PAT CRAWLEY'S MULE.
Mr. Phelim O'Callaghan appeared before the magistrate to show cause why he should not be charged with having stolen Mr. Pat Crawley's mule.
Mr. Pat Crawley, according to his own account, was "a Scotchman, born of Irish parents in the Saut-market o'Glasgow." They, dying, left him a pedlar's pack and a brown donkey; and, ever since, he has followed the profession of Autolycus—a frequenter of fairs, wakes, and wassellings, and a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. Latterly he has travelled in this manner from the Salt-market in Glasgow quite down to Penzance in Cornwall; gather gear as he went, and increasing his worldly goods at every village by the way. At Penzance he sold his donkey and bought a mule; and, travelling on towards London, he arrived at the house of Mr. Phelim O'Callaghan, in Buckeridge-street, St. Giles's. Now Mr. Phelim O'Callaghan being his seventh cousin by the mother's side, he thought he and his mule would be perfectly safe under his roof; and the more especially as Mr. Phelim O'Callaghan expressed great joy at the sight of him. So Mr. Pat Crawley put his mule in Mr. Phelim O'Callaghan's little stable at the back of his place—rubbed it down; supped it up; and then went out to enjoy himself with a mutchkin o' whiskey at the Change-house fornent the corner. At the Change-house he found the ingle bleezing finely, and the whiskey o' the best, and the gude wife unco sonsie, and so many of his mother's cousins came in to see him, that mutchkin followed after mutchkin till they reemed in his noddle a bit; and at the last o't he gang'd to his bed, at Mr. Phelim O'Callaghan's, with a black eye and an empty purse—having lost seven good gowden sovereigns he didna ken how! In the morning he got up at break o' day, thinking to saddle his mule and gang his ways fra the town; but the mule was gone, and no one ken'd where!
The magistrate condoled with him on his loss, and recommended him to be more careful of his property in future; and then asked Mr. Phelim O'Callaghan what had become of the mule?
"Yer honour's axing me about the mule," replied Mr. Phelim O'Callaghan, "an I knows nothing about her at all—barrin Pat Crawley put her in the stable himself along with the dunkies."
"The dunkies! what do you mean by dunkies?" asked his worship.
"Them are little bits o' things—little bits o' mules—dunkies, your honour, as carries the cabbages and purraters about; and I told him, says I, Pat Crawley, says I, de'il a bit of a lock there is to it—that's the door, your honour: an Pat, says I, buy your own lock, says I, or her'll be off may be; and he woudn't, your honour, and so she was—"
"Was what?"
"Off, your honour, sure enough—that's the mule, your honour, bad luck to her!"
One of the patrole said he had been called in by Mr. Pat Crawley, upon the discovery of his loss, and he had examined Mr. O'Callaghan's premises in consequence; and as there was no other way from the stable but through Mr. O'Callaghan's house, he was of opinion that the mule could not have been taken away without Mr. O'Callaghan's connivance.
Mr. O'Callaghan declared he knew nothing whatever of it, and his worship might have a six months' carrakter of him any day in the week.
His worship, however, told Mr. O'Callaghan that he must either find the mule or remain in custody; and he left the office under the surveillance of the officer and Mr. Pat Crawley himself. They adjourned to a neighbouring public house, whence Mr. O'Callaghan despatched a messenger of his own to St. Giles's, and in two hours after the mule was brought down to the office and safely re-delivered to Mr. Pat Crawley—and thereupon Mr. Phelim O'Callaghan was discharged; upon which he exclaimed—"Bad luck to the mule for getting out of that! and long life to your honour for letting me out of this!"