JEMMY SULLIVAN.
A jocund little Irishman, with dark sparkling eyes and black glossy well-curled poll, dressed in a carter's frock, and heavy travel-stained shoes, was brought in by some of the patrol, who had found him strolling about Long-acre, in the dusk of the evening, apparently without either aim or object, and laden with a large bundle tied up in a very handsome shawl. This bundle contained seven gowns, sundry shawls, handkerchiefs, hose, &c., and a smartly-trimmed straw-bonnet nearly new; and the patrol declared, that from the very unsatisfactory manner in which he accounted for his possession of these articles, they verily believed he had stolen them. They also pointed out to the magistrate a round hole, about the size of a shilling, in the side of his hat crown, which they strongly suspected had been made by a pistol-ball.
"What is your name, friend?" said his worship, to the brilliant-eyed, smiling prisoner.
"Jemmy Sullivan! your honour," was the instantaneous reply, in a rich Tipperary brogue, and a tone so loud, that all the office echoed, "Jemmy Sullivan!"
"And pray, where did you bring these clothes from, and to whom do they belong?"
"From Portsmouth, your honour—and they belongs to the wife o' me."
The magistrate doubted the correctness of this statement—it was not likely that the wife of such a man could have such a wardrobe.
"Sure enough it's the truth, every bit of it, your honour," replied Jemmy Sullivan.
"How came this hole in your hat?" asked his worship.
"Is it the hole your honour's axing about?—'Faith, then, the mice made it, to get at the bread and the cheese, your honour—bad luck to 'em!"
"What! do you carry your bread and cheese in your hat?"
"No, 'faith, your honour, not a bit of it any time, barrin that time the mice stole it all; and then, your honour, it was not in it, that's the hat, at that same time, but on the shelf, your honour, and I'd none of it left for me breakfast at all. Gad's blood, says I to meself, but ye shan't do that to me again, says I, for I'll put it under me hat all the night; and so I did, your honour; but bad luck to them, the craturs, they bored the hole clane through the side of it, which your honour's axing about."
"Are you sure it was not on your head when the ball was fired at it?" asked his worship, without seeming to have listened to his bread and cheese adventure.
"Was it on me head, your honour! Faith if it was, meself wouldn't be here spaking to you about the mice," replied Jemmy Sullivan.
The officers, in searching his pockets, had found a number of English and Irish pawnbrokers' duplicates; and the magistrate, selecting one of them, asked,—
"Where did you get this ticket for a pelisse?"
"Bought it, your honour, of Myke Dermot, in Donaghadee—He's a bagpipes, your honour."
"And pray what are you?"
"A tailor, your honour," was the reply. But one of the patrol, who is skilful in such matters, having examined his hands, declared, that if he was a tailor, he had not used the needle for twelve months at least.
"What have you to say to that, Mr. Sullivan?" asked his worship.
"Bad luck to the tailoring, your honour, it wouldn't agree with me at all, anyhow, and I discharged meself clane out of it, by the same token, Sir."
"And how have you got your living since?"
"I walks down be the water-side, your honour, an gets me little bits o' reeds an things, and ties 'em up like little bagpipes, and plays on 'em, your honour, Thady you Gander an Gramachree, and the likes of 'em; an the jontelmen plases to hear me, your honour; an some gives me a shilling, an some half-a-crown, may be, an some buys the little bagpipes for themselves, your honour."
Honest Jemmy endeavoured to make the nature of these "little bagpipes" very plain to his honour; but he did not seem to understand it exactly himself, and so he made nothing of it. Neither could he account for his bringing his wife's wardrobe up to London whilst she remained herself in Portsmouth; and eventually he was committed for further examination.
Even this order for his imprisonment he took in perfect good humour; and having carefully counted the ten or twelve shillings which the magistrate ordered to be returned to him, he replaced them at the very bottom of his pocket, and said, "I hopes your honour'll take care o' me things?" The magistrate assured him he would, and honest Jemmy Sullivan then followed the turnkey as blithely as if he had been going to Donnybrook Fair instead of to prison.
This poor fellow was kept in prison nearly a month, during which time his wife came to London, and not hearing anything of him at the place they had appointed for their meeting, she went over to Ireland in search of him. At length Jemmy was discharged because there was no evidence against him; but his clothes were not given up to him till long after.