(From our Rotherhithe Correspondent.)
"I hasten to inform you of an event, which, if the estimate of the actors themselves is to be taken, will cause the utmost excitement throughout this country and the Continent. On this subject your readers will be judges—in a petty locality small things seem large—and the preternatural importance which is here given to it may deceive me into false calculations.
"You, like the rest of the world, are well aware that a feud of no ordinary virulence has subsisted between the elder and younger branches of the house of Beerbung, which so long supplied all the Publicans (and a good many of the sinners) to this locality, and indeed dictated to the magistrates of Limehouse, and defied the authorities of the Commercial Docks. You remember that when Lewis Beerbung lost his license, and the 'King's Head' was shut up, things went on anyhow in the parish; everybody opened public-houses, keeping the shutters down Sunday and week-day alike, and at last we hardly knew whether our heads were on our shoulders or not. Then the military came in, and we got on better; and, subsequently, the other Lewis Beerbung (who was given to oysters) and his brother, Charles Dicks, had the 'King's Head' again. Dicks took in preachers, and cheated in his measures, and at last ran off to Scotland; and then the house was let to a third Lewis, who was son to the first Lewis Beerbung's younger brother, a very bad fellow, of whom Jack Ketch had the last accounts. The Beerbungs were always a queer set, and this third Lewis, though a clever fellow, could not keep the house (which he had named the 'Pear and Umbrella'), but had to run for it, and was made bankrupt under the name of Smith. Then the whole affair was altered: a committee was appointed to manage the house, which had a new sign, the 'Three Jolly Colours:' and since that the chairman has kicked out the rest of the managers, and has got the licence transferred to himself. The house is now the 'Bee and Bayonet,' and seems to be carried on to the satisfaction of the neighbourhood. Very good order is kept; the chairman, who was formerly in the Ham, and, indeed, sausage line, has married a very nice woman, and tries to keep friends with the most respectable people about. Indeed, his behaviour to a rich and rascally tallow-monger, who has been trespassing on the land of some poor neighbours, and stealing their turkey, has sent up Unlimited Loo, as he's called, in the estimation of all decent folks. Anyhow, he has got the house which was the 'King's Head,' and, while he gives Imperial measures, will keep it.
"But as the Beerbungs are irrevocably kicked out of the house, they comfort themselves by squabbling with one another, and talking as if the question was which had a right to the fixtures. Smith, the bankrupt, is dead, but has left a lot of sons, not bad fellows, but with very little brains among them. And there is a cousin of their's, who at present calls himself Shambore (but I am told is a real bore to any one who has to spend the evening with him), and he comes from the elder branch of the Beerbungs, and claims to be the head of the family. Shambore and Smith's boys have hitherto been at daggers drawn, and making everybody laugh at their absurd quarrels. Shambore has settled just outside the parish, and is always sticking up placards, some of them very profane, abusing Loo, or anybody who happened for the time to have the 'King's Head.' He lives at a place called Frowsy Wharf, and behaves as stuck-up as if the parish belonged to him; sees people with his hat on; and has got a long story about some miraculous hair oil which he says will never dry off his head. Some think he is cracked. The Smith boys used to make all sorts of game of him, and call him 'Fatty,' and, when their father had the house, they used to stone any one who went to see him.
"But somehow, Shambore and the Smiths have made it up. Why, nobody knows; but it is thought that the tallow-monger has been at them, and has promised to stand something handsome if they will unite to bring actions of trespass against Loo. However, be this as it may last week down comes one of Smith's sons—who calls himself (for they have all aliases) Knee Moore—to Frowsy Wharf, in his best clothes, and all being arranged, knocks three knocks—no more nor less—at Shambore's front door. He would not knock two knocks, for fear of being thought a postman; and Shambore would not let him knock four, because that would be coming the swell too much. Shambore was peeping over the blind (which had crochet lilies on it), but of course Moore pretended not to see him. The maid opened the door, and Moore asked if Mr. Shambore was in. 'What name, Sir?' says the girl. But Shambore had bolted through the back parlour, and was standing on the stairs. 'What do I see?' he shouts out. 'Come in by all means;' and he comes down exactly four stairs—no more—and waits for the other. Moore will not take off his hat until the door is shut, for fear the neighbours should think he's nobody, but he hangs it on a peg, and makes Shambore a bow.
"'I am glad to call on the head of my family,' says Moore, kicking out his leg behind, and making the girl laugh. Shambore makes him say it again, pretending to be deaf. Then they shake hands, and the girl is sent out for beer, and they sit down and drink bad luck to Unlimited Loo, and may he soon lose his licence. And it seems they have arranged that, if they can kick Loo out, and get the house, Shambore's to keep it for the good of the family, until a boy—a son of Moore's elder brother—is old enough to take the licence; and, to prevent danger, if Shambore's wife dies he is not to marry again. The precious couple sat a long time, and Moore brought in Mrs. Moore, and they all grew as thick as thieves; and when going away, Moore, who was tipsy, said he had made a bridge, or was going over the bridge, or something which could not quite be understood. Meantime, Loo has told the police to keep a sharp look-out on the cousins, and it will be wiry times for them if they are laid hold of."
Two Great Questions.
There are two great questions which at present address themselves to the political mind, and they are both in connexion with wages. Without entering into the merits of either, we may say that in England the great question is, "How wages are?" and in Turkey, "How wages war?"