KITTY KAVANAGH.
There was a pretty, though homely Irish girl, named Kitty Kavanagh, brought before the magistrate on a charge of having stolen a small piece of coarse calico from a Mrs. Dermody.
Kitty Kavanagh is the daughter of a watchman; and she and her father lodge in the same house as Mrs. Dermody. The piece of calico formed "the canopy" of Mrs. Dermody's tester bed. One day lately, Mrs. Dermody missed the canopy—it was taken away even whilst Mr. Dermody was in the bed; and, in a day or two after, she found it on Kitty Kavanagh, in the shape of an apron! Mrs. Dermody displayed this apron before his worship, and told him she could swear to the hemming of it—"because it was very confident to be seen by any one."
Mr. Dermody offered his evidence; and, being sworn, he said, "Your wortchip, it's true, every word of it, what Mrs. Dermody was after telling you, for myself was fast asleep in the bed at that same time."
His worship now asked Kitty Kavanagh what she had to say to it; and she replied, in the richest brogue that ever rolled through the red lips of an Irishwoman—"It's herself and her husband comed home bastely drunk, your honour; and her husband bate her, and kilt her your honour; and your honour sees Mrs. Dermody could not get to the bed by herself any how, bekase of the liquor that night, your honour; and Mr. Dermody lay down in the bed by himself, your honour's honour, and Mrs. Dermody lay down in the coort."
"But what has all this to do with the stolen linen?" asked his worship; "what have you to say about the piece of linen?"
"Is it the bit o' linen your honour's spaking about?" asked Kitty, with infinite naïveté—"Och! I found that same at the stair-foot when all the bother was over!"
His worship shook his head, as much as to say he feared Kitty was adding falsehood to theft.
Her father, the watchman, presented himself; and having expatiated upon the excellent carackter himself and his daughter had hitherto borne in the world he next attacked the reputation of the Dermodys; which he said was all that was "bad and bastely;" and then he called two witnesses, who would tell his honour "all the rights of it."
His witnesses came forward; they were Patrick Doole and Michael Sullivan. But all that Misther Doole could prove was the drunkenness of the Dermodys on the day of the robbery; and Mr. Sullivan had nothing to say to it at all, only that Kitty Kavanagh was a nice young cratur, and her father was just like her for all the world.
This was of course all nothing in the face of the fact so distinctly sworn to, and the prisoner was committed for trial.—So the interesting Kitty Kavanagh was sent to gaol, and perhaps lost her character for ever, for a bit of old calico, not worth sixpence.