that way.
January 1872. — Gore told me a fortnight ago about his
interview -with Napoleon, and now I beheve his doctors
are kiUing him. The poor little man was bent nearly
double and walked across the room vrith the greatest
difficulty. He was also sadly depressed.
T2th. — Dr GuU appears to be protesting something in
the case of the late Emperor, but his protest is so wrapped
up in verbiage and jargon as to be uninteUigible to the
profane. There is a general impression that his doctors
doctored poor Bonaparte. He should have died on the
plain outside Sedan — life Hke his was not worth preserving
for a couple of years of pain and regrets and a most ignoble
death like that of Camden Place.
i-^th. — Dined at Gray's Inn. Our Chaplain told
us that the reason Bishop Hinds resigned his episcopate
was that he had married (secretly) at the Registrar's
his housekeeper, and this caused so much scandal that
he resigned the See.
T6th. — When BaUantine was blackballed at the Reform
Club,Horton, the Master of the Cro-wn Office, said, "Right!
be Jasus! And if Jasus Christ himself had been an Old
Bailey barrister they would have blackbaUed him too! "
242

Praise for Disraeli!
January 5fh 1873. — Brady, M.P. for somewhere, asked
Blight to introdoce him to DisraelL Bright did so.
Brady said, " Mr DisraeH, I feel ver>- happy to make your
acquaintance. I hear you have written some clever
novels. I never read any of them mjrself , but my daughter
has and she thinks them so fine! " DisraeH drew himself
up and in tcmes of Mephistopheles repHed, "This is praise !"
and left Brady very solemnly . Bright ran chuckling about
teDing everyone. Brady returned to his place happy and
satisfied that he had done the right thing. So all were
amtent. 20th. — To-day in Queen's Bench. Whalley and Onslow,
M.P.'s, were sentenced in very severe terms, with the most
severe gestures by Cockbum, to pay fines of £100 for their
participation in Tidibome meeting.
26ih. — Cockbum who, during the Alabama business,
put in far an earldom finds he cannot get it. He next
intiniated (as Lash teUs me) that the titie of Viscount
would satisfy him. FaiHng in this also he is to be made
a G.C.B. As tbou^ that were worth a straw. Walpole
said he coold always bribe a young fool of a Senator with
a ribbon or an order, but the old rc^es preferred soHd
cash. Has Cockbum become a young fool again?
Imagine a man past seventy asking for a red ribbon!
February 14/i. — ^At GuildhalL Everyone compliment
ing me on my speech of yesterday in the case of Lord
WalHscoarL This is the day that usually brings me to my most dear
lunne. It seems so Icmg tUl the time comes. Hie hours
go on leaden wings. I wish the hour were here. I have
been nmsiiig long before the fire. I wonder what are my
243

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
three Graces thinking of the three Valentines I sent them
yesterday.

March 2nd. — A beautiful day, clear and sunny. I
should have enjoyed a walk in the Parks — to which I sent
aU my tribe — but I sat do-wn to my papers, and as usual
got so absorbed in them that I could think of nothing else
' — so I lost my sunshine. What a speU these theological
studies possess for me! For them I have sacrificed and
indeed have lost everything. Yet I never tire of them.
T4th. — Bulwer Lytton is said to have left some singular
directions in his vriU to avoid the chance of being buried
alive. 2is^. — Lord Rivers caUed about one, about the Tich
bome Case. He told me about Onslow presenting a
petition against the L. C. J. presiding at the Trial, but
this I stopped at once. Cockbum, I think, values fame
too highly to be an advocate, instead of a judge, in this
Trial. 24th. — Lord Rivers and The Claimant were here to-day
at twelve for more than an hour. A long discussion. But
Sir R. did not throw much light on our minds. His
language was odd. But the Tichbornes were always
" Hampshire hogs," so I don't think much of this.
A cart-load of papers came in this afternoon.
2gth. — M'Mahon caUed and we had a long discussion on
the Tichborne Case. He agrees with me as to the fearful
difficulties in our way. Lord Rivers came to-day. He
does not think Arthur Orton can begot to come to England.
I told him Ballantine's theory that Tichborne had
244

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Facsimile of Title-Page with reputed Shakspere
Autograph

THE AUTOGRAPH OF SHAKSPERE.
TO THE EDITOR.
Sib, — Some weeks since I purchased at an old book shop
in the City a copy of n Latin translaiion of *' lamblichus
de MysterlLs,*' published in 1607. I haj no leisure to look
at Jt anfeil some days after it had beeo in wj possession,
when I discovered that it bore on the title-page, in a fine
bold hand of the period, the name of *' William Shak
spere," This signature differs very materially from the
signature to the will, and certainly from that which is
attached to the deed in the British Museum, aod which t
have always regarded as a document doubtful in the
extreme. The question that now remains is, is it the autograph of
Shakspere? But as I myself have no time for investiga
tions of this natoxe, and the matter is really one of consi
derable literary importance, X should be glad if some of
your numerous readers would suggest some mode by which
it might bo ascertaiaed. No conclusion I think, can be
drawn unfavourable to it from the fact of the volume
in which it was found being one that Shakspere
was not likely to read. But who can tell what Shak
spere really knew or really read? Does it follow that
because he bought a book then new, and of a curious
nature, that he did ao for the purpose of reading it ? Or is it
likely that some person some centuries ago wrote the name
of Shakspere on it for the purpose of deceiving posterity ?
These questions have occurred to me, because a gentle
man of position to whom I showed it pronounced against
its i\uthentii:ity because the h and A: were not like the
writins^ of the period. I have since looked at writings of
the period, and I think the A and Arareunquestiooably like.
But as I may he no judge, I shall be glnd to facilitate the
labours of any gentlemen who feel interested in the in
quiry in any way I can. I hope also that your paper has
sufficient interest in tb^s curious question to insert this
communication, as Shakspere and all that relates to him
belong to us all and to the world. — I am. Sir. your obedi
ent servant, EDWARD V. KENEALY.
Temple, Nov. 7.
Facsimile of Letter printed m " The Standard,"
November 7th, 1865

Bovill's Remorse
murdered and buried Orton in the Bush, but he pooh-
poohed it.
April 7th. — A long consultation with Lord Rivers.
He brought me Liguori's book, which shows that oaths
can be hghtly regarded in the Church of Rome. But I
satisfied him that such a line of arguanent would do no
good. July 2nd. — ^To-day I complete my 54th year. How
time flies, and nothing done !
Cockbum's imfaimess in the Tichbome Case is now the
pubhc topic. He has reduced himself to the level of BoviU.
November 2nd. — ^Dined at Gray's Inn, talked of BoviU.
He does not appear to have left a friend or one who speaks
otherwise of him than as a bad prejudiced Judge who
dehghted in inflicting pain on all who came before him.
Lawford, who is Sohcitor to one of the Government offices,
says he met Bovill and wife a short time ago bu5dng carpets.
La-wford said to Bovill, " What do you think now of the
Tichbome Case? " Bovill made answer, " Don't mention
it, it weighs on me."
November. — Dr D. Wilson called and showed me a letter
from Gren-viUe-Miuray expressing anger and regret at the
sketch of me in Vanity Fair for last Saturday.
January 1st 1874. — Still on Tichbome, working
myself to death nearly, working against wind and tide
and every sort of rough weather. We have gone on
smoothly in Cockbum's absence. Now that he has come
back he is ardently watching for a chance of getting up a
row with me.
Q 24s

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
Friday, April loth. — Englishman newspaper started.
February 20th 1876. — Joanna Southcote — whose hfe
I have been reading — was a firm believer in the Devil,
This is not so strange as that so many should have believed
in her. 2yth. — There is one man whose likeness I very much
Avish to possess or at all events to see, and that is Godfrey
Higgins, the author of Anacalypsis and Celtic Druids.
I have sought for it in vain. None of the present British
Museum people remember him — ^but there is a tradition
among the oldest, of the number of hours he used to work
there.

246

CHAPTER XII
The Tichborne Trial — Dr Kenealy's Description and Reminiscences of The
Claimant — Lady Tichborne's Conviction of his Identity — Lord Rivers —
The Claimant's Case prejudged — Herculean Labours of his Counsel —
The Claimant's High-bred Manners and Artistic Tastes — Incident of the
Sealed Packet — Verdict and Sentence.
During the whole of his hfe, Friday was to my Father a
day of omen. Every event of importance, fortunate or
unfortunate, which happened to him fell upon Friday.
He was bom on Friday, he first met his future wife on
Friday, he was married on Friday. He made his Motion
in the House of Commons for an Inquiry into the Tichbome
Case on Friday. He was defeated for Stoke-on-Trent on
Friday, he died and was buried on Friday. These are but
a few examples of a rule almost undeviating in his life.
And on Friday the Tichbome brief was put into his
hands. With this fateful and ill-fated chapter of my
Father's hfe I do not propose to deal at length. The task
requires a volume to itself. In order to indicate Dr
Kenealy's -views and to record some of his strange experi
ences of his Chent and of that notable Trial, I have com
piled the foUowing graphic passages from a Lecture he
dehvered later in many to-wns of the United Kingdom.*
* The so-called " Confession " of The Claimant made after his release firom
prison cannot be seriously regarded as throwing light upon his identity. It
was extracted from him by an enterprising pressman, at a time when broken
in health and spirit by his long imprisonment, a disgraced outcast, with no
possibilities of inheritance for his children (Parliament having decreed that
Roger Tichbome was dead), he and his family in the direst straits of poverty,
he declared under a promise of ;^3000 that he was Orton. Later he wholly
retracted the "Confession," which, purporting to be an account of his im
posture, was a tissue not only of the crudest improbabilities (as the work of a
247

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy

Some of Dr Kenealy's Recollections of the Trial.
I was nearly fifty days addressing the Court of Queen's
Bench; and even in that length of time I did not attempt to
unriddle the thousand and one enigmas to be found in the career
of the Defendant. The Claimant himself is the greatest
enigma the world ever saw. If he is Tichbome it is a mystery
of mysteries how he could have committed the wonderful foUies
of which he was guilty. If he is not Tichbome it is, and ever
will continue to be, a wonder of the world how he could have
persuaded noblemen, gentlemen, ladies, priests. Carabineers
(consisting of some of the finest soldiers in the world), nearly
all the old tenants of the Tichbome estate, and lastly, Lady
Tichbome, one of the keenest, cleverest, and most suspicious
of women, that he was no other than the long-lost Roger,
the long-absent son who had been missing for so many weary
years. A himdred doubts at this moment crowd my mind, which
it would take a hundred hours to answer. A hundred proofs
on the other hand are before me, which go to show that no other
hving man but Roger could have presented such evidences as
did he.
If The Claimant be an Impostor — be Orton — ^he most
thoroughly deceived his Counsel ; for in my mind I need not tell
you there is no doubt that he is the genuine man. I have done
all that I could in this case to ascertain how the truth lay.
It is possible I may have been deceived; but when doubt
rushes over my mind I say to myself: Me he could have
deceived, but no man bom of woman could deceive a Mother
into the behef that he was her son, more especially if he were
the low-bred brutal rufiian this gentleman is pretended to have
been. That Mother Hved with him for over a year; she
allowed him out of her own narrow income the allowance she
man with no talent for fiction), but was crammed with misstatements and
inaccuracies wholly disproved by facts-
He insisted subsequently up to the time of his death, and solemnly afltaned
upon his death-bed, that he was no other than the veritable Roger Tichbome
of whose romantic rescue from the wrecked Bella his devoted mother had been
all along convinced. 248

The Claimant in Court
gave to her second son Alfred — one whom she dearly loved,
and for whose infant son there was a treasury of affection in
her heart second only to that which she bore to Roger.
It was on Wednesday, the loth of May 1S71, that I first
saw The Claimant in Westminster HaU. Little did I then
imagine how much of my own future, and of my fate in life,
would be involved in his fortunes. I was in the Common Pleas
on that day when the great Ejectment Clause of Tichbome v.
Lushington was caUed on before Lord Chief Justice BovUl.
I had heard, of course, a great deal of the plaintiff in that
action, and I a-waited his appearance and the statement of his
case with no Httie curiosity. I sat near his leading Counsel,
Mr Serjeant BaUantine, and looked curiously at the piles of
briefs, and the books of photographs with which his advocates
were suppHed. The ]\iry had not yet been caUed, and there
was the luU which precedes the tempest: —
' ¦ Pne torrent's smoothness ere it dash below."
Suddenly a noise, a murmur, a bustie were heard outside,
and in a minute or so The Claimant entered. I was not much
struck by his appearance at first. He seemed a mere mountain
of flesh. He was carefuUy and neatiy dressed; he moved
activelv, but there was an appearance of deep anxiety and of
utter weariness in his face. As he sat fuU in front of me, with
only a partition between us, he seemed to me to have the
broadest shoulders of anj- man I had seen. His height was
proportioned to his stature. He looked round at his Counsel
several times with earnestness; but the latter rather dis
couraged conversation whensoever he attempted it. I
thought he treated him rudely, and as though he were ashamed
to be seen by the SoHcitor-General in communication with his
cHent. This leamed gentieman sat close to Serjeant BaUantine.
He was spectacled, and seemed deeply immersed in notes and
papers. OccasionaUy he turned round nervously to make
inquiry of some of his juniors, but never after the first moment
did he look in the direction of The Claimant He seemed rather
to avoid glancing at the place where he sat.
249

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
You aU know the result of that Trial. The Claimant
called upwards of eighty witnesses, the family caUed seventeen.
The Jury, on hearing the testimony given by these, intimated
that their minds were made up against The Claimant, whereupon
his Counsel consented to be non-suited,/ which means that he
withdrew the case from their consideration. Chief Justice
Bo-viU immediately committed him to Newgate to take his
trial for forgery and perjury, and baU having been refused by
Mr Justice Brett he lay in jaU for nearly two months, untU he
was at length liberated, security for his appearance in the sum
of £5000 having been given by four gentiemen, of whom Lord
Rivers, Mr Onslow and Dr Atwood were three. His case was
then adjourned under various pretexts for more than a year,
to the utter exhaustion of his funds, and to the loss by death of
some of his best friends. At the end of this interval he was
almost without a penny ; and had not some noble-hearted
men come forward he would have had to face the whole force
of the Government without a shiUing in his pocket with which
to call a witness or to support his wife and chUdren. Many
persons said that the Prosecution calculated on this result,
and upon an easy victory: and Mr Hawkins himself cinnounced
everywhere that if he did not convict him within ten days he
would eat his wig. He did not convict him untU ten months
had passed, and then only by means which disgrace the
country. The first occasion when I came into personal communication
with The Claimant was on Monday, the 24th of March 1873,
when Lord Rivers brought and introduced him to me at Gray's
Inn. I had seen Lord Rivers twice before, and had been
retained by him on the preceding Friday, when he informed me
of various facts which had been embodied in petitions signed
by thousands of persons. These petitions prayed that Lord
Chief Justice Cockburn should not preside at the approaching
Trial; and preparations had been made for their presentation
to Parliament. I listened with pain to the allegations against
Sir Alexander, whom I had known for many years, and with
whom I had been on intimate and friendly terms ; but I heard
them without surprise, for many rumours of the sort had
already reached me, and I may say that there was probably
250

An Extraordinary Incident
not a single member of the Bar who was ignorant of the opinions
the Chief Justice had expressed without the least reserve to
individuals, and even in mixed society. I could not, however,
bring myself to believe that the Chief Justice would for a
moment aUow any feehng but that of a rigid impartiality to
govern his judicial conduct. When, therefore. Lord Rivers
asked me what I thought of the expediency of the course
proposed, I answered without hesitation, "If any such peti
tions are seriously contemplated I shall immediately withdraw
from the case. I can never be a party to such a vote of censure
on a Judge. It is impossible that, in a case like this, the Chief
Justice wiU be led away by bias, or prejudice, or preconceived
convictions. He aspires to an honourable place in judicial
history; he seeks to rank with Holt. I wiU stake my life upon
his integrity."
******** It was at our first conference that a little incident happened
which I can never forget. We were in the intricacy of dis
cussion. The Claimant sat at my right hand. We had
passed over various topics. At length somebody mentioned
Lady Radcliffe — and I fear that in abruptiy aUuding to her
I forgot for a moment the courtesies and used an expression
which was not complimentary. The Claimant half started
from his chair. An expression of rage, surprise and indignation
for a second flashed into his eyes. It was as though it were
in his mind to feU me to the floor. In an infinitely quicker
time than it has taken to describe it the feeling was controUed —
but it seemed as though the effort at restraint were mighty.
The matter passed, but it operated on me like an electric shock.
It seemed as though he flashed upon me at that instant this
thought, " That lady is my cousin. The same blood flows in
our veins. How dare you use a word derogatory to her? "
******** A cartioad of old briefs, papers, affidavits and a printed
Report of the first forty days of the Trial in the Common
Pleas were delivered at my chambers about a week after I first
saw Sir Roger Tichbome. There was at least twelve months'
reading to be gone through; and the Trial in the Queen's Bench
was to come off within the month. I never got any Brief in
251

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
the Case. The only Brief I received was a thick parchment-
bound volume of plain paper, in which I was supposed to make
out my own Brief from the materials furnished to me — some of
them four or five years old, with no addition or improvement
made, and no suggestion vouchsafed, since they were first
written. On inquiry I found that four or five different lawyers
had been engaged for The Claimant ; that they had got between
£4000 and ^5000 out of him and his friends — moneys generously
given by the people of England — and that for this large sum
they had each and aU done nothing whatsoever; nor did I ever
receive or see a single paper, note or memorandum from any of
these persons, which represented a sixpence in value, for this
large sum.
I did all I could to master even the rudiments of the Case.
I sat up all night; and night after night I denied myself
sleep, rest and exercise. But labour as I might I found the
Case stUl too vast to be grappled with in so limited a period;
and on the first day of the Trial I had so imperfect a knowledge
of the mass of detaUs that I wished I had never undertaken such
a responsibiHty at so short a notice. The prosecuting Counsel
had had it in hand for seven years, and knew it off Hke the
alphabet. Mr Justice Cockburn had had all the printed
papers and documents and volumes given to him twelve
months before, and had been mastering them hourly ever since.
Thus were those against me armed at all points, and what was
worse, they were accomplished masters at arms.
I beheve I half kUled myself during that month, labouring
at the Case; but I could never get abreast of it; and even now,
when it is aU over, I feel that there are hundreds of things
which I ought to have known, but which I never did know,
in order to have done justice to my unhappy Client. My
friend, Mr Onslow, was indefatigable, but I believe he agrees
with me that to have perfectly conducted a cause of that kind
I ought to have had a whole year's preparation. Even then
I should not have had the knowledge my opponents possessed.
However, I was aware that repinings were useless. I did what
I could, nor have I any reason to reproach myself for the least
want of duty to the man whom I defended, although I have
been blamed by many of his friends, who have no knowledge
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The Ruffian Orton
of my fearful disabiHties. Of all about me I beheve The
Qaimant himself is the only one who ever did me justice, and
appreciated my labours and my deficiency of help.
I have said that I did not derive much information from
mj- CHent. In aU things relating to the Case he was reserved
and tacitum. He was not eager to con\-ince even me upon
any point. He did not justify-, or excuse, or explain some of
his most glaring foUies. \Vhea I asked him why on earth he
had gone to Wapping, he merely anwered, " WeU ! I must have
been mad." He gave no other reason. \\'hen I asked >iim
where was Orton he evaded the question, and it seemed as
though it pained him to hear the name mentioned. I have
theories on both these subjects which fuU^' satisfy m\"self,
and I shaU probably make them pubhc some dav. At present
I need only repeat what I think evenbody knows, that I do
not beheve he is Orton. You could not sj>eak to him, hear
him speak for five minutes, or sit in his company and watch
his demeanour, and behave -that he was that -vulgar and
outrageous Ruffian. But if he is not Orton, who can he be
but Tichbome? The famUy have ransacked the earth; they
have expended many thousands of pounds to discover — as they
say — who the Impostor might be. They have been compeUed
to faU back upon Orton. They have got a Jur\- to declare
upon their oaths that he is that red-haired, splaw-footed,
great-fisted, foul-mouthed, pock-marked, ear-pierced, cheek-
scarred scoundrel, who had not one redeeming quaHty, whose
whole Hfe weis one of -vulgar and miserable brutaHty. The
man now in prison is no more Orton than I am.
******** I was now \Tsited by Mr Spofforth, a member of one of
the greatest law firms in the world; a gentieman who had
thoroughly mastered The Claimant's Case, and who, after the
fuUest inquiry and the most patient and painstaking investiga
tion, had come to the conclusion that he was the true Roger
Tichbome. He gave me several hours. And first he said to
me, " The late Lady Doughty was one of the shrewdest women
who ever Hved. From the moment The Claimant was heard of
in Australia she took the greatest care to make inquiries into
the reahty of his pretensions. She had a foUowing of Roman
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Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
Catholic Clergymen, many of them Jesuits of importance in
the Church, whose means of information extended from one
end of the earth to the other. Her own daughter. Lady Rad-
cHffe, was interested to the greatest extent in the matter,
for she was next heiress (on failure of male issue) to the Tich
borne and Doughty estates, which are valued at £25,000 a year,
and which wiU shortiy be worth double that sum. Her niece,
Lady Alfred, the daughter of Lord Arundell, married her late
husband on the assumption that Roger was dead and that
Alfred was sole survivor and owner of the property. Her niece
has an only son who, if The Claimant be not Roger, wUl have this
vast estate. For her own sake, therefore, and for that of her
daughter; for her niece's sake and her niece's infant son; for
Lord Arundell's sake, who is her near relation, and, indeed, for
the sake of the Church and Stonyhurst, to which she is a de
voted adherent, she has not failed to make in Australia the
most diligent and careful inquiries into this matter. Yet this
is the letter which she has written to Baigent. She speaks of
' a mass of evidence from different persons in Australia, which
she had seen; ' and her letter was written in October, whUe The
Claimant was on his voyage to England, and before he had
seen anyone but Bogle and TurviUe, so far as we know."
In this letter, dated Oct. 20, 1866, Lady Doughty stated
that she had no doubt that The Claimant was Roger Tichbome;
but this letter could not be read at the Trial, because of the
negligence of Mr Serjeant Sleigh to question Lady Doughty in
her dying moments upon it. I was deeply impressed by this.
I had heard of Lady Doughty from many quarters, and knew
she was one of the most cunning women in the world. One of
my oldest friends had been one of her oldest acquaintance,
and we had frequentiy conversed about her. He told me
much of her character and habits. I knew she was not a person
who either wrote or decided hastUy. Yet by an amount of
jugghng on one side, and bunghng or treachery on the other,
I was precluded from gi-ving this letter in evidence before the
Jury, although I tried aU fair means to do so. The Judges
had it before them, printed in the Baigent letters, but they
would not aUow me to refer to it.

2S4

The Lost Pocket- Book
The third characteristic to which my visitor caUed my
special attention was Castro's Pocket-book. This, as you
know, had been picked up in Austialia, and instead of being
returned, as it honestiy should, to the owner, whose name and
address it bore, it was sold by the finder to the agent of
the famUy. This Pocket-book contained a bum in division;
it was the number 50 which was divided by 7. The
Cljiimant, in doing this sum, had put the divisor 7 where
the quotient in EngHsh arithmetic would be. This was
remarkable, and is what no one brought up in England would
be likely to do. But what was my astonishment when my
-visitor showed me a photographic facsimile of Roger Tich
bome's examination paper in arithmetic at the Horse Guards,
and there I found that Roger had been ordered to divide
£9,875, IIS. ijd. by 72, and had (in the three or four hope
less and helpless attempts which he made to do so) in
every instance put the divisor 72 where an English boy
would have put his quotient, thus doiag precisely what the
writer in Castro's Pocket-book had done. Now the document
from the Horse Guards was sent to Mr Spofforth a short time
before the Trial in 1871, and the Pocket-book had been lost
in AustraHa some years before, so that there could be no
pretence that the pecuHarity of division found in the one
had suggested the other. Here was a startling fact: Roger
Tichbome and Thomas Castro doing a sum in di-vision, and
each foUowing the same pecuHar method. A French arith
metic book was produced at the Trial which contained the same
pecuHarity, and we know that it was in Paris Roger learned his
arithmetic. A day or two after this I mentioned this wonderful coincid
ence to my junior, Mr M'Mahon, and pointed it out to him in
the Pocket-book and in the Horse Guards paper. My visitor
had previously assured me that The Claimant was not aware
of this point of identity. M'Mahon suggested that we should
test him for our own satisfaction. Accordingly the next time
we saw him Mr M'Mahon started some arithmetical divisional
question, and affecting to be a Httle puzzled by it, he turned
to The Claimant and said, " Sir Roger! Can you help us?
Divide such a number by such a number." The Claimant
2S5

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
took up a piece of paper, and putting the sum to be divided
on it, immediately put his divisor where the quotient should be,
and worked out the sum, as the French boy Roger had done in
the Horse Guards paper. Mr M'Mahon and I did not say a
word, but looked at each other. And I verily believe no man
in Court was more surprised than The Claimant was when I
pointed out to the Jury this marvellous agreement. He every
now and then looked up at me -with a sort of blank astonish
ment, giving me credit for having made a new and wonderful
discovery — although I was in no way entitled to it, having got
it from my acute and clear-minded visitor.
I carefuUy examined my Client every time I saw him. I
never was able to detect him in any way acting a part. If he
be an Impostor he is the cleverest man in the world. But I
have already told you that I do not think him clever. The
various phases of society which he has seen, and the astonishing
variety of people he has met have, of course, done much for his
intellect; but he is reaUy nothing more than an ordinary
English country squire who has traveUed, and observed;
whose average abUities have been improved by years, by social
intercourse, and by rubbing against every sort of character;
one with a sHght fund of humour, and fair common-sense,
where his passions do not lead him like a WUl-o'-the-Wisp into
a quagmire, and whose memory is a curious compound of
strength and of weakness.
******** The Tichborne Case was one in which I was long exceedingly
disinclined to be engaged. The conduct of his leading Counsel
had been so viblentiy canvassed at the first Trial that I had
no desire to be made the theme of a similar discussion. I
also feared, although I scarcely anticipated, a fatal result.
First because the opinions of the Chief Judge who was to try
him were perfectly weU known, and I felt how powerful is the
voice of a Judge in England. And though I had faith in the
laws of the country, and bare in mind those noble words of
Nicodemus, " Doth our law judge any man before it hear him,
and know what he doeth ? " nevertheless I knew that what the
Law did not, the Interpreter of the Law might do if he thought
fit. Secondly, I felt how deeply in the mind of aU his con-
256

The Sealed Packet
fessions, or assertions, with regard to Lady Radcliffe had done
him prejudice. I was myself biassed against him for what he
had done in this respect. I had no sympathies in the main
tenance of such an issue, and during the Trial abstained as
much as I could, consistentiy with duty, from saying one word
which could give pain to that Lady — although upon this point
I have been shamefuUy misrepresented. When therefore the
matter had been proposed to me some weeks before, I rejected
it without hesitation, saying that it came too late in the day
for me to enter upon a Case of such magnitude. How I came
eventuaUy to accept it I hardly know. Lord Rivers told me
he had been assured by several, of whom the late Lord Chelms
ford was one, that I was the only man at the Bar who could
fight such a forlorn hope with even a chance of success. I was
led astray, perhaps, by some compliments which were paid to
my independence. I felt mayhap that it would be a base and
cowardly act not to buckle on armour for a man who was
sorely in distress.
When I inquired subsequently how The Claimant could
have been brought to make this avowal as to Lady Radcliffe —
disgraceful if it were true, infamous if it were false — I was
assured that he was an unwiUing agent in the transaction;
that it had been forced from him by importunities, and even by
threats to abandon his case, if he did not declare in writing the
true meaning of whispers which had for years pervaded
Hampshire and Dorset. Indolent in the extreme, hating to
be bored, solemnly assured that no one should ever be made
acquainted with the mystery, in a fatal moment he consented
to write the substance of the Sealed Packet. But even in the
instant that he had done so, and had handed over the copy to
his advisers, he laid down his head upon the table, and bursting
into tears, exclaimed, " Now I am disgraced for ever. Now I
shall never again be able to hold up my head in Hampshire."
The promise made to him was basely broken, and in a few days
the purport of the whole confession was gossiped about
Westminster HaU, and waS known in his native county.
On Wednesday, the 23rd of April 1873, this Great Trial
began. The Defendant entered Court about a quarter to ten,
as neatly attired as though he had been dressed for a fashionable
257

Memairs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
function. He exchanged a few words with me in the most
cheerful manner, and then seated himself at a Httle table
which had been specially put up for his use. Here yoimg
Bogle sat close to him, and opening a smaU black leather bag
which he always carried, took out a case of note-paper, pens
and ink, a magnif5dng glass and a beautiful Httie pah of
scissors — so smaU that it seemed made for a chUd's hand.
These he arranged with African neatness before his master,
who, whoUy indifferent as it seemed to the proceedings,
amused himself with an old copy of the Hornet, in which
Hawkins was represented mercUessly dragging WhaUey and
poor Skipworth to jaU. After this he snuled over the current
number of Punch, in which he himself was caricatured.
When the Judges entered, dressed in then dark blue robes,
with huge salmon-coloured sUk sleeves and round tippets, he
rose and bowed to them with the most courtly grace. But the
Chief Justice turned on him a cold, disdainful, wicked eye,
nor did Mr Justice MeUor look at liim at all. And this dis
courtesy and contempt thus shown on the first day of the Trial
lasted to the end. Nor was there ever known an instance when
the Judges answered, by the least recognition, the gentieman-
like bow of deference and submission with which The Claimant
always greeted their entiance into, and their departure from.
Court. A dear old Scotch lady, a friend of mine, when she one day
raUied me on the constant squabbles which went on between
Mr Hawkins, the Jurors, myself and the Judges, said pleas
antly, " In my mind The Claimant was the only one of you who
from first to last conducted himself with dignity." And I
beheve she was not far from right. He never once lost his
temper, or forgot that he was a gentieman, whUe Mr Hawkins
was giving me the lie direct, and Judge MeUor accused me of
dishonour, because I asked some Witness a question; whUe
the Chief himself, when I was teUing the Jury that it was an
old proverb that " priests never forgave," was poHte enough to
hint, if not to say, that there was no such proverb, but that I
had invented it for the occasion. Nay, although Sir Alexander
Cockbum, once when he caught the eye of the Defendant upon
him, said audibly and in a fierce growl, " Don't look at me,
258

The Claimant's High-Bred Demeanour
Sir," the Defendcmt endured this and a thousand other simUar
pieces of insolence with a grace, a patience and a high dignity
which, to any but a person filled and poisoned with prejudices,
would have carried the conviction, " This man, whatsoever
his foUies and offences, is a gentieman, and can be nothing
else." The Claimant has been caUed a wonderfuUy adroit emd
designing man; for my own part, although I saw a good deal
of him, I was never able to find out his dexterity. There is
said to be an art which conceals art. If he was clever he always
hid his cleverness from me. I have been told that he could
address pubhc meetings weU; I have no reason to doubt the
information — I m57self never heard him. But dealing with
him, as I found him, I should caU him a duU man — as duU and
commonplace in most things as is many a country bumpkin.
I never heard a -vulgar sentiment or a low expression come
from him. I never found a word which savoured of Wapping.
I never heard him give utterance to an idea inconsistent with
the mind of a gentieman. I never saw the least assumption
about him which could lead me to think he was playing a part.
He was always easy, natural, simple. His affabihty and poHte-
ness were those, not only of a weU-bred, but even of a high
bred man.
To women he was graceful, and even captivating. His
manner was that of a French courtier or nobleman of the age of
Louis Quatorze. He had much of the fascination which
belonged to George the Fourth, as I have heard it described by
persons who were intimate with that monarch. In outer
appearance he bore, too, a resemblance to the Prince Regent.
His snule was sweet and courtly, and when he Hfted his hat and
bowed it was with the ease and grace of a Prince. I have
been told by persons better acquainted with these things than
I am that his mode of handling the ribbons was conclusive to
their minds that he was a gentieman. His hands were beautiful
and soft. His taste for art was refined. The first time he
entered my room he singled out, as the thing he most
cared for, a fragment of a picture by Correggio, in which is a
fore-shortened arm marveUously painted. Nobody but a man
with an artist's eye would have chosen such a picture. But he
259

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
saw it in a moment. He was a finished judge of china, and
could discern at a glance, as I have seen him do, the real from
the counterfeit.
He was whoUy devoid of spite or of malignity. I do not
think I ever heard him speak with acrimony even of Chief
Justice Bovill or of Sir John Coleridge. Toward the end of his
second Trial he aUowed his feelings to break out against both
Judges and Jurymen. But that was after he had been racked
and tortured and insulted in the cruellest manner for nearly a
year, when he had become careless and desperate, and wished
for death to put an end to his troubles. As a rule his temper
was fine. This I can state truly — for no man ever tried it more
than did I ; and I look back with pain to many things which a
sense of duty compelled me to say of him in his presence.
He never even affected to give an explanation of matters
which a cunning, plausible man would have readily accounted
for. The most obvious things which an impostor would have
clutched at he either did not see, or did not think it worth
his whUe to mention. The only instance of sharpness I ever
recoUect in him was when Lady Dormer was in the witness-box.
Being his first cousin she conveyed the impression to aU in
Court that she had been constantly in his society. The
Claimant turned up to me and said, " I don't believe I was ever
in her company a dozen times — certainly not twenty." I put
the question to her almost in his words ; she sought to evade it,
but she admitted that it was substantiaUy correct. How
could an impostor have known this ?
Amid much tri-viality and lightness, so emblematic of his
French blood, and probably of his frivolous French education,
there were moments when he showed a dignity^ worthy of his
ancient lineage; when he felt and -wrote Hke a weU-bred man;
when he flung aside the manners and feelings of the Backwoods
man, the Butcher and the Vagrant, and asserted his trae char
acter in its native strength.
******** On the last day of his Trial, when the Jury returned to the
Court, the Defendant was perfectly self-possessed. He knew
his fate now. What Peel had said at the beginning of the Trial
was doubtless in his thoughts — but he flinched not in the least.
260

Last Day of the Trial
The hour was come which was to try his soul. I saw Palmer
sentenced, and he was pale as death; every muscle was rigid
imder the strain. But the Defendant was as cool as though
he had been about to raise his much-loved rifle and to fire at a
mark for a friend's wager or for his own pleasure.
Mr Justice MeUor fumbled at his desk and took out a
manuscript, consisting of several sheets of foolscap paper.
He said something to FrayHng, the Chief Justice's Clerk, who
sat right under him; and FrayHng rather harshly said to the
Defendant, " Stand up." The Defendant did so. I expected
him to turn rotmd to me and to ask me for advice. But he did
not do so. His manner was fuU of quiet dignity. I have been
told by those who sat in front of him that there was no quiver
of the Hp, no drooping of the eye, no change of colour, no
tremor of any description. The four detectives from Scotiand
Yard fixed their horrid eyes upon him, as though they expected
him to produce a revolver and to use it on himself, or upon the
Judges. But there was no spite or malice in this man. What
soever bad qualities he may have possessed, malice was not one
of them. He Hstened, as Socrates might have listened, to his
sentence. The Defendant was no Greek philosopher, but
greater coolness, I had almost said majesty, in the hour of
-tribulation, no man ever showed.
MeUor read the sentence — that wretched sentence which
had been prepared hours, perhaps days before, with fuU know
ledge of what the verdict was to be — ^with a diabolical exulta
tion in his voice, and coarse features, which grated terribly on
the few friends of Tichbome who were aUowed to be present,
but which was, no doubt, music to his assembled foes
When the sentence was pronounced and finished the
Defendant asked cahnly, " May I say a few words, my Lord? "
The Chief Justice leaned forward. " No! " he said, and the
denial soimded Hke the clash of chains. The natural melody
of Cockbum's voice had changed almost to a roar, as indeed,
almost from first to last, during the Trial, his whole nature
seemed to have changed to that of a hyena, growHng, glaring,
fierce. The Defendant bowed. He turned round to me, and
in the true spirit of a gentieman would not leave without
bidding me " Farewell! " He put out his hand. Every eye
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Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
was riveted on me. How could I have refused it? I shook
it and said, " Good-bye, Sir Roger, I am sorry for you." A
groan of horror broke from some barristers behind me. One of
them exclaimed (I think it was Moriarty), " He shakes hands
with him ! " as though I had been committing murder or some
other crime. I did press his hand, and I shall never regret it.
I should have scorned myself if I had driven a dagger into
his heart, by repeUing him at that moment. The Tipstaff
beckoned and he went out, and as he left the Court he bowed
to the Bench.
There was no recognition of the salute, but the highest
gentleman in the land could not have behaved with greater
courtesy, dignity or decorum.
They led him through a maze of corridors, by private
staircases and dark passages, and searched him for pistol or
poison. When an officer was about to handcuff him he siriUed
quietiy but sadly, and said, " That is not necessary, gentiemen;
I know how to behave myself."
And there was that about the man which moved them to
desist. -

262

HENRIETTE FELICITE
The Claimant's Youngest Child, at four years old
(Photo by Maull and Fox)

CHAPTER XIII
The Benchers of Gray's Inn and the Oxford Circuit Mess — Letter from Mr
Powell, Q.C. — Dr Kenealy's Refutation of the Charges brought against
him — Disbarment and Disbenchment — Letter from Mr Grenville-Murray.
Immediately after the Trial and sentence the Benchers
of Gray's Inn and the members of the Oxford Circuit Mess
announced their intention of inquiring into Dr Kenealy's
action during the course of the Trial.
More interesting and instructive than would be any
expression of opinion by a lay person like myself are the
folio-wing comments upon their decision, taken from the
Law Times and from The Solicitor's Journal and Report
of the period : —

From " The Solicitor's Journal and Report,"
March 21, 1874.
It is announced that the Benchers of Gray's Inn have
resolved to institute an inquiry into Dr Kenealy's conduct
" during and with reference to the Trial of the Tichborne
Claimant," and that they have appointed a Committee to
report upon the charges which in their opinion Dr Kenealy
should be caUed upon to answer. We do not wish to discuss
the propriety of the course thus taken, but we cannot refrain
from protesting against the strange assumption which seems to
be made in some quarters that because the Judges in the course
of the recent Trial expressed an opinion that an advocate had
abused his privUeges, the Benchers of his Inn are bound to
institute an inquiry. The opinion of a Judge as to the conduct
of an advocate must always command attention, but to
suppose, as the Pall Mall Gazette appears to suppose, that the
fact of " three Judges and a Jury " censuring an advocate
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Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
makes it " the duty of his Inn .to inquire into his conduct,"
is to convert the Benchers into mere henchmen of the Judges,
and to place in the hands of the latter a most crushing weapon
against an obnoxious advocate — the power of virtually
ordering an " inquiry."

" Law Journal," April ii.
Whether we look at the wide and indubitable jurisdiction
of the Benchers of an Inn of Court, or at the narrow and
questionable jurisdiction of a Cfrcuit Mess, we are equally
impressed with the conviction that the utmost caution must be
used in the exercise of either. Dr Kenealy's case is one of very
pecuHar difficulty.
The main charge against him consists in the aUegation
that he addressed questions to witnesses and spoke of witnesses
with a Hcense exceeding the Hberty conceded to the Bar. We
put aside altogether the charge of improper demeanour
towards the Bench, because it seems clear to us that the Bench
can take care of itself, and that if the Bench does not think
fit to punish Dr Kenealy it is mere officiousness in other
persons to usurp the authority deHberately foregone by the
Bench. Looking, then, at the main, and indeed the only substantial,
charge must we not admit that no worse tribunal to adjudicate
upon it could be found than a body of men, many of whom
daily and hourly hover on the very border-line between proper
and improper treatment of a witness?
How far an advocate ought to go in the case of his cUent
is a problem which has puzzled the wisdom of the most eminent
moralists and the most consummate practitioners.
Lord Brougham was for defending a chent at all hazards.
******** The true question is not whether eminent Counsel did
something fifty years ago with impunity, but whether it is
proper and expedient that such conduct should be aUowed
now. Assuming, then, a higher standard of forensic propriety
264

Unsuitable Tribunals
than is furnished by many notable examples, we yet are con
fronted with the unsuitable character of the tribunals to which
Dr Kenealy is supposed to be, or is, subject.
Only last week a case was reported in the Times, in
which a special jury of the County of Suffolk appended to
their verdict a declaration of their disapprobation of the
cross-examination of the plaintiff by the Counsel for the
defendant. The Counsel who had conducted the cross-examination has
been forty years at the Bar, and for nearly half that time
leader of his Circuit, and is deservedly respected.
It is simply impossible that he does not know, and would
not faithfuUy do, his duty as Counsel. Yet what a tu quoque
would Dr Kenealy have in hand if this gentieman were but a
Bencher of Gray's Inn!
On Dr Kenealy's own Circuit, and on the Bench at Gray's
Inn, is a gentieman who is not surpassed by any member of the
Common Law Bar as an advocate, and whose whole career at
the Bar reflects the highest credit on him; yet we suppose
that there are htmdreds of witnesses who have felt themselves
aggrieved by his severe cross-examination and his vigorous
invective. But he is caUed upon to sit in judgment on Dr
Kenealy, not upon some accusation of an overt act of dishonour
or -wrong — not upon crimen aliquod probosum — ^but upon a
question of discretion, of fairness, of good taste, of gentiemanly
feehng, of forensic Hcense— a question concerning which there
are no laws, no rules, not even precedents worthy of a moment's
consideration. Of that which was about to happen, my Father re
ceived warning in a letter from his old friend, Mr Powell,
Q.C, Leader of the Oxford Circuit. As will be seen, his
friend ad-vises him to leave England until the storm should
have blo-wn over and men should have returned to their
normal senses. Dr Kenealy's reply is characteristic, and
illustrative also of the difficulties and opposition from the
Bench -with which he had had to contend during the whole
course of the Trial. 265

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy

Letter from Mr J. J. Powell, Q.C.
Temple, March ist 1874.
My dear Kenealy, — I fear I am taking a great liberty in
writing this letter, but I hope to be excused, as my object is
the desire to be of service to you. I express no opinion about
your conduct of the Tichbome Case, having read but smaU
portions of it. It cannot be doubted that it has drawn down
on you censure from the Bench of unexampled severity, in
which the Jury and the Bar also seem to concur. It is to be
feared that this may affect your practice as weU as your status,
and it has therefore occurred to me whether it would not be
advisable to withdraw for a time, and thus, by bowing to the
storm which is sweeping over you, avert some of its ill conse
quences. Looking at the matter in this aspect, what do you
say to -visiting the United States or AtistraHa, or both, and
narrating or lecturing upon the extraordinary Trial just con
cluded, or giving any other lectures? // done at once by you it
might produce a rich harvest; and I do not see there would be
any greater objection to it than to Dickens' readings, or
Thackeray's or Froude's lecturing. You could get to New
York comfortably in a fortnight, write one of your lectures on
the voyage out, engage with some secretary or manager, such
as Dickens had, to arrange for you, and if the thing were weU
arranged, do weU by it in every way. At any rate it may be
worth your consideration, and I hope you wiU excuse me for
suggesting it. — Believe me, yours faithfuUy,
J. J. Powell.
E. V. Kenealy, Esq., Q.C.
Dr Kenealy's Reply. March 2nd 1874.
My dear Powell, — I have read your note with the honour
and consideration which everything that comes from you to
me deserves.
I am deeply thankful to you for the kind interest that
prompted you to write it, and I shaU never forget it, nor your
266

Virulent Bias of the Judges
friendly soUcitude for me at all times. But I think you may,
on consideration, agree with me that such a course as it suggests
would hardly be worthy of me. I have nothing to look back
upon in the Tichbome Case which, so far as I am concerned,
gives me a moment's sorrow. I do not, and never shaU, regret
or retract a single word I said from the beginning to the end.
I saw two Judges sit to try this man, who in the eyes of the
law was innocent, with the spirit of the old and worst times,
when Judges came to execute and not to hear. I saw the most
virulent prejudice shown by the Chief and MeUor from the first
hour they sat upon the Bench, in their looks, their tones,
their gestures, their demeanour, aU indicating a foregone
conclusion of guUt and a hostihty to all opposition to that
conclusion. So that I resolved to stand against it with all
the power and strength of my soul, and to do my duty to my
cHent to the end, fearless of all personal consequences to
myself — consequences of which I had an early intimation
from Master Cockbum, the Chief's half-brother. From this
determination I never swerved, and for this I shaU respect
myself through weal or woe for the remainder of my life.
The more virulent and hostile they became, the more I vowed
to fight for a man so unjustly treated, hoping that the people
of England — for I never expected much from the packed Jury
— ^would see, as I beheve they wiU and do see, that the man was
not ha-ving a fan Trial, and that the Judges were resolute for
his conviction. If they had exhibited even a moderate spirit
of fairness and impartiality I would have shown them defer
ence. But not one day during the whole Trial did they do so.
I could hear observations of the most damaging kind from
hour to hour by Cockburn to Lush, which the Jury could
hear as weU as I did, and which Cockbum intended them to
hear, although they were uttered in an undertone.
Do you think from what you know of me that any mere
selfish consideration could interfere with my natural indignation
at such conduct? Never — thank God — I say, never. In this
spirit and under these promptings I fought as I wiU ever fight.
I may be caUed a fool in this mercenary age for having done so.
So be it. It is done, and I rejoice that it is done. And I
believe that by-and-by it wiU produce fruit in a new spirit,
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Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
which I fear is^d57ing out, not only in our profession, but also in
the general public. I have lived long enough to be perfectly
certain that no external trappings of life can reconcile one to
the loss of self-respect. And I declare I should have despised
myself to my dying day if I had ever seemed falsely and
hypocritically to appear to think that Cockburn and his
coUeagues intended to do justice, when I knew, as every
member of the Bar knows, that at the Middle Temple, in the
Common Pleas (when he was only a spectator) and at numerous
dinner-parties Cockburn had pronounced my unhappy client
to be an Impostor whom he was determined to convict.
In this diabolical spirit he took his seat on the first day of
the Trial, and he retained it to the last, having made up his
mind to crush and to ruin if he could any man who dared
oppose him.
I knew this then as weU as I know it now. But it worked
no change in my resolution to battle against it as a hideous,
horrible and unholy wrong, and if I perish I shaU perish like
a knight of old in warfare with a dragon or a serpent. I have
never forgotten my favourite old volume. The Seven Champions
of Christendom (I think I have it off by heart), and I am not
ashamed, but proud of the lessons I learned from it. — Yours
ever, E. V. Kenealy.
J. J. Powell, Esq., Q.C.

Without waiting for the decision of the Benchers, the
Oxford Circuit Mess hurriedly resolved upon Dr Kenealy's
expulsion from it. Whereupon The Figaro, at that time
a clever and outspoken journal, expressed itself as below.
(I may say that the decision of the Oxford Mess was carried
by a very smaU majority, eighteen of Dr Kenealy's col
leagues strenuously opposing it. And later, when the heat
and excitement following upon the Trial had died down
and the question was re-considered with calmness and with
just attention, it was acknowledged that all save a few of
the Mess sincerely regretted their precipitate action.)
268

Flagrant Injustice

" Figaro," April ii, 1874.
The Oxford Bar Mess is a forum domesticum, and therefore
we are at liberty to comment on its proceedings. We intend
to use our liberty, and to give expression to the public disgust
at conduct that would have disgraced a gang of greedy,
huckstering costermongers.
******** Assuredly, after the way in which the Bar Mess of the
Oxford Circuit has treated Dr Kenealy, it would be gross
impertinence for any lawyer to laugh at the ignorance of
laymen. If any thirty London scavengers had been caUed
upon to consider the case they could not have shown more
reprehensible and shameful ignoremce of the principles and
administration of justice. . . .
The severe rebuke of the Lord Chief Justice was as great
a punishment as a commitment to prison for contempt of
Court. As to the treatment of witnesses Dr Kenealy is not
the sole offender. Dr Kenealy did no more than Counsel are
in the habit of doing. Why, it is common practice to bully
witnesses and to asperse their characters. If Dr Kenealy is
to be debarred for his treatment of witnesses there are a score
or two of eminent Counsel who ought to be simultaneously
stripped of wig and gown.
******** On May 16 the case of Dr Kenealy wUl be heard by the
Benchers of his Inn; yet, on April 2, the Bar Mess of the
Oxford Cfrcuit passed a resolution expeUing Dr Kenealy from
the Mess. Any junior who holds a brief with Dr Kenealy will
be also excluded from the Mess. Therefore, the expulsion
wiU stop Dr Kenealy's business on Circuit. The Htigation
wUl go on, but other barristers wiU have to hold the briefs.
The barristers who voted for the expulsion of Dr Kenealy wUl
profit by the proceeding.
We never heard of a more flagrant and indecent act of
injustice. Surely the Bar Mess should have waited untU the
Benchers had dehvered judgment on the charges against Dr
Kenealy. But that would not pay. Dr Kenealy may be
269

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
acquitted by the Benchers, and therefore not a day was to be
lost in getting him out of the business of the Circuit. The
action of the Bar Mess is utterly indefensible, and can only be
understood by the assumption of a disgraceful motive.
There is an old saying that dog wiU not eat dog, but a
lawyer wUl eat a lawyer. Conceive the nearly briefless and
ravenous members of the Circuit having authority to stop the
business of a leading Counsel ! Fancy unsuccessful professional
rivals having the power to oust the successful rival!
As we freely censured the behaviour of Dr Kenealy in
Regina v. Castro we are the more bound to protest against the
petty and shameful persecution of which he is now the victim.
Dr Kenealy is a man of exceptional ability. He is an
accomplished orator, a well-read lawyer, and a finished scholar.
Is such a man to be professionaUy ruined by men who, intel
lectually, are not worthy to black his boots?
Something more than the professional career of Dr Kenealy
is at stake. The honour of the English Bar is imperiUed.
The wholesome liberty of the advocate is endangered.
Below are the charges which were brought against him
by the Circuit Mess, and below these is Dr Kenealy's
complete refutation of them. It was addressed to Mr
J. K. Smythies, representing the Mess.

Letter from Mr J. K. Smythies to Dr Kenealy, Q.C.
Oxford Circuit, 29M March 1874.
Sir, — At the Bar yesterday I heard read a letter from you
complaining that you had received no notice of the charges to
be made against you at Glo'ster. Though I cannot give you
the required information I can state the reasons which wiU
compel me to vote against you unless the answer of you or
your friends should change my present opinion, and 'I do state
them in the hope that you may give a disproof or satisfactory
explanation. From the newspaper reports of Reg. v. Castro, which I take
subject to any correction by you, it appears: —
270

Charges by the Circuit Mess
I. That you told the Jury that you should ask them to
beheve Luie and disbeheve Mr PurceU when you knew that
Luie was a perjured witness and had no reason to doubt Mr
PurceU. 2. That you charged Mr Hohnes with embezzHng a great
part of £27,000 and deserting his cUent " when he had sucked
the orange dry," and that your client privately told you that
it was not so, yet that you did not detract the charge tiU an
announcement by the Court that the charge must be in
vestigated made it ine-vitable.
3. That you charged Mr Chichester Fortescue, and the
Sohcitor to the Treasury, -with the subornation of perjury, aU
the Tichbome family with conspiring to defraud thefr relation,
Mary Ann Loder, Lord BeUew, Mr Gosford, aU the foreign
witnesses for the Crown and others with perjury, described the
Tichbome faimly as Hampshfre hogs, the priests as infamous
night owls, the teachers and governors of Stonyhurst as wUful
corrupters of thefr pupUs, and charged the owners of the Bella
with scuttling thefr ship to cheat the insurers, without any
ground for any one of these accusations, and thus brought on
our profession the disgrace of a public rebuke by the Jury.
4. That you compared the Judges, who presided with
perfect fairness and courtesy, to Scroggs and Jeffreys and
threatened them with historical infamy apparentiy to deter
them from thefr duty.
5. That you mis-stated the e-vidence so often and so much
that aU your mis-statements cannot be ascribed to loss of
memory. 6. That after the verdict you shook hands with the convict,
who, even if you could then doubt that he was an impostor, was
by his own evidence accepted byyou as true, as great a scoundrel
and degraded a blackguard as ever disgraced humanity. — I am
yours, etc. J. K. Smythies.

271

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy

Letter from Dr Kenealy, Q.C. to Mr J. K. Smythies.
Gloucester, April afh 1874.
Sir, — I am favoured with your letter of the 29th ultimo.,
in which you put forth certain reasons why you individuaUy
would vote against me at Gloucester. I admire the candour of
this course, and although I hear you are very much opposed
to me I do not hesitate to reply to the charges contained in
your letter.
The fkst aUegation is partly true but radicaUy wrong. I
used the words contained in it many days before it was shown
that Luie was not a witness of the truth. After that I gave
him up at once in open Court, and never again referred to Mr
PurceU in connection with him. Mr PurceU and I have met
and conversed since on two or three occasions in the most
friendly manner. He has never hinted that he has any fault
to find with me and not a particle of unkindly feehng exists
between us. If he is satisfied that I have done him no wrong
I hope that you and the outside world wUl be content.
It is not true that I charged Holmes with embezzling any
money. I said that he had sucked the orange dry. This is
true, for when the Defendant came into the hands of Baxter
& Co. he was penniless, aU his funds having been exhausted
in absurd and abortive proceedings in Chancery. I misunder
stood a letter which the Defendant had written, in which he
spoke of Holmes having raised £35,000 (I think) for him, and
as no dates were given I supposed that that sum had been
raised after 1867. The moment I said so the Defendant
interrupted me. He had frequently uttered disjointed and
indistinct sentences to me during the numerous days I was
speaking, and they had been of so fooHsh a nature that I took
no notice of them. I need not tell you what interruptions are
under such circumstances. The Lord Chief Justice observed
this and said I should have an opportunity of bringing the
matter before the Court if I thought fit. The Court adjoumed
a few minutes after and then it was I clearly understood for
the first time that this £33,000 was a transaction with which
Holmes had nothing to do. When the Court re-assembled I
272

Dr Kenealy's Refutation
stated this. My instructions at the Trial with reference to Mr
Holmes were HteraUy obeyed by me — I did not go beyond them
in the least letter. It is absurd to suppose that I could have
intended to misrepresent what appeared in a printed letter
and which could be as it was cleared up in an instant. A more
untrae representation of what really occurred cannot weU be
than that which you suggest, but I do not by any means think
that it is your deliberate act or that it is anything but a
mistake on your part.
It is not time that I charged Mr Chichester Fortescue or
the Sohcitor to the Treasury with subornation of perjury.
Of the former I said it was " unfortunate " that he should have
appointed Captain Gates to a post when he must have known
that he was a witness in a case in which his Government had
taken a great interest. Mr Fortescue was aware of my cross-
examination of Gates on this subject, and he might have
offered himself as a witness to show that he appointed Oates
in the most innocent manner. He did not do so, but after the
case was closed he -wrote a letter to the Lord Chief Justice
making certain statements which he ought to have proved and
which the Lord Chief Justice read to the Jury as though they
had been evidence. And this letter was read after I had finished
my summing-up, so that I was precluded from making any
remark upon it. I consider, therefore, that the word " un
fortunate " was not too strong a phrase to apply under the
cfrcumstances and that it does not justify your use of the words
" subornation of perjury." With respect to Mr Gray I invite
your attention to the foUowing passage in my summing-up,
extiacted from the Daily News of January 15, the only news
paper whose report I have read: —
" Bear in mind that if I arraign this Prosecution for any
thing, I especiaUy exempt my old and respected friend, the
Sohcitor to the Treasury, and those who are immediately
connected with him. I wish that it had rested entirely with
them and with them only, and then we should not have had
'this army of spies and detectives who have disgraced and
degraded a great public cause," etc. etc.
Note that it was to this " army " my observations in general
were directed. The Chief Justice heard me speak in this way
273

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
of the Sohcitor to the Treasury, he heard me exempt Mr
Hawkins from complicity in many of the bad acts of the case,
yet he ventured to say in his summing-up to the Jury as
foUows : —
" You have been told that everybody connected with it
from the highest to the lowest, counsel, solicitors, clerks,
detectives — everyone is engaged in a foul conspiracy."
I ask you to contrast my speech with his words.
Probably when you see how gravely you have erred here
you may pause and ask yourself whether you and others
actuated by motives beyond suspicion may not be mistaken
also in many other things.
It is not true that I charged aU the Tichbome family with
conspiring to defraud their relation. This aUegation is too
general for me to meet it with anything but general denial.
If I were to caU upon you for proof you could find no proof.
In my two speeches, extending over forty-four days, I can lay
my hand on several passages which refute such a charge.
You mention the names of several persons whom you say I
charged with perjury. Is this an unheard-of act? How
many people are we aU obliged to charge with perjury, or with
reckless swearing akin to perjury, in the course of our pro
fessional lives? I am amazed at such an accusation. In
numbers of cases there is perjury on one side or the other.
Are we to remain sUent and to say aU is truth? I can tell you
nearly the exact number of persons whom I so charged out of
250 caUed for the Prosecution. It amounts to about fifteen.
I would send you their names only for the law of Hbel. Com
pare this with what Brougham did at the Queen's trial, where
not a hundred witnesses were examined, or what Sir J. Cole
ridge said in the Common Pleas, where only eighty-five were
examined, or with what Mr Hawkins read from a deliberately
written speech about nearly all of my 280 witnesses at the late
trial, and you wUl then regret your own hastUy-formed notions
and perceive the appositeness of the quotation which ends this
correspondence and for which I am indebted to one of my
friends on the Circuit. I had a right to believe and to say that
these fifteen persons were false. Mistake was impossible.
Do you contend that I ought to have assumed that niy case
274

Denial and Disproof
was false? that aU the witnesses for the Prosecution were
truthful and mine were doubtful? Surely you cannot contend
for this. If you look through my speech you wiU see that over
and over again I speak of numbers of witnesses as being
mistaken. It is hard that you should thus run away with a
general notion. I am prepared to prove that there is nothing
which justifies your sweeping assertion, and I am prepared to
justify aU I said of these particular witnesses.
I used the words " Hampshire hogs " playfully, in aUusion,
as weU as I remember, to Sir E. Doughty and Sir J. Tichborne
and Roger, and the sort of existence which they led, and I
never before heard that anybody noticed it or cared for it.
I did not think it would be made a matter of observation.
I said that the Jesuits all over the world, and particularly
in France, were the corrupters of youth. I condemned Stony
hurst teaching and morals as exemplified in the career of one
of its pupUs, and in its use of the Preston brothels. (See the
evidence of Mr Hoffland.) I did caU the French priests, who
insinuated madness and subornation of perjury against the
dead Lady Tichbome, " night owls." Do you seriously think
or say that in doing so I did anything worthy of serious
reprehension? If you had heard the evidence of these men
against that unhappy Lady you would have been moved, I
believe, with the warmest feehngs of indignation, nay, I believe
you might have used stronger language than I did — nor could
I blame you if you had. .
It is not true that I charged the owners of the Bella with
scuttling the ship. It is true that I asked various questions
bearing on the point as I was instructed to do, but I made no
aUusion to it ever again nor did I mention it at all in either
of my speeches. The word " charged," therefore, is wrong,
unless you say that simply putting questions is making a
charge. And if you read my brief you wiU judge for yourself
whether I had not grounds for aU I said on this as weU as on
other matters.
I hope I am above the censure of the Jury of which you
make so much. The Jury were not empaneUed to try me,
and the Judge — if he had meant right — should have rebuked
their impertinence. It is enough for the Bar to have the Bench
27 S

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
for censor, without voluntarily thrusting themselves into the
power of an inferior and irresponsible body. I don't wonder,
when you have been misled as you have been, that they should
equaUy wander astray.
It is not true that I compared the Judges to Scroggs and
Jeffreys. The Lord Chief Justice said it but he said what
was untrue. Litera scripta manet. If there be any such
aUegation by me against the Chief Justice or his col
leagues, let it be produced. I remember none and I believe
there is none. Had I said it he would have been glad to seize
the opportunity against me. I cannot now read over a forty-
four days' speech, but I am pretty sure the statement is
erroneous. The Chief Justice says that I declared his name would be
blurred and suUied in the judicial history of his country for
his conduct at the Trial. Have we come to this abject condi
tion that this may not be said of a Judge? If said falsely no
one minds it— no one can be hurt. If said truly where is the
offence? Why did not the Judge avenge himself for it when
the Trial was ended? And if he did not are you to throw the
Shield of Ajax over him? Have you forgotten Erskine's
contests with Judge BuUer? Are we to endure with meekness
aU that Judges choose to say? Surely you do not contend for
this. You say I threatened the Judges with historical infamy.
What then? Is this ungentiemanlike or unforensic conduct?
It was known to aU the Judges that a strong feehng prevailed
out of doors, that two of their body, months before they sat to
try the Defendant, had declared him to be guUty. This had
been said without any secrecy at numerous places. Thousands
of persons who had heard this signed petitions to ParHament
prapng that one of these Judges should not preside at the
forthcoming Trial. I prevented the presentation of these
petitions. The Judges knew this. I myself acquainted Mr
Justice Lush of the feeling and of the fact. Was I not justified
therefore from what I saw passing in dra-wing the attention of
the Court to a future time when we shaU aU have passed away
and when history shaU investigate this memorable Trial?
I did so dehcately, but I did so solemnly; it was not untU
276

Precedent of Erskine
the final hour that I used the phrase which the Chief Justice
cited. I did so under the gravest conviction of duty to the
Defendant, to the Bar and to the public. I hold that Counsel
has a right to act as censor of the Judge if duty demands.
If this grand standard of principle be lost sight of by the Bar,
then the Bar as a body is without honour.
Have you forgotten the great attitude of resistance which
the Hghts of our profession have shown to Judges and jurors
when the occasion required it? Has their strong and violent
language escaped your recoUection? You, I suppose, are well
read in our past judicial history — it may be that those whom
you have influenced are not equaUy well acquainted with it.
Free and independent speech has always been the noble
characteristic of our profession. May it ever be so, even if I
am to be its martyr. I wiU not go further back than Erskine.
Permit me to refer you to some extracts from his speech in the
case of Captain BaUHe where he singled out Lord Sandwich,
then a member of the Cabinet, in the most signal and sarcastic
manner, and what made it more remarkable was the fact that
Lord Sandwich was in no way before the Court, as Lord
Mansfield told Erskine. But he could not stop him although
he tried. And this has ever been regarded as one of Erskine's
heroic acts. I refer you to the speech and to its daring diction.
You wiU see how the Chief Justice of England was bearded in
his pride of place when he sought to screen the real offender.
Let me in-vite your attention also to the words of that great
advocate in the case of Lord George Gordon, where he said to
the Jury, " By God, that man is a ruffian who could find in the
prisoner's conduct evidence of guUt." And he continued to
treat him and to speak of him throughout the case as his
friend, although he was on his trial for a most heinous offence.
He probably shook hands with him also. I have before aUuded
to his contentions and scornful altercations with Judge BuUer
in the Dean of St Asaph's case. Is our spirit to be less than
his? Mine never shall be. You wUl find all I have said is
more than surpassed by the tone and temper of Erskine's
reprobation. In his sun-bright path I am not ashamed to
foUow. The Bar for its own honour should support me.
No one ever thought of arraigning Erskine for thus speaking
s 277

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
openly and boldly in defence of his cHents, and in defiance of
unjust power. If once a path shall be prescribed by Judges
or by journalists to Counsel as to what they shaU or shaU not say,
there is an end to the independency of the Bar or the rights of
suitors in our Courts. If the agitation against me succeeds the
Bar receives a blow from which it can never recover. Mark my
words — for they are true. And if I am crushed I shaU in no way
grieve. For the Bar would then be a profession to which I
should be ashamed to belong. I came to it having before my
eyes, after long and eamest study, the highest and most
exalted standard. While I have practised at it I have kept
that standard in view. No man living can with truth aUege
anything against my professional honour or my character.
I stand before my countrymen in this respect without reproach.
I do not care for the verdict of the Bar Mess. My own con
science, my whole public life, is an adamantine shield against
slander and abuse, even although it come from the Bench.
******** \Cases were here cited of famous advocates who had used
their full prerogative in defending their clients.']
An outcry nearly similar to that now raised against me by
certain persons was got up against the present Lord Chief
Baron for his defence of TaweU at Aylesbury. You remember
how the newspapers rang, and the nickname which that eminent
advocate received. He was accused of the greatest enormities,
etc. His Bar Mess did not unite against him, nor did his
Benchers yield to clamour. The public soon recovered from
the arts of his foes, and he attained in due time the judicial
reward to which he was so weU entitled. With equal confidence
I look forward to my hour of triumph over aU. these miserable
intrigues which are going on. The miUions are on my side
and against them all factions are powerless.
AU these facts prove that it has never yet been successfuUy
attempted to crush Counsel for acts done in open Court, before
aU people and with the eyes of the world upon them. Never
before in the judicial annals of England was it known that
Judges deliberately stated of Counsel what those in this case
did. That they heaped contumely upon him day by day
simply because he sought to do his duty, that they constantiy
278

Belief in The Claimant
interrupted and misconstrued his words into the worst mean
ing, that they aUowed him to be called a liar in open Court
without rebuke and denied him redress when appealed to, and
when they were told they had insulted him every day did not
deny the charge but merely answered, " You brought it on
yourself." AU these things are unprecedented, and if the
people of England do not take them up I can prophesy for the
people of England a tyrannic crisis which they do not at this
moment anticipate, but which is certain to come and to
stiangle them
Perhaps you, as from your language it seems although
leagued with my foes, wiU meditate on these things. You wUl
bear in mind also that I defended a man of whose identity
with Tichbome I am as sure as I can be of anything that I do
not absolutely know, for which assurance there exist at least
a thousand reasons which are no proofs in a Court of Law, but
which to my mind nevertheless carry absolute con-viction. Nor
do I stand alone in this. I am supported by men of the clearest
minds in England. Have not you yourself, in the course of
large experience as a Counsel, seen over and over again in
dubitable moral e-vidence of the inherent justice of your cause,
but evidence which, by the rules of law, you were unable to
offer in Court? So it is with me in this case. If you think it
is for ever decided you are in grievous error. I beheve that
before twelve months pass the real Arthur Orton wUl be in this
country, proved and acknowledged by thousands of persons,
and that the present victim of the Prosecution wiU be released
amid general acclamation.
Your next charge is that I wUfuUy mis-stated evidence.
I am sorry you use such language. You deHberately charge
me with baseness. I can ohly answer it by appealing to my
whole professional Hfe, which refutes such an infamous accusa
tion — ^by appeahng to those who know me and who wUl say
that I am incapable of any such proceeding. Why should you
judge me so harshly? Why not make aUowance for a real
forgetfulness of facts which are to be numbered by the myriad,
and which occupied ten months to try? Have you never, in a
short cause of a few hours, forgotten the purport of evidence
and unintentionaUy mis-stated it? Can you not suppose that
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Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
I might have done so innocently in a vast, heavy and compli
cated case of unparalleled magnitude? I notice that you do
not particularise any mis-statements of mine. I am unable
therefore to answer such a calumny (as your language compels
me to caU it) except by chaUenging you for proof. Yet I
hardly think that we could conveniently try the Tichbome
Case over again at Gloucester or indeed anywhere.
It is true that after the verdict the condemned man — the
unjustly condemned man, as I shaU always think — ^put out his
hand to me and I took it. It is equaUy true that I said to him,
" Good-bye, Sir Roger; lam sorry for you." It is certain also
that I am ashamed of neither act nor speech, but that I should
have scorned myself if, -with the firm conviction in my mind
that he is not Orton but, is Tichborne, I had spumed him.
Had I done so his enemies would have said that I acquiesced in
the verdict. I do not acquiesce in it. I believe it is wrong,
and I am hopeful that time wiU demonstrate it to be
wrong. And now permit me to commend this letter to your candid
consideration. I give you credit for writing to me with
honourable motives, although you have used language which I
regret. I ask you not to be led away by prejudice, by passion
or by base self-interest, which may mislead others but which is
most unworthy. You are party to an act which must come
before the world and be canvassed by it. Weigh weU what I
have written. Make allowance for the most overwhelming
difficulties with which ever Cotmsel had to contend. Re
member your own intercourse with me, slight as it has been,
and ask yourself whether you ever hecird an unworthy state
ment faU from my lips, or an unworthy deed upheld. If you
did not — if you have always found me a man of honour— then
I say condemn me if you can. — Yours sincerely,
Edward Vaughan Kenealy.
P.S. — The whole of these charges of yours are founded on
the easy and convenient assumption that before the Verdict
I knew or ought to have known that the Defendant was
Orton, that all his witnesses were false or mistaken, and that
all the witnesses for the Prosecution were incapable of falsehood
280

Dis-Benched and Dis-Barred
or mistake. Of course if I had known this I would not have
said or done some of the things you bring against me. But
this is quite a new theory to guide the practice of Counsel.
No representation, however, which Dr Kenealy, his
friends or the more just-minded contingent of the Press
could urge in his defence avaUed. Like his client he was
prejudged, and his expulsion from the Circuit Mess was
foUowed very shortly by his disbenchment and disbarment.
At the age of fifty-four he was deprived in a few weeks
of his weU-eamed position and of his chances of advance
ment. Exhausted by the prolonged Trial, and in a very
precarious condition of health, he was thrown upon the
world -with no means of hvelihood.
The Charges ffrst made against him as to his conduct
during the Trial were abandoned, and the charge of
being Editor of The Englishman was substituted, sho-wing
the difficulty his opponents had in substantiating their
indictment and their eagerness to find some or another
charge upon which to condemn him. And it was for
editing The Englishman and not at all for his action in the
Tichbome Case that he was finally condemned.
An injustice so flagrant as was this to a man whose
rigid professional and personal honour had never been
impugned, a distinguished scholar, an ornament to his
profession, and beyond all, a good and upright man, would
be impossible in these days of an independent and inteUi
gent Press. In those days a considerable contingent of
the Press was composed of briefless barristers from whom
honest and impartial criticism of judicial matters was
scarcely to have been expected.
In these days the Press has among its representatives
some of our finest and most progressive minds. In these
days, when judicial and other injustices are speedily
281

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
brought to hght and redressed by the intervention of
spirited and broad-minded Journals, Dr Kenealy would not
have been aUowed to suffer the extreme penalties of the
professional law for that which his fiercest opponents were
unable to aUege were sins more serious than trespasses
against taste and discretion.
Libels, it was stated, had appeared in The Englishman.
But had this been so, why then had not the hbeUed persons
sought the usual reparation of the Law Courts?
One moming journal thus commented upon the action
of the Oxford Circuit: —
Without giving him a chance of defending himself, or
calling upon him for an explanation of his conduct during the
late Tichbome Trial, the members of the Oxford Cfrcuit have
decided to exclude Dr Kenealy from the Bar Mess. Mr
Huddlestone, Q.C, proposed his exclusion, which was seconded
by Mr Staveley HUl, Q.C, and carried. About eighteen of the
senior members of the Cfrcuit, however, voted against the
decree of ostracism. Most of those who voted for his exclusion
were comparatively young members. The effect of the decision
wiU be to nearly ruin Dr Kenealy, as he now loses the assistance
of junior Counsel and soHcitors, who profit by the employment
of two Coimsel, and who wiU not, as a consequence, ever
engage him. The leamed Counsel has eleven chUdren totaUy
dependent upon him. — Morning Advertiser.
Below is an example of many kind and encouraging
letters such as Dr Kenealy received from strangers to cheer
his uphill efforts. It may be taken as testimony to those
methods of his defence which were later caUed in question.
Letter from Sir John Eardley-Wilmot, Bart.
Queen's Gate, -W., August ist 1873.
Sfr John E. Eardley-WUmot, although a stianger to Dr
Kenealy, cannot help expressing his sense of the able and
282

Sir John Eardley-Wilmot
energetic and powerful defence made by Dr Kenealy of his
cHent. Sir E. W. was in Court on Wednesday and yesterday
and Hstened with the greatest interest and attention to Dr
Kenealy's able defence. He withholds his judgment tiU he
hears what evidence the Doctor can offer to rebut the evidence
of the Prosecution.
Sfr E. WUmot was well acquainted with the late Sir James
Tichbome and his family, and when a boy at Winchester School
used to play cricket at Tichborne in 1827 and 1828.
The foUo-wing letter from Mr Grenville-Murray, a well-
kno-wn and accomphshed journalist attached to the staff
of Vanity Fair, refers to a cartoon and article which had
appeared in that paper and for which, I may add, the
Editor later expressed regret.

Letter from Mr E. C. Grenville-Murray to Dr David Wilson.
loi Rue de l'Universit:^, Faubourg St Germain,
Paris, November yd 1873.
My dear Friend, — I cannot suffer the absurd article in
Vanity Fair to pass without begging you to inform Dr Kenealy
that I had no part in it. About three weeks ago I was asked to
supply notes for an article upon Dr Kenealy, whose well-earned
celebrity makes him the common property of newspapers.
It is one of the many penalties of Fame to be advertised in
many manners, and all men must submit to be misinterpreted
by fools. The application made to me for notes respecting this great
and upright gentleman gave me unusual pleasure because I
was anxious that he should not be misunderstood, and I
coUected what information was accessible to me from my
friends. Everyone whose opinion was worth having told me
plainly that Dr Kenealy was not only the greatest living
lawyer at the English Bar but that he was the greatest public ¦
benefactor who has been seen in this generation; for that he
is the only man who has dared to brave the clique and coterie
which govern England. My own admiration of him was
283

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
simply unbounded. I had read with amazement and delight
in the debates upon the Tichbome Case an assurance that
there was stiU an English barrister not inferior in courage and
genius to Erskine. I knew how much he had had to encounter,
and that a man less brave and honest, less grand, would have
been cajoled or bought off long ago. And when Dr Kenealy's
name was mentioned in my presence I held my breath, and
thought — At last, at last there is a great man at the English
Bar. I wrote of him as men do write of those whom they consider
as demigods of the earth, and whom they reverence and esteem
in their innermost hearts; and having heard that he was an
Irishman it brought him close to me, for I thought that he
might be of my own religion. I applied to him the lines of
Lord Byron upon Grattan, another Irishman:
" Ever glorious Grattan the best and good.
So simple in heart, so sublime in the rest,
-With all that Demosthenes wanted endued
And his rival or victor in all he possessed. "
And I said that if this were a true portrait it was upon
Dr Kenealy that Grattan's mantle had descended.
I have seen so much of the world that I felt I had a right to
honour Dr Kenealy, andldidhonour him in the only way I could.
Such a Press as ours, so base, so mean, so venal, so mealy-
mouthed and subservient to power, never disgraced any
country, and I need not teU Dr Kenealy that an honest writer
cannot convey his ideas to the public through it.
My notes were not used.
I therefore desire to conve^ to Dr Kenealy through you
my sincere appreciation of his genius and courage. Had it
depended upon me the gaUant and desperate fight he has
fought, I trust to a successful issue, would have been acknow
ledged in becoming terms; and I wUl take care it is acknow
ledged, if not in the Old World then in the New. Great fame
such as his is widened by detraction, and it reaches the highest
summits of renown by a sort of afterbound. I will send it over
the Atlantic, and it will come back to him fresher and brighter
from the journey. 284

EDWARD THE BLACK PRINCE
lA Contemporary Portrait presented by the Prince lo an OKenes-Iyi

Generous Admiration
MeanwhUe I wish to tender Dr Kenealy my sorrowful
apology that a paper with which I am connected should not
have better known how to recognise wisdom, goodness and
leaming. You and he are not only at Hberty, but I beg of
you to make what use you please of this letter. I wish that
I could cry its contents upon the house-tops. Moral courage,
the generous daring to stand up against the powers of darkness
and \\ickedness in high places, and the cool stiong abiUties to
do so successfuUy are, by the Hving God, quahties so rctre and
precious that they deser\'e to be worshipped, and the old gods
of Greece and Rome had i^o nobler origin than the gratitude of
humble folk to thefr dehverers.
Dr Kenealy's reward may come tardUy, but he may
remember the old proverb about the voice of the people; and
truly it is the voice of God. When Britain shaU sum up her
worthies of this generation in the Time to come his name shall
be among the first of them; and chUdren yet unborn wiU feel
thefr pride in thefr country grow warmer when they think of
how he wrought and thought and (Heaven grant it I) conquered.
— Yours ever affectionately and gratefuUy,
E. C Grenville-Murray,

28;

CHAPTER XIV
a Wrecked Career — The Englishman — Public Sympathy and Enthusiasm —
Touching Tributes — The Englishman! s Phenomenal Success — Entry into
House of Commons — The Renowned Umbrella — Mr Evelyn Ashley's
Slander and Defeat — Distinguished Crowd in House — Motion for Royal
Commission of Inquiry into the Tichborne Case — Defeated for Stoke-on-
Trent — Illness and Death.
My Father seldom or never afterwards spoke of this
sudden hideous wrecking of his professional career. But,
a proud and a supremely sensitive man, the injustice and
the cruelty of it rusted into his soul. Moreover because
of it he was deprived of his other-wise assured elevation to
the Bench, with the attendant distinction and honourable
ease to which his attainments and his professional career
had entitled him.
From the hour of its occurrence he was a changed man.
He lost his accustomed spirits and a philosophic and serene
cheerfulness which all his life, and even since the grave
and progressive failure of his health, had characterised
him. Of aU sins we commit against our fellows, that of
injustice is hardest to bear and most productive of mental
and of moral suffering, and this is especiaUy true in the
cases of men themselves honest and just-minded. Even so,
had he been at the time in normal health, his naturaUy
brave and religious spirit would have enabled him to bear
this as he had borne other sorrows and reverses, -with calm
and with fortitude. But the severe and protracted strain
of the Trial had aggravated his serious disease, and had
286

The Englishman'

produced a bad nervous breakdown. In the midst of this,
without chance even of a day's respite or change of air,
had come the final crushing blow.
On the first warning that he was about to be deprived
of his profession he had started The Englishman, a weekly
paper of independent -views. And smaU wonder if some
of the heat and bitterness of his soul toward those who had
done thefr worst against him was expressed in its pages!
One may regret that this should have been so. But no
body, I think, can feel surprise about it.
Being nominal Editor, he was of course held responsible
for its contents, although, in point of fact, his state of
health prevented him from even reading, far less from
penning (as was represented) aU that appeared in the
paper. The interest and sympathy felt for him were so strong
and \\idespread that The Englishman became an immediate
phenomenal success. The first week over 100,000 copies
were sold. The supply running short, copies of the first
number were sold by enterprising newsboys for a shiUing
and even for half a crown (its pubHshed price being two
pence). The journal was torn in two and the halves sold
for sixpence apiece.
Never before, it was said, had a paper so leapt into a
large and assured circulation.
Of this journal, when projected. Vanity Fair for nth
April 1874 wrote : —
Dr Kenealy is about to found a newspaper. It is not
fashionable to say anything poHte of Dr Kenealy; but he has
nevertheless issued a fine manly prospectus, and he means to
be a Redresser-General of Wrongs to the British PubHc.
It might be wished, not so much for Dr Kenealy's sake perhaps
(because it is not fashionable to approve of him) as for the sake
287

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
of the British people, that the business of redressing~wrongs
were viewed with more favour than it is at present.
5p «!¦ "l! !(* 3|C *|E 3|* ^
There have been fuU-minded men before Dr Kenealy
who had subHme ideas about newspapers, but a couple of
roughs and a cudgel could put an end to them. The classes
who have now got firm hold of aU the power in England have
fuUy determined that a newspaper shaU not deal with facts,
and at this moment there is not a publication in the Three
Kingdoms which dares to print the truth upon any subject
involving a serious interest.
Dr Kenealy may depend upon it that neither he nor anyone
else wiU be aUowed to vent a grievance by a cheap method.
Every official, every department, every board, every
vestry, every pubUc company and invisible private wire-puUer
wiU rise up against him and shortly make London too hot to
hold him.
Thirty years ago a man who discovered a grievance had
made his fortune ; now a grievance would disestabhsh the whole
Bench of Bishops if they presumed to bring it forward.
In the present hvely state of pubUc feehng upon the
Suffragist question, it is interesting to find as part of The
Englishman programme the foUowing clause :: —
It wiU advocate Female Suffrage, giving to every unmarried
woman a right to vote in elections for ParHament, in a word
the same occupation-franchise as is given to men by 30 and 31
Victoria, chapter 102. The mild, the soberising, the humanis
ing influence which the bestowal on women of this poHtical
status would infuse into contests, would be of incalculable
public benefit.
Twenty-five years ago I had the honour of teUing Mr
Disraeli that the BaUot was a measure which he, above all
others, ought to take in hand as a sure obstacle to the influence
exercised by large employers of labour over their men — an
influence which gave undue power to a faction, which chafed
every free spirit and trammeUed the independence of the
working classes. I now take the liberty of teUing him that
288

A Tragic Note

the extension of the suffrage to women is a matter well worthy
of his attention. It would help to stem that wave of atheism
and communism which is beginning to flow, and it would greatly
check that electoral corruption which is one of our most
prominent vices. Women are naturaUy religious, honest and
good, and I have met quite as much wisdom and knowledge
among them as I have found general among men.
It is but seldom in actual hfe that the tragic and
dramatic notes of action and feeling are struck with the
force and frequency with which they were sounded in the
Tichbome Case. This strange episode indeed may be
regarded as ha-ving been a species of moral tomado which,
sweeping suddenly into the social midst, swept men from
thefr feet. In its rushing and conflicting currents were
excited every sort of human passion; prejudice, justice,
anger, bitterness, heroic disinterestedness, sordid cupidity,
ambition, devotion, cowardice, courage — in a word, every
man's strength or weakness — the whole gamut of human
motive and emotion raging and s-wirhng about one large,
melancholy, monstrous, mysterious Figure.
One of the tragic notes struck was expressed in the
foUo-wing pitiful letter, which was addressed to my Father
some time after the sweeping tomado had involved him
like-wise in its tale of -wreckage.
The writer was Mr James Wishaw, one of the Benchers
of Gray's Inn. He expresses remorse and asks forgive
ness for his share in the great injustice toward Dr Kenealy
of which he and his coUeagues had been gmlty.
The letter teUs its o-wn story of a good heart and an
honest conscience suffering sorely for the perpetration of a
-wrong to which their o-wner had been moved in the excite
ment of the hour.

289

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy

Mr James Wishaw's Death-bed Letter to Dr Kenealy.
Eastbourne.
" Sir, — I am on my death-bed, and in aU probability
before many days have passed I shaU be in the presence
of God who made me, and to whom I shall have to render
an account of the good or evil I have done in my past hfe.
" It -wUI be a rehef to my mind to ask your forgiveness
for one of the worst acts that now presses on me, and
which I helped to accomphsh; I mean your professional
ruin and your expulsion from the Bar and the Gray's Inn
Bench. I feel now most strongly the cruel injustice of
this act, and my conscience would be hghtened of a hea-vy
load if I could only feel sure that I leave this world with
your pardon for an act which I have regretted. But
never untU now, when my time on earth is short, did I feel
how deeply I had sinned, in gi-vdng way to the wiU of others
against my own conscience.
" I send these hnes -written with a hand that trembles,
and from a heart that feels the solemnity of my present
condition, and once more before I close I ask you and Mrs
Kenealy to forgive me for not protesting against the crime
that was committed by the ChanceUor and the Gray's Inn
Benchers. — Yours sincerely, James Wishaw."
Needless to say, my Father, ever warm and generous-
hearted, immediately replied, assuring the troubled,
dying man of his and of Mrs Kenealy's fuU forgiveness,
and adding such words of comfort as he could de-vise.
Dr Kenealy began soon to receive requisitions from
aU the large to-wns and cities of the United Kingdom,
desiring him to lecture in these upon the Tichbome Case.
And this, so soon as his health allowed, he proceeded to do.
290

Lecturing Tours

He received ovations everywhere, his lectures being
attended by immense, enthusiastic crowds, who at the
conclusion thronged upon the platform, begging permission
to shake hands -with him, to touch his coat sleeve, to kiss
his hands. He became a popular Idol, the subject some
times of the most mo-ving and passionate devotion.
Every post brought to him letters from all lands and
from members of all classes, expressing admiration for his
courage and talent, and profound sympathy for him in the
injustices he had suffered. Blind persons sent tributes,
baskets and artificial flowers of their own fashioning.
Sailors sent model ships they had made, sometimes from
the wood of famous wrecks. Presents of game, of flowers,
of books, of pictures, every description of tribute came
from numerous and unknown sympathisers. So too
came letters innumerable, suing for autographs; law-
papers with notes imploring opinion on the merits and
chances of the suits set forth. Whithersoever he went
knots of persons recognised and cheered him, and would
come up frequently to beg the privilege of a word or of a
hand-shake. At. hotels he found always the best rooms reserved for
him. During his traveUings the pohce and railway-
servants particularly showed themselves eager to do for
him any small service which lay in their power. Vases
and diimer-ser-vices were embeUished -with his portrait,
photographs and busts of him were sold in shops.
In sympathy and in warm-hearted zeal the great
mass of his feUow-countrymen strove to make up to him
for all that he had lost and suffered. So sincere and
-vigorous was pubhc indignation that the defeat of the
Liberal Government at the ensuing General Election was
attributed whoUy to the action it had taken with regard
to the Tichborne Case. 291

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
In response to a huge requisition he put up as an
Independent member for the borough of Stoke-on-Trent,
and amid scenes of the -wildest enthusiasm was returned
in February 1875 at the head of the poll, his majority
numbering nearly 2000.
Descriptive of his somewhat unconventional ffrst
appearance in the House of Commons, the foUo-wing
amusing verses appeared in a weekly paper : —

DR KENEALY'S ENTRANCE INTO THE
HOUSE OF COMMONS.

Once in February dreary, while the Commons weak and weary
Pondered many a quaint and curious Tory measure then in
store,
While they nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a
tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at the Chamber door;
" Some new member 'tis," they muttered, " tapping at our
Chamber door, 'Tis Kenealy, nothing more."

But the House was in a flutter, when, without a " hem " or
stutter
In there walked a stately Counsel some of them had seen
before;
Not the least obeisance made he — not a minute stopped or
stayed he,
But with mien of ancient member took his place upon the floor.
Hitched his " gamp " upon the mace, and hung his hat behind
the door — Hitched and stood, and nothing more.
292

An Amusing Parody

3
Stood the Counsel grim, beguUing their " gay wisdoms " into
smiHng
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance he wore —
" None come here without proposer," said the Speaker as a
poser;
" 'Tis the Parliamentary custom of two hundred years and
more; "
But outspoke the Doughty Premier, " Truly all know how he
came here — He's Kenealy — nothing more."

Members wiUing to be civU, said, " Oh, quit the Tichborne
drivel.
By the roof that bends above us — by the Commons we adore,
TeU our souls with sorrow laden that our ParHamentary Aiden
Shall not echo with the name of Arthur Orton any more;
That the mystery unriddled who the name " Sir Roger " bore
ShaU not vex us any more."
7
But Kenealy, never ffitting, stUl is sitting, stiU is sitting.
With his gingham hitched upon the mace, his hat behind the
door.
And his eyes have aU the seeming of a Counsel who is dreaming.
And the lampUght o'er him streaming, throws his shadow on
the floor.
And the Commons, in that shadow that lies floating on the floor,
Have a pretty treat in store.
With regard to this manner of his introduction, un-
presented, an incident of which much has been made, the
truth is that untU Mr Guildford Onslow caUed at his house
to accompany him down to Westminster it had whoUy
T 293

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kehealy
escaped my Father's memory (well as he was acquainted
with ParHamentary procedure) that the time-honoured
custom was for a new member to be introduced by two
feUow-members. He had, therefore, not apphed to any
to stand sponsor for him.
Mr John Bright had intimated that same morning to
Mr Onslow that he would with pleasure perform this
function. Dr Kenealy, however, seeing the dilemma,
and considering that a notice so short would be dis
courteous, after a moment's reflection looked up, smiling,
and ever ready of resource told Mr Onslow that the intro
duction by two members was merely a form sanctioned by
custom and was not required by Parliamentary law.
Unless, therefore, on the spur of the moment, two respon
sible members should prove their public interest by
coming forward to support him, he was disposed to test
the Speaker's right to insist upon the practice.
And, as he had said, the form being no part of ParHa
mentary law, he was sworn in without it.
But the thing was by no means premeditated. Had he
remembered it he would have complied with the custom
and would have asked two of his friends or sympathisers,
Mr Bright one of them perhaps, to present him. That
he hung his umbreUa upon the Speaker's Mace was true.
He described the incident, amused. In sheer absence of
mind, when called upon to record his name, he found that
he had brought up his umbreUa. Looking about for some
place to bestow it, a convenient nob upon the Mace
revealed itself and there he hung it. Next moming the
papers were full to overflowing with the story. It was
described as a notable weapon of offence. In size it was
likened to the far-famed umbreUa of King Coffee.
Lady Burrard, an old friend, coming in that moming,
demanded, laughing, to be shown this trophy. She was
294

"^J

I,- 1

Ir^^iii?'!

m

n

¦^^i^^Mis^^^M

THE FAMILY COAT OF ARMS

The Famous Umbrella
disappointed when it was brought. " Why," she ex
claimed, " it is only just an every-day umbreUa! "
Nevertheless for months afterwards it figured in large
and singular dimensions in verse and in hne in the comic
journals. I beheve eventually the management of Madame
Tussaud's begged it and that it was for many years
on -view as the veritable and only umbrella which
had ever found a hanging place upon the Speaker's
Mace. [This Lady Burrard, widow of Sir Harry Burrard, Bart.,
and sister of Sir George Duckett, Bart., was a charming
and clever observant woman of the world- A member of
an old Hampshire family, she had met and had danced
-with Roger Tichbome in his subaltern days, and despite
the dissimilarity of figure she at once recognised The
Claimant as her former baU-partner. She gave evidence
in his favour at the second Trial.]
Before he had taken his seat in the House Mr Evelyn
Ashley, member for Poole, uttered at a pubhc meeting a
slander against him as false as it was foolish, charging him
with ha-ving put into the -witness-box a -witness, kno-wing
him to be perjured, a charge which his worst enemies had
fleveT made. Dr Kenealy brought Mr Ashley's conduct
before the House as a breach of pri-vilege.
Expectation ran high. The House was filled to over-
flo-wing. Among those present were the (then) Prince of
Wales, Prince Christian, ex-King Amadous, the Duke of
Marlborough, the Duke of Westminster, Earl GranviUe,
Lord Rosebery, Lord Stratford de Redcliffe, Earl of
WUton, Earl Stanhope, Lord Houghton, Lord Enfield,
Earl of Airhe, Lord ColvUle of Culross, Lord Aberdare and
others. Lord Hartington, Mr Disraeh, Mr Bright and
Mr Lowe took part in the discussion. 295

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
Vanity Fair of the week, commenting on the event,
said : —
" Dr Kenealy has certainly ' scored off ' the leaders of
the House of Commons, as weU as off Mr Ashley, in the
discussion on Thursday night. He got his apology from
the latter, and exhibited the former in anything but a
creditable light."
Of Mr Bright's diplomatic conversation with him in the
little room behind the Speaker's Chair I have afready
spoken. Interested members watched them -with curious
eyes as Mr Bright, having sought out, convoyed the new
member thither. An elect few were doubtless aware of
that which was afoot.
All was, however, fruitless. To all of Mr Bright's
representations my Father, having listened courteously,
returned but one answer.
In his absolute and fuU belief that the con-victed man
was Roger Tichbome he could find it neither in his heart
nor in his conscience to desert his cause. He thanked Mr
Bright for his kindly intervention, he expressed gratitude.
But not even the promise of being re-instated in his
profession, nor the still more shining bait held out of
poHtical office, tempted him.
Nevertheless, despite his firm refusal, Mr Bright would
not take " No! " but said at parting, " WeU, Dr Kenealy,
think it over and -write to me."
The issue was the subjoined letter: —
"Grav's Inn, /««« i8th 1875.
" Dear Sir, — I thank you for your conversation with
me yesterday, but I have made up my mind never again to
think of the subject. — Yours truly,
" E. Kenealy.
" The Rt. Hon. J. Bright, M.P." 296

Motion for Commission of Inquiry
On April 23rd, 1875, two months after his retum to
Parliament, Dr Kenealy made in the House of Commons
his great Motion for a Royal Commission of Inquiry into
the Tichbome Case.
He spoke for three hours, gi-ving a masterly abstract
of certain flagrant injustices The Claimant had suffered, and
la5mig particular stress upon the acknowledged fact that
forged documents had been put in evidence against him.
TheMotionwas defeated. Major O'Gorman, the doughty
and gaUant member for Waterf ord, being the only member
who accompanied him into the di-vision lobby.
So great was pubhc interest in the matter that The
Times issued a special edition containing a report of Dr
Kenealy's speech and his reply to his opponents.
Pre-vious to the Motion seventy-two petitions for The
Claimant's release, signed by over 200,000 persons, had
been presented to the House.
Ha-ving a faith which was pathetic in its ideahsation of
the aims and progressive aspirations of the working-man,
he founded The Magna Charta Association, a league which
had for objects the Restoration of the Fine Spirit of
Magna Charta and the Restitution of the Bill of Rights,
the EstabHshment of a Free Press, the Amendment of
Laws which pressed Unjustly on the Poor, the Retum to
ParHament of People's Representatives, and the Equahsa-
tion of the Franchise.
As it turned out these ideals and the energy and
altruism required to make them fact were unfortunately
not forthcoming. The Association enroUed a number of
members, but it presently broke up into factions and
dissolution, it ha-ving been found impossible to'make
every member Chairman of his Branch.
In the House my Father made many good and pleasant
297

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
friends and was ever a popular speaker. The word
" Kenealy is up " was a signal which invariably brought
members flocking in from the lobbies and from other
favourite places of refuge from boredom. AU were
confident of hearing something which would repay them
for the lending of their ears and their attention. He did not
speak unless he had something to say, and his manner
of sa5dng it was ever eloquent, pithy and arresting.
He voted independently, according as he regarded a
measure as being for the public good, quite irrespective of
Party. By this means he gave offence to many of his
constituents, who were unable to appreciate an attitude so
broad and enhghtened. He supported the Tories upon the
Eastern Question, ha-ving ever a distrust of Russia. He
was no " little Englander," describing himself as even a
bigot in his zealous upholding of the British Constitution.
Before long, however, his steadily-faUing health
prevented him from taking an active part in ParHament.
After a speech dehvered -with the fire and the apparent
-vigour of a man stiU young, he would return home in a
state bordering upon collapse, victim of his most distressing
and prostrating malady. Every smaUest effort had become
a weariness and a pain. His heart showed signs of failure.
Yet still his brain and strenuous spirit were undaunted.
He read and -wrote and conducted his affairs. When
scarcely able to walk he dragged himself do-wn to the House
in order to vote upon some measure in which he was
interested. At the General Election in the spring of 1880, a d3dng
man, suffering from more or less constant and excruciating
pain, he went do-wn to Stoke and vahantly contested his
seat, himself arranging the many busy matters connected
with the contest, addressing meetings, exhorting, encourag-
298

Death
ing, displaying everywhere and infusing into all his
accustomed fire and spirit. Few who heard him had the
least suspicion of the physical and mental suffering with
which he was battling.
When aU was over, and when, with the turn of the
popular tide, he had been defeated he gave up and returned
home to die. He traveUed to London the day following
the declaration of the poU — April 3rd — and died from
heart failure on the morning of Friday the i6th.
The death-bed is sacred. And yet because he, of all
men, so profoundly realised the need for full belief in, and
for eamest development of man's spiritual part, I could
wish that the whole world of unbelievers had been present
at my Father's death. For it was beyond all things a
revelation which none could have denied or doubted:
a revelation of the absolute existence of the soul.
And since to record it may be of help to some still
-wrestling -with spiritual doubt, in aU reverence and
affection I record it.
When the end came there was a moment in which
the strong, human face with its noble brows showed sunk
and haggard to the last degree, physical hfe at its ex
tinction. Then there was a moment in which that face
flashed suddenly, irradiate, luminous — as though the shin
ing soul had shpped its leash and stood for an instant smil
ing, free, on the threshold of its recent habitation. Another
moment and both physical haggardness and spiritual
iUumination were lost in the waxen serenity of death.
But for some persons, at aU events, a sure and final
answer had been given to the sceptic question, " Has any
man seen a sou^? "
For what else could this have been — this lightning,
luminous presence? 299

Memoirs of Edward Vaughan Kenealy
Extinct body and brain possess no Ught in them to
flash. The poor clod of flesh at the moment of returning to
its native dust can of itself have no vital, iUuminant spark.
Yet there it was, a transient tremor which suggested
severance, then for an instant that transfiguring, shining
beauty, which the face even in the most exalted moods of
one in whom the spiritual Hfe was ever dominant had never
shown — a Hght before which to cover the eyes and pray.
He was buried at Hangleton, Sussex, in that peaceful
-viUage churchyard, with its white tombs couching Hke
sheep, shepherded by the grey old lichened church,
whereby he had ever wished to rest.
It was of this lonely " Peace-be-upon-thee " resting-
place that he had -written :—
ON A VILLAGE CHURCHYARD IN SUSSEX.
Here,
Or in some humble field Hke this, would I
Myself desfre to be consigned to dust.
Beneath a hiUock with the daisy fretted,
A simple vUlager 'mid -vUlage folks —
With only these, my name and time of death.
AU else is foolishness ; all else is vain.
Yet would I not be grieved to think that some,
Warmed with the feeling for a Dreamer dead.
Such as in blessed youth I too have felt
For the sun-soaring Spirits of sweet song,
Some high-aspiring boy, some gentie gfrl.
Would come and sprinkle flowers o'er my grave,
Would fling a rose or violet on the turf.
And say, " Upon thy breast I cast this gem
Of spring or summer, in a fond remembrance.
In token that thou hast a Httle place
Within my heart, and dweUest in my thoughts."

300

HANGLETON CHURCH

INDEX

Advice to a Judge, a poem, 212
Ainsworth, Harrison, 102
A New Pantomime, by Dr Kenealy,
207
Anatomical studies, 90
Ashley, Mr Evelyn, his slander re
futed, 295
Atheist, definition of, 81
Aut Ccesar Aut Nullus, 35

B

Banshee, 59
Benchers of Gray's Inn, their action,
263
Bennett, George, 106
Bidwell forgeries, 177
BoHngbroke, exquisite writer, 86
Brallaghan, or the Deipnosophists, 95
Bright, John, his appeal to Dr
Kenealy, 19, 296
Brooks, Shirley, letter to, 114
Brougham, Lord, 149
Broughton, letter from Lord, 227 ;
His remark on Byron's Autobio
graphy, 240
Bulwer, Lady, 94, 202 ; Scene at
Hustings ; Her letter to the Queen,
229
Burke, Colonel, Fenian case, 170

Claimant, The, recollections of, by
Dr Kenealy, 248 ; First sight of,
249; So-called "Confession" of,
247 ; First trial of, 250 ; Lost
pocket-book, 255 ; On morning of
second trial, 257 ; His gentlemanlike
bearing and artistic tastes, 258 ;
On last day of trial, his dignity and
calm, 260-262
Cobbett, 66
Cockburn, 164; Eulogy of A New
Pantomime, 208 ; Letter from, 210 ;
Consents to stand godfather to Dr.
Kenealy's son, 2"ii ; Dinner with,
230
Coleridge, the poet, 87
"Confession" ("so-called) of The
Claimant, 247
Cork in 1834, 66
CressweU, 166
Cyrus, his vision, no

Davis Club, President of, 118
Dowden, Mayor of Cork, 113
Dowling, -William, defends, 118
Downing, Simon, 42
Disraeli, letter to, 151; Letter from,
153 ; Interview with, 153 ;
Support of Dr Kenealy's application
for Madras Chief- Justiceship, 178 ;
Letter to, 200; Letter from, 202;
for, 243
Lady, 260
, Lady, 253

Campbell, Tom, 100
Carlyle, anecdote of, 235
Castle Hyde, 30
Cavern, enchanted, 46
Cennfaelad, 28
Chapman, Mary, 30
Chartists, 119
Chevasse, Dr., 179
Chelmsford, Lord, 177, 257
Chetwynd divorce suit, 169

E
ungnstiman. The, started, 287
Entrance into House of Commons,
verses on, 292

Farewell 0/ Guardian Angel, 214
Flood, Captain -W., 105
Eraser's Magazine, connection with.

301

Index

Gibbon, 87, 196
Gladstone, in the Queen's speech,
237
Grandmother Vaughan, her despotic
will, 44
Gray's Inn, Dr Kenealy enters, 91

H
Hawkins, 146
Houghton, Lord, breakfast with, 225
Huddlestone, Q.C, 197; Hoax
upon, 232
Hinson, Frederick (Wood Green
murderer), 175

Imagination, in praise of, 53

Juries, cajolery of, 147

K
Kenealy, E. V. : Mean and false
caluminators, 18; Autobiography,
how written, 26 ; Father's pride of
descent, 28 ; Mother's lineage, 29 ;
Birth, 36 ; Boyhood, 37 ; First
preceptress, 37 ; At Casey's school,
39 ; Illness, 40 ; Love of romances,
41; At Downing's school, 42;
School vacations, 43 ; Grand
mother, 44 ; Uncle Connor Ken
ealy's enchanted cavern, 46 ; Young
enthusiasms, 48 ; Favourite books,
50; Uncle Edward Vaughan, the
rake, 53 ; Horror of his infidelity,
54 ; A fiery horseman, 57 ; Shyness
of public speaking, 64 ; Recollec
tions of Cobbett and O'Connell, 66 ;
At Dr Porter's school, 67 ; At
Goulding's, 69 ; Enters Trinity
College, Dublin, 70; First love,
71 ; College life, 72 ; Extensive
reading, 78; Religious conflict, 81;
Shifting politics, 85 ; Admiration
of BoHngbroke, 86; Anatomical
studies, go ; Enters Gray's Inn, 91;
Reminiscences of Parliament, 92 ;

Meets Maginn, 94 ; First book, 95 ;
Admitted to English Bar, 96;
Stands (unsuccessfully) for Cork,
129 ; Marriage, 141 ; Dealings with
Disraeli over The Press, a pro
jected journal, 153-160; Defence
of Palmer, the poisoner, 161-167;
Engaged in libel action against
Liverpool Herald, i6g, 1 74; De
fence in Chetwynd Divorce Suit,
169; Speech in the Burke Fenian
Case, 170; Overend-Gurney Case,
172, 176; "Takes Silk," 174;
¦Wood Green Murders, 175 ; Con
tests Parliamentary seat of -Wed
nesbury, 174; Application for
Chief- Justiceship of Madras sup
ported by Disraeli, 178; Publishes
A New Pantomine, 207 ; Breakfast
with' Lord Houghton, 225; First
interview with The Claimant, 245 ;
Extracts from lecture on Tichbome
Case, 248-262 ; Action of Gray's
Inn Benchers and Oxford Circuit
Mess against, 263 ; Reply to charges
against him, 272; Dis-Benchment
and Dis-Barment, 281; Returned
for Stoke-on-Trent with a majority
of nearly 2,000, 292 ; Entry into
House of Commons, 293 ; Mr
Evelyn Ashley's slander refuted
before distinguished assembly, 295 ;
Mr John Bright's proposals to him,
296 ; Forms Magna Charta Associa
tion, 297 ; Popularity as a speaker
in the House, 298 ; Final illness and
death, 298.

Law Journal, criticism of action
against Dr Kenealy, 264
Literary Fund Club, 97
Liverpool Herald a.ciioa, 169
London, love oL 134
Looney, Francffl? defends, 117
Love, first, 71
Love-letter, a, 1 38
Lucas, Mr, 158
Luck, ill, 145, 177
Lyndhurst, anecdote of Lord, 238
Lytton, Lord, impressions of, 230

M
Maginn, Dr, 94, 97-100
Mahony, Father, loi

302

Index

Marriage, 141
Matthew, Father, 112-13
Mirabeau, 184
Mother, wisdom and love of truth, 62
Motion for Royal inquiry into Tich
borne Case, 297
Murray, letter from Mr Grenville, 283

N
Neill, General, verified prediction as
to, 199
Nicklin, Miss, marriage with, 137

O
O'Connell, 66, 92-94
O'Donovan v. Flood and Wife,. 175
O'Keefe, Archdeacon, 66, 108
O'Kenealy, Dame, 34 ; Domina, 34 ;
St Michael, 34; Maurice, 34;
Lady, 35 ; John, 35
Overend-Gurney Case, 172, 176

Palmer, William, characteristics of,
161 ; trial of, 165
Pocket-book, "The Claimant's, 255
Porter, Dr, cruel pedant, 67
Powell, Q.C, letter from, 266; Dr
Kenealy's reply to, 266
Prejudice and injustice of The
Claimant's judges, 267
Press, The, a projected journal, 153
Prize-men, 73

Rabelais, 186
Radcliffe, Lady, 257
Roche, James, 105
Rochester, Earl of, 53

Savage, Mrs, first preceptress, 37

Smith, Rev. G. S., 73
Smythies, Letter from Mr J. K., to
Dr Kenealy, 270 ; Dr Kenealy's
reply to, 272
Spofforth, Mr, his firm belief in The
Claimant, 253
Solicitors' Journal and Report, cr\.\\c\ixa
of Gray's Inn Benchers, 263
Superstition, 60
Susannah, Aunt, 43
Swift, 76, 183

Talfourd, the poet, 103
Temperance Institute, 112
Thackeray, letter from, 211 ; Death
of, 227
Theological Works, 168, 215-224
Trinity College, Dublin ; Dr Kenealy
enters, 70 ; Historical Society, 74 ;
King's Inn Library, 78 ; Curricu
lum, 79 ; Disappointment regard
ing, 82 ; Library and busts, 84 ;
Stands for, 117

Umbrella, incident of, 294
Undine, 49

Vaughan, Daniel, 31 ; John, first
Viscount Lisbume, 53

W
Wednesbury candidature, 174
Wilmot, John, Earl of Rochester, 53
Wilmot, letter from Sir J. Eardley-,
Bart., 282
Windele, John, 107
Wishaw, Mr James, deathbed re
morse for action against Dr
Kenealy, 289
Wordsworth, anecdote of, 239

303

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