1 As a contrast to these exemplary feelings, and in illustration of Real Life in London, as it regards a total absence of sympathy and gentlemanly conduct, in one of a respectable class in society, we present our readers with the following detail:— Hatton Garden. On Saturday sennight, Robert Powell was brought before the magistrates, charged with being a rogue, vagabond, and imposter, and obtaining money under fraudulent pretences, from one Thomas Barnes, a footman in the service of Surgeon Blair, of Great Russell-street, Bloomsbury, and taking from him 2s. 6d. under pretence of telling him the destinies of a female fellow-servant, by means of his skill in astrological divina-tion. The nature of the offence, and the pious frond by which the disciple of Zoroaster was caught in the midst of his sorceries, were briefly as follow:—This descendant of the Magi, born to illumine the world by promulgating the will of the stars, had of course no wish to conceal his residence; on the contrary, he resolved to announce his qualification in the form of a printed handbill, and to distribute the manifesto for the information of the world. One of these bills was dropped down the area of Mr. Blair's house; it was found by his footman, and laid on the breakfast-table, with the newspaper of the morning, as a morceau of novelty, for his amusement. Mr. Blair concerted with some of the agents of the Society for the Suppression of Vice, a stratagem to entrap the Sidéral Professor; in the furtherance of which he dictated to his footman a letter to the Seer, expressive of a wish to know the future destinies of his fellow-servant, the cook-maid, and what sort of a husband the constellations had, in their benign influence, assigned her. With this letter the footman set out for No. 5, Sutton-street, Soho, where he found the Seer had, for the convenience of prompt intercourse, chosen his habitation as near the stars as the roof of the mansion would admit. Here the footman announced the object of his embassy, delivered his credentials, and was told by the Seer, that “lie could certainly give him an answer now, 'by word of mouth,' but if he would call next day, he should be better prepared, as, in the meantime, he could consult the stars, and have for him a written answer.” The footman retired, and returned next morning, received the written response, gave to the Seer the usual donation of 2s. 6d. previously marked, which sum he figured upon the answer, and the receipt of which the unsuspecting Sage acknowledged by his signature. With this proof of his diligence, he returned to his master, and was further to state the matter to the magistrates. A vigilant officer was therefore sent after the prophet, whom he found absorbed in profound cogitation, casting the nativities of two plump damsels, and consulting the dispositions of the stars as to the disposition of the lasses; but the unrelenting officer entered, and proceeded to fulfil his mission. On searching the unfortunate Sage, the identical half-crown paid him by Barnes was found, with two others in his pocket, where such coins had long been strangers; and the cabalistical chattels of his profession accompanied him as the lawful spoil of the captor. The magistrate, before whom he had been convicted on a former occasion of a similar offence, observed that it was highly reprehensible for a man who possessed abilities, which by honest exertion might procure him a creditable livelihood, thus to degrade himself by a life of imposture and fraud upon the ignorant and unwary. The wretched prisoner, who stood motionless and self-convicted, exhibited a picture of wretchedness from whicli the genius of Praxiteles would not have disdained to sketch the statue of Ill Luck. Never did soothsayer seem less a favourite of the Fates! Aged, tall, meagre, ragged, filthy and care-worn, his squalid looks depicted want and sorrow. Every line of his countenance seemed a furrow of grief; and his eyes gushing with tears, in faint and trembling accents he addressed the Court. He acknowledged the truth of the charge, but said, that nothing but the miseries of a wretched family could have driven him to such a line of life. If he had been able, he would gladly have swept the streets; but he was too feeble so to do; he had tried every thing in his power, but in vain,— “He could not dig, to beg he was ashamed;” and even if begging, either by private solicitation or openly in the streets, could promise him a casual resource in the charity of the passing crowd, he was afraid he should thereby incur prosecution as a rogue and vagabond, and be imprisoned in Bridewell. Parish settlement he has none; and what was to be done for a wretched wife and three famishing children? He had no choice between famine, theft, or imposture. His miserable wife, he feared, was even now roaming and raving through the streets, her disorder aggravated by his misfortunes; and his wretched children without raiment or food. To him death would be a welcome relief from a life of misery, tolerable only in the hope of being able to afford, by some means, a wretched subsistence to his family. The magistrates, obviously affected by this scene, said that they felt themselves obliged to commit the prisoner, as he had not only been repeatedly warned of the consequences of his way of life, but was once before convicted of a similar offence. He was therefore committed for trial. Does Surgeon Blair, who obtains his twenty guineas a day, and lives in affluence, think by such conduct as the present to merit the esteem of the world, by thus hunting into the toils of justice such miserable objects? If he does, though we cannot respect him or his associates for their humanity, we may undoubtedly pity them for their ignorance and superstition.
On the arrival of the party at the lodgings of Sir Felix, they learned from the servant, that the latter having met the young swindler in the streets, Thady recognized and secured him; and he was now at the disposal of the Baronet, if he chose to proceed against him.
The sprig of iniquity, when made forthcoming, did not deny the accuracy of the charge, neither did he offer any thing in exculpation. It was with much difficulty, however, and under the threat of his being immediately surrendered to justice, that he would disclose the name of his father, who proved to be a respectable tradesman residing in the neighbourhood. The unfortunate parent was sent for, and his son's situation made known to him. The afflicted man earnestly beseeched, that his son might not be prosecuted; he was not aware, he said, that the lad was habitually vicious; this probably was his only deviation from honesty; he, the father, would make every reparation required; but exposure would entail upon his family irretrievable ruin. It was elicited from the boy, amid tears and sobs of apparent contrition, that the articles of apparel were in pledge for a small sum; redemption, and every other possible atonement, was instantly proposed by the father: Sir Felix hesitated, was he justifiable, he asked, in yielding to his own wishes, by foregoing prosecution?—“The attribute of mercy,” said Dashall, “is still in your power.”—“Then,” responded the Baronet, “I shall avail myself of the privilege. Sir, (to the father), your boy is at liberty!” The now relieved parent expressed, in the most energetic manner, his gratitude, and retired. The prediction of the Seer was fully verified, for in the course of the evening the stray suit found its way back to the wardrobe of its rightful owner.
This business happily concluded, and the day not much beyond its meridian, the three friends again sallied forth in the direction of Bond-street, towards Piccadilly. As usual, the loungers were superabundant, and ridiculous. Paired together, and swerving continually from the direct line, it required some skilful manouvring to pass them. Our friends had surmounted several such impediments, when a new obstruction to their progress presented itself. A party of Exquisites had linked themselves together, and occupied the entire pavement, so that it was impossible to precede them without getting into the carriage-way, thus greatly obstructing and inconveniencing all other passengers. Lounging at a funeral pace, and leaving not the smallest opening, it was evident that these effeminate animals had purposely united themselves for public annoyance. Sir Felix, irritated by this palpable outrage on decorum, stepped forward, with hasty determined stride, and coming unexpectedly and irresistibly in contact, broke at once the concatenated barrier, to the great amusement as well as accommodation of the lookers-on, and total discomfiture of the Exquisites, who observing the resolute mien and robust form of their assailant, not forgetting a formidable piece of timber, alias “sprig of shillaleagh,” which he bore in his hand, prudently consulted their safety, and forebore resentment of the interruption.{1}
1 If in walking the streets of London, the passenger kept the right hand side, it would prevent the frequent recurrence of much jostling and confusion. The laws of the road are observed on the carriage-way in the metropolis most minutely, else the street would be in a continual blockade. But The laws of the road are a paradox quite, That puzzles the marvelling throng; For if on the left, you are yet on the right, And if you are right, you are wrong!
The Baronet's two associates very much approved of his spirited interference, and Dashall observed, that these insignificant beings, whom Sir Felix had so properly reproved, were to be seen, thus incommoding the public, in all parts of the metropolis; but more particularly westward; that in crowded streets, however, for instance, in the direct line from Charing Cross to the Royal Exchange, the apparent Exquisites are generally thieves and pickpockets, who find a harvest in this extensive scene of business, by artful depredation, either upon the unwary tradesman, or equally unsuspecting passenger, whose wiper or tattler, and sometimes both, becomes the frequent produce of their active ingenuity.
The morning had been wet, and although the flag-way was dry, yet the carriage-road was dirty. There are, in all parts of the metropolis, indigent objects of both sexes, who by sweeping the cross-way, pick up an eleemosynary livelihood. It not unfrequently happens, however, that a chariot, or other vehicle, is drawn up at one end of the cross-way directly athwart it, so as completely to intercept your way to the pavement. Exactly so situated were our pedestrians. They had availed themselves of a newly swept path, and were advancing towards the opposite side, in Piccadilly, when, before they could effect their purpose, a carriage drew up, and effectually impeded further progress by the cross-way, so that there seemed no alternative between standing fast and gaining the pavement by walking through the mud. The coachman retained his position despite of remonstrance, and in this laudable stubbornness he was encouraged by a well-attired female inside the vehicle, for the carriage was a private one, and its ill-mannered inmate probably a lady of rank and fashion. Sir Felix, justly indignant at this treatment, set danger and inconvenience at defiance, and deliberately walking to the horses' heads, led the animals forward until the carriage had cleared the cross-way, maugre the threats of the lady, and the whip of the coachman, who had the audacity to attempt exercising it on the person of the Baronet, when Tallyho, dreading the consequences to the rash assailant, sprang upon the box, and arresting his hand, saved the honour of Munster! The transaction did not occupy above two minutes, yet a number of people had collected, and vehemently applauded Sir Felix; and the lady's companion now hastily re-entering the chariot from an adjacent shop, Mr. Jehu drove off rapidly, amidst the hoots and hisses of the multitude.{1}
1 Sir Felix had not heard of the following incident, else he certainly would have followed its example:— Two ladies of distinction stopped in a carriage at a jeweller's near Charing-cross; one of them only got out, and the coach stood across the path-way which some gentlemen wanted to cross to the other side, and desired the coachman to move on a little; the fellow was surly, and refused; the gentlemen remonstrated, but in vain. During the altercation, the lady came to the shop door, and foolishly ordered the coachman not to stir from his place. On this, one of the gentlemen opened the coach-door, and with boots and spurs stepped through the carriage. He was followed by his companions, to the extreme discomposure of the lady within, as well as the lady without. To complete the jest, a party of sailors coming up, observed, that, “If this was a thoroughfare, they had as much right to it as the gemmen;” and accordingly scrambled through the carriage.
The poor street-sweeper having applied to Sir Felix for a mite of benevolence,—“And is it for letting the carriage block up the cross-way, and forcing me through the mud,” asked the Baronet;—” but whether or not, I have not got any halfpence about me, so that I must pay you when I come again.”—“Ah! your honour,” exclaimed the man, “it is unknown the credit I give in this way.” Sir Felix thrust his hand into his pocket, and rewarded the applicant with a tester.
Proceeding along Piccadilly, our party were followed by a Newfoundland dog, which circumstance attracted the notice of the Baronet, to whom more than to either of his associates the animal seemed to attach itself. Pleased with its attention, Sir Felix caressed it, and when the triumvirate entered a neighbouring coffee-house, the dog was permitted to accompany them. Scarcely had the three friends seated themselves, when a man of decent appearance came into the room, and, without ceremony, accused the Baronet of having, by surreptitious means, obtained possession of his property; in other words, of having inveigled away his dog; and demanding instant restitution.