It appears that Mr. William Wilkins, having been out on Friday night—spending his evening, as it is called—repaired at five o'clock in the morning to Rowbotham's "final finish," in James-street, Covent-garden, just by way of finishing himself. He found the saloons full of good company. There were assembled the Marquis of Paramatta, Viscount Toongab, the celebrated Lord Mops, from Cheapside, Sir Francis Fogleshifter, Sir Sidney Cove, Mr. Gluckman the bass singer, Mr. Phelim O'Toole the strong-backed Knight of the Knot, and Mrs. Judith M'Craw, Dunstable Charlotte, Peg Protheroe, Kitty Parenthesis, Sally Succinct, and many other fair nymphs of the piazza. There was singing and drinking galore—"We are the lads," and hot elder wine, and coffee of the best, went merrily round; Mr. Gluckman, and Dunstable Charlotte, and my Lord Mops, "roused the morning lark in a catch;" and old Father Time, with his companion old Winter, in the lily-white benjamin,[28] were held in utter scorn by every body. Mr. William Wilkins enjoyed the fun vastly; in token whereof he handed round his high-dried Irish to the ladies and gentlemen liberally; and then sat himself down to half a pint of smoking hot elder-wine among a select company of ladies in one of the side saloons. Presently came the "Brummyjum outrider" to him, with a low bow, and a "Mr. Gluckman, will be obliged to you, Sir, for another pinch of your high-dried." "With infinite pleasure," replied Mr. William Wilkins, handing over his eight guinea snuff-box to the Brummyjum out-rider. Mr. William Wilkins then finished his smoking hot elder, and repaired to the general company again—not doubting but his snuff-box was safe with Mr. Gluckman; but, to his utter astonishment, neither Mr. Gluckman, nor my Lord Mops, nor the Marquis, nor the Viscount, nor any of the ladies, knew any thing about it. Mr. Gluckman declared he had never sent for it; nobody knew the "Brummyjum outrider," nor could he be found; Mr. William Wilkins said it was uncommon improper, and every body ought to be searched; my Lord Mops said "the highdear of such a thing was cursed low;" the ladies voted Mr. William Wilkins a bore; and Mr. William Wilkins walked away, cleaned out and completely finished. He wandered to this office, and communicated his woes to the patrol in waiting; and in two or three hours thereafter they succeeded in apprehending the "Brummyjum outrider," but no snuff-box could they find upon him.
The Brummyjum outrider, in his defence before the magistrate, persisted in saying that Mr. Gluckman asked him to borrow the box, and having borrowed it, he delivered it to Mr. Gluckman; and what became of it afterwards he knew not.
The magistrate said he had little doubt but he obtained possession of it with a felonious intent, and committed him for further examination, in order that Mr. Gluckman might come forward to explain, or deny, the part it was alleged he had taken in the transaction; but eventually the matter was arranged among themselves without any impeachment of Mr. Gluckman's character, and the "Brummyjum outrider" was discharged.
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.