MORNINGS AT BOW STREET.

MORNINGS AT BOW STREET:

A Selection

OF THE MOST HUMOROUS AND ENTERTAINING REPORTS WHICH
HAVE APPEARED IN THE "MORNING HERALD."

BY J. WIGHT,
BOW-STREET REPORTER TO THE "MORNING HERALD."

WITH TWENTY-ONE ILLUSTRATIONS
BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK.

"They did gather humours of men dayly wherever they came."
Aubrey MS.

LONDON:
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS,
THE BROADWAY, LUDGATE.
NEW YORK: 416 BROOME STREET.
1875.

LONDON:
BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.

ADVERTISEMENT TO THE ORIGINAL EDITION.

This volume consists of certain of those Bow Street Reports which have appeared from time to time, during the last three years, in the columns of the Morning Herald. The very favourable notice which they then met with from the public, has induced the author to select some of the most descriptive and amusing of them, and to present them here again, with some necessary enlargements and corrections, and in a somewhat more finished state than the rapid demands of a daily paper allowed.

In their present form, therefore, they assume the more permanent character which they have been thought to deserve; the convenience of the reader is consulted, and his imagination very effectively aided, by the Designs of Mr. George Cruikshank, whose rare comic pencil has been most successfully employed in illustrating them.

The chief quality of these little narratives is certainly "pour faire rire" in common with all other books of facetiæ; but in some important respects they differ from books of that class, which for the most part consist of fancied and fictitious scenes and characters; and of humour concocted in the brain of the writer: for in the work now presented, the dramatis personæ are actual existences, and the scenes real occurrences; affording specimens of our national humour which is perhaps to be found genuine only among the uncultivated classes of society. In copying these, the author's chief aim has been to preserve the character and spirit of his originals.

The reader is placed, without personal sacrifice, amidst the various and somewhat repulsive groups of a police office, and made acquainted with the states and conditions of human nature, with which, from the sympathy due to the more unfortunate part of the species, he should not be entirely ignorant; it is by such means alone that the prosperous and orderly portion of society can know what passes among the destitute and disorderly portion of it; that they can rightly appreciate the advantages they enjoy, and the value and importance of these particular institutions of their country.

It has been objected to this publication, that it perpetuates the ridicule and disgrace to which individuals have, in an unlucky moment, exposed themselves: to obviate this, great care has been taken that names, which are here unimportant, should be either totally omitted, or so altered as to prevent the possibility of discovery; personal satire being in no degree the object of this work;—the persons concerned have then only to keep their own counsel, to be perfectly unexposed to having their wounds opened afresh by means of this inoffensive, and, it is hoped, diverting volume.

CONTENTS.

ILLUSTRATIONS

DESIGNED BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK.

A COOL CONTRIVANCE.

MORNINGS AT BOW STREET.

A COOL CONTRIVANCE.

One fine summer's morning, a short, dumpy, sunburnt, orange and purple-faced old man—topped with a clean white night-cap, was brought before the magistrate by an officer, who had just found him trudging through the Mall in St. James's Park, with his breeches on a stick over his shoulder, instead of in their natural and proper place. "This comical fad of his, please your worship," said the officer, "frightened the ladies out of their wits, and made such a hubbub among the young blackguards, that I thought it my duty to take him into custody; but he kicked and sprunted at such a rate, that it was as much as two or three of us could do to get his breeches on again."

"Why do you walk without your breeches, my honest friend?" said the magistrate, in a tone of kind expostulation.[1] "Because I was so hot that I was determined not to be bothered with breeches any longer!" replied the queer old man—twinkling his little deep-set French-grey eyes, and sending forth a long-drawn sultry sigh.

The magistrate asked him something of his history; to which he replied, that he was born at Great Marlow, in Buckinghamshire, where his father was a small farmer. "There was a rare lot of us young ones," said he, "running about the lanes, and paddling in the cool green ponds, like so many goslings. For myself, I was made a shoemaker of, by a gentleman who thought me too pretty for a plough-boy: and so I've been making shoes in London these last forty years; but latterly I'm always so hot and dry, that I can make no more shoes, not I, and I'll take to the fields again."

His worship was of opinion that the poor fellow's wits were wandering, and ordered that he should be taken care of in Tothill-field's Bridewell, until his parish could be ascertained.

A COSTERMONGER'S QUERY.

A person, who called himself a "master costermonger," having, with some difficulty, obtained access to the table, made his best bow to the magistrate, and said, "Please your vurship, vaut am I to do about my bitch?"

"About what?" said his worship.

"About my bitch, vaut I lost four months ago, your vurship. I lost her in pup, and I knows the man vaut's fun her, and now she's pupp'd six pups, and says he to me, says he, 'You shall either have the bitch vithout the pups, or the pups vithout the bitch; an if so be as you don't like that, you shan't have neither of 'em'—and so vaut am I to do, your vurship?"

"Why go along and mind your business," replied his worship—and the master costermonger retired from court without having taken anything by his motion.

A TEA PARTY.

Joseph Arnold, Esq., of Duck-lane, Westminster, a retired hackney-coachman, better known by the title of "the Rough Diamond," and as the intimate friend of Bill Gibbons, Esq. P.C. Com. Gen. was brought before the sitting magistrate under the following awkward circumstances:—

Mr. Peter Guy, who is a tailor[2] (by trade), and Mrs. Peter Guy, were invited to tea by the accomplished hostess of the Russian Hotel in Bow-street. Mr. Joseph Arnold, Mr. Joseph Arnold's housekeeper, and several other ladies and gentlemen, were of the party. There was toast and prime Dorset, and muffins and crumpets, with Gunpowder and Bohea for the ladies; and pig's-face, red-herrings, and hot coffee for the gentlemen; in short, there was everything quite genteel and comfortable. Now it so happened that Mr. Peter Guy wore a white-poodle[3] upper benjamin, of his own make, on the occasion, and this unfortunate dress upset the comfort of the whole party. Mr. Joseph Arnold first observed, that Mr. Peter Guy's poodle-benjamin was as pretty a bit of toggery[4] as ever he seed. All the company agreed to this, except one lady (Mrs. Jonathan Guy), who remarked that it looked rather too warm-like and smothery for fireside wear. Mr. Joseph Arnold observed it warn't a morsel too warm for those as had any gumption[5] in 'em; and he offered to bet a shilling that he could get it on, if so be as Mr. Peter Guy would be kind enough to peel.[6] There was not a lady in company who did not laugh out-right at this proposition, because Mr. Joseph Arnold is a large round man, upwards of six feet high, and Mr. Peter Guy, as one of the ladies very justly observed, is a little hop-o'-my-thumb chap, not much above half as big. Mr. J. Arnold, however, swore by goles (a favourite oath of his) that he would not flinch from his bet; and at length Mr. Peter Guy took him at his word, the stakes were deposited, and Mr. Peter Guy having slipped out of his benjamin, Mr. Joseph Arnold squeezed himself into it, without a vast deal of trouble; though, when it was on, the sleeves did not reach much below his elbows. Mr. Peter Guy readily admitted that he was done,[7] and requested his benjamin again; but Mr. Joseph Arnold refused to restore it, observing, that it was a prime fit, and he would give it a turn among the swells in Duck-lane. The ladies remonstrated, the gentlemen laughed, the noise ran high; the tea tables were hurried away, and the crumpets were upset among the ashes. But it was all of no use; Mr. Joseph Arnold swore the toggery was too good for a tailor, and he would keep it for himself; and so saying, he sallied forth and strutted up and down Bow-street for nearly two hours, till at length the patience of Mr. Peter Guy became exhausted, and he gave him in charge to an officer, who carried him before the magistrate.

His worship having first ordered Mr. Joseph Arnold to be placed at the bar, asked him what he had to say for himself?

He replied that he did not feel himself a bit disgraced by being placed in that 'ere bar, being as how he was well known to Mr. White and Mr. Markland, the magistrates at Queen-square, and to all the inhabitants of Duck-lane, as an honest man, and one that was as well-to-do in the world, as any man who was no better off than himself. And as to the benjamin there was such a bother about, he had got it on by the free consent of the owner, and he would keep it on long enough, unless the owner stood a drop of summut short.[8]

"If that's the case, Sir," observed the magistrate, "I shall instantly commit you for the robbery."

This seemed to have a considerable effect upon Mr. Joseph Arnold, for he instantly, though slowly, began to peel: and having so done, he handed the benjamin over the bar, sulkily observing, "This comes of keeping company with tailors, your worship, and I can't say but it sarves me right. Howsomever, he mought have had it before, if he had not been so d——d tall and consequential about it."

Mr. Peter Guy thanked the magistrate for his kind interposition, and the parties withdrew.

PAT LANGHAM'S LOGIC.

Mr. Patrick Langham was charged with having assaulted Mrs. Bridget Finnagen, by spitting in her face.

His worship told him he was a dirty fellow, and asked him what he could say in excuse for such an unmanly and disgusting trick.

"Well, your honour," replied Patrick, "I should not have done it by no manes, but she put her nose in the mouth of me."

"Nonsense, man! How could she put her nose in your mouth?"

"Well, your honour, she did that same, any how; an I can bring a witness to the fore that'll testify to your honour."

The magistrate told him he did not believe him. Mrs. Bridget Finnagen said it was a grate lie invented by Patrick to bring shame upon her—the mother-in-law to the brother of him, and oun mother to four children—barrin one that's dead.

Patrick persisted in his nose story, and being desired to show the manner of it, he placed himself in the attitude of a scolding woman—with chin poked out, and arms a-kimbo.

"Why, you foolish fellow," observed the magistrate, "you mean that she put her nose in your face—not mouth."

"Your honour'll call it what ye plase," replied Patrick, "but me mouth's in me face any how; and so me face and me mouth's all one, your honour, in that shape."

His worship could not but smile at this explanation of the matter, and told Mrs. Bridget Finnagen that he thought Patrick was a harmless fellow, who would conduct himself better in future if she would forgive him his past offences.

Mrs. Bridget Finnagen, however, refused to be pacified; she implored his worship "to bind him down to the law," and declared that upon one occasion lately, he told her if it was not for the law, he would put all the teeth in her head into her stomach; but as Patrick declared he had no ill-blood to the cratur, and promised never to molest her again, the magistrate dismissed the complaint.

MANGLING AND MATRIMONY.

Mr. Thomas Turner was brought before the magistrate on a peace warrant, issued at the suit of his wife, Mrs. Eleanor Turner. There was a world of arguments pro. and con.; but we must content ourselves with a simple narrative of the principal facts.

Mr. and Mrs. Turner were married in September last, at which time he was not much more than seventy-three years old; and she was only fifty-six, the very day they went to church; consequently their experience was not so great as it might have been, had they been older. Nevertheless, they managed to get over the first six weeks, as Mr. Turner said, "pretty tightish." But after that time, his business began to fall off; and then Mrs. Turner, who was by profession a mangler, insisted on his turning the wheel of her mangle for her. Well, he did turn it; and turn it, and turn it, again and again, from six o'clock in the morning till nine at night; and if he did not turn it fast enough, Mrs. Turner boxed his ears; and often, when she had boxed his ears till fire flashed from his eyes, as it were, she would tell him, "though he was a turner by name, he was a poor turner by nature." On the other hand, Mrs. Turner alleged that he had "married her out of a kitchen, what she had lived in eleven long years;" that she had brought him as excellent a character as any man could desire; that she thought she could have done as well with him as she could with a man of twenty or twenty-five years old, but that she was sadly disappointed: for though she found him good for nothing in the world but to turn her mangle, he refused even to do that; or, if he did do it, he did it clumsily, and with grumbling; and he often left off doing it to beat her. Moreover, he had latterly threatened to sell her mangling apparatus; and, because she begged of him not to sell it—as his doing so would be their ruin—he "kicked her shins till they were all manner of colours."

The magistrate asked Mr. Turner what he had to say to this last part of the business.

He said, with his worship's permission, he would tell him.—"He had often promised Mrs. Turner, that he would make her a handsome present at Whitsuntide, if she would only keep her fingers to herself; and as Whitsuntide was now fast approaching, he went out one Monday evening and spouted[9] his watch, to raise funds for that purpose. With the funds so raised, he purchased a spick-and-span new straw bonnet, with ribbons all up a-top of it, quite beautiful to see—so beautiful, indeed, that the ribbons alone cost him a clear five shillings. And with this bonnet, so beautiful, he went home, rejoicing in his heart to think how pleased Mrs. Turner would be, and how happy they should live—for a fortnight at the very least. But he was mistaken. When he got home, he uncovered the bonnet, and, placing it on his hand, he held it up before her, nothing doubting but that she would be delighted at the sight of it; and he had no sooner done this, than she snatched it from his hand, and threw it on the ground, trampled its beautiful ribbons under her angry feet; and, seizing him by the scuff of his neck she bent him down towards the floor, whilst she pummelled him about the head and shoulders, till his very ears sung again. In this dilemma, he had nothing left for it but to kick backwards—donkey-fashion as he called it; and it was by the kicks so given in his own defence, that Mrs. Turner's legs were discoloured."

When Mr. Turner came to this part of his description, in order to show his worship more particularly the manner of his kicking, he kicked out behind with all his might, and in so doing he kicked an officer on the leg with such violence, that the poor fellow was obliged to go limping to a seat, and sit rubbing his shin for half an hour after.

Mrs. Turner strenuously denied having pummelled her husband in the way stated, or in any other way; and eventually he was ordered to find sureties to keep the peace towards her and all the king's subjects.

BATTLE IN THE BOXES.

Among the watch-house detenus brought before the magistrates one morning, to answer for misdoings on the preceding night, there was a little, fat, round, well-dressed, comfortable-looking personage, named ——; but his name can be of no interest to the public, as the offence laid to his charge amounted only to an assault and battery, caused by the boiling over of his anger at a supposed invasion of his right and title to a particular seat in one of the boxes at the English opera—he having set his heart upon that identical seat from the very beginning of the evening.

His opponent was a young gentleman named Dakins—a thin, genteel youth, solemn and sententious in delivery, far above his years, and backed by a host of friends. There was a world of oratory displayed on both sides; but we have no room to report it: all we can do is, to give a bare narrative of the facts.

Young Mr. Dakins occupied a front seat in one of the boxes till the conclusion of the first piece. Then, having nothing else to do, he looked round the house. Suddenly he espied a party of his friends, male and female, in the very next box. They occupied the front seat and part of the second; and he, perceiving that there was a vacant space on the second seat, went and took possession of it forthwith, and was highly delighted at the luckiness of the circumstance. In a few minutes in comes the little round man—"Hallo!" says he, "you've got my seat, young man." "Your seat, Sir?" said the young man, with some surprise. "Yes, my seat, Sir," replied the round one. "Well, Sir," rejoined the young one, "you need not be so hot upon't—there is a very nice seat, which I have just left, in the front row of the adjoining box—will you have the goodness to take that, as I wish to remain here with my friends?" "No, Sir," replied the round one, very waspishly—"no, Sir, I shall not! This is my seat—I have satten upon it all the evening, and I'll have no other; and let me tell you, Sir, that I think your conduct in taking it, Sir, very ungentlemanly, Sir!" The young man's friends now interfered, but in vain; and at length they told him to let the little fat man have his seat, and they would make room for him in the front row. So there they sat, enduring all the moist miseries of four in a row, till the end of the second piece; when the young man, turning round his head, perceived the little round man's seat empty again; and, after waiting a few minutes, and finding he did not return, he again took possession of it, to the great relief of the poor ladies in the front row. But he had scarcely seated himself when in pops the little round man again, and without saying more than "I see this is done on purpose to insult me!" he seized the young man by the collar of the coat behind, lifted him from the seat, and very dexterously slid himself into it. In an instant all was uproar:—"Turn him out!"—"Throw him over!"—The little fat man lost his balance, fell backwards, and in that position he let fly "an immense volley of kicks," which the young man received on his stomach. The ladies shrieked, the gentlemen tried to hold his legs down, the house cried "Shame!"—and at length, after kickings and cuffings, and pullings and haulings, quite distressing to detail, the little round man was delivered over to the peace officers, and conveyed to the watch-house, panting like a porpoise, and perspiring at every pore.

Thus far is partly from the evidence for the prosecution. For the defence, it was contended that it was excessively ungentlemanly to deprive any gentleman of the seat such gentleman might have occupied at the commencement of the performance; and furthermore, that the little round man was so roughly handled, that it was absolutely necessary for him to kick in his own defence; for, having once lost his perpendicular position, his rotundity of form made it extremely probable that he would roll over the front of the boxes into the pit! Indeed it was asserted that his enemies endeavoured to bring about that shocking catastrophe, and that, had not a gentleman in the adjoining box held him back by the coat, they certainly would have accomplished it.

The magistrate said there were faults on both sides. In the first place, the defendant should not have quitted his seat without saying to his neighbour that he intended to return; secondly, common courtesy ought to have induced the complainant to have relinquished it when demanded; and, thirdly, that the defendant should have demanded it civilly. Upon the whole, it was a very silly piece of business, and he would recommend them to retire, and make an end of it by mutual explanation, or apology.

This pacific advice, however, was rejected by both parties, and so the little round man was held to bail.

A SPOILED QUADRILLE.

One Solomon Dobbs, an operative tailor, "all fudge and fooster," like a superannuated goose, was charged by a very spruce young gentleman with raising a false alarm against him, whereby he, the young gentleman, was in imminent danger of being treated as a pickpocket, or something of that sort.

The young gentleman, whose name we understood to be Henry Augustus Jinks, was proceeding to his studies in quadrilling at the dancing academy, in Pickett-place, Temple Bar, about nine o'clock in the evening; and being thinly clad, in silken hose, and all that, he was hurrying along to keep himself warm and in proper quadrilling condition. Whilst he was so hurrying along, with his head full of fiddles and new figures, he heard somebody behind him cry "Stop!" and looking back, he saw Mr. Solomon Dobbs waddling after him. Mr. Henry Augustus Jinks had no idea that the cry of such a queer-looking man could be addressed to him, and so he continued to run on; but Mr. Solomon Dobbs still waddled after him, exclaiming "Stop him! stop that thief!" &c. though in such a thick husky voice that nobody noticed him. Neither did Mr. Henry Augustus Jinks notice him, but ran on, and on, till he arrived at the assembly-room; and the first quadrille—which had been only waiting for him—was just about to be led off, when in waddled Mr. Solomon Dobbs, and seizes Mr. Henry Augustus Jinks by his quite clean, fresh-starched cravattery! to the great terror of the ladies, the indignation of the gentlemen, the silencing of the fiddlers, and total disarrangement of the quadrille! This was shocking enough in all conscience; but how was the terror and indignation increased when Mr. Solomon Dobbs, still holding the astonished Mr. Henry Augustus Jinks by his clean cravat, told him in plain terms that he was a pickpocket, and had robbed him of his watch! It was too much. The ladies squealed, the gentlemen stormed, the fiddlers bagged their cremonas, and Mr. Henry Augustus Jinks threatened an action of slander; but the master of the ceremonies, more judiciously, ran for a watchman, and Mr. Solomon Dobbs was carried off to the watch-house as a dangerous and evil-minded disorderly.

The magistrate called upon Mr. Solomon Dobbs for an explanation of his strange conduct.

"——And please your worship, I was not so sober as I might have been," solemnly replied Mr. Solomon Dobbs, with an owl-like twinkle of his gin-quenched eyes.

"Had you any ground for the charge you made against this young gentleman?" asked the magistrates.

"Your worship, I had not; and I really have no recollection of having done what is laid to my charge," replied Mr. Solomon Dobbs, in deep despondency.

"Then, by your own confession you are a drunken fool," responded his worship.

Mr. Solomon Dobbs bowed assent.—Mr. Henry Augustus Jinks said he was satisfied, and the matter was dismissed.

OYSTER EATING.

A law student was brought up from St. Clement's watch-house, to which place he had been consigned between eleven and twelve on the preceding night, at the suit of an ancient oyster-woman of that parish.

The venerable fishmongeress deposed, that the Law Student was in the practice of occasionally taking oysters at her shop; and in general he conducted himself like a very nice sort of gentleman—so much so, that she had more pleasure in opening oysters for him than for any other gentleman of her acquaintance; but on this unfortunate night he came in very tipsy, and devoured so many oysters that she was quite alarmed at him. She opened, and opened, and opened, till her hands and arms ached ready to drop off, and still he kept craving for more; and he would have them, in spite of her remonstrating that he would certainly burst himself. At last he took it in his head to go out to look at the weather, and she took that opportunity of locking him out; thinking he would be satisfied with what he had had, and would go quietly home; but instead of this, he commenced an assault and battery on her door, and before she could unlock it, he had not only forced it off the hinges, but had shivered one of the panels to pieces with his foot. She was now more alarmed than ever, and fearing he might even attempt to serve her as he had served the oysters, she "skreeked for the watch," and he was taken to the round-house.

The Law Student, who seemed to be still under the influence of the Tuscan grape, heard all this with a quiet, comfortable simper; and then, with a low lounging sort of bow to the lady, he said in a voice that seemed to make its way with difficulty through a mass of oysters, "Suppose, Mrs. Jinkins, I reinstate your door—you will be satisfied?"

"Sir," interrupted the magistrate, "you must satisfy me, as well as Mrs. Jinkins; you have broken the public peace; let me know what you have to say to that?"

"Your worship," replied the Law Student, with an oyster-oppressed sigh, "your worship, I have nothing to say, save and except that I was rather—"

"Drunk, you mean to say," observed his worship.

"Your worship, I am sorry to say, conjectures rightly," replied the Law Student, with another very graceful bow, and another sigh from the very bottom of his oyster-bed.

"Then, Sir," rejoined the magistrate, "pay the woman for the damage you have done her door—pay one shilling for your discharge fee, and five shillings for being drunk; and then go about your business, and keep yourself sober in future."

The Law Student bowed again, and beckoned to a young man at the farther end of the office, who instantly stepped forward and paid the money; and then the Law Student, making two distinct bows—one to the magistrate, and the other to his oyster-woman, slided genteelly out of the office.

A WATCHMAN'S WALTZ.

Two young men—the one a deputy drover, and the other an operative boot-maker—were charged by a watchman with having "bother'd him on his bate," and refused to "go along off of it when he tould 'em."

He was asked to describe the nature of the bother; and he replied, that they came rambling up to him intosticatedly, and ax'd him—"Charley, where am the waits?"[10] "I don't know," says I—"get along out of it; and don't be after axing about such nonsense," says I. "We won't," says they—"we'll wait for the waits and have a dance, for we've nothing better to do—without we go and break open a house!" says they to me. "Fait," says I, "but ye'd better be off to the beds of ye, out of the kould," says I; "and with that they got hould of me, and twirled me about and about for a bit of a waultz, as they called it. So then I twirled my rattle, and they twirled me, and more watchmen came twirling into it—that's the waltz: and we twirled and twirled, all in a bunch together, till at last we managed to twirl them into the door of the watch-house; and here they are, your honour, to answer for that same."

The defendants were asked what they had to say for themselves, and the drover undertook to be spokesman:—

"Your worships, last night I lost two fat ship (sheep), and I goz me over the water to see for 'em, and couldn't find 'em, not nowhere, your worships. 'Dang the ship,' says I, 'vauts the use of vaulking my legs off arter 'em, I'll get a drop o' summat vaum and comfortable; so I goz me into a public-house, and calls for a pint o' beer with the chill off; and the beer, and the wexing about the ship, made me desperate hungry; and so I vaulks myself to a slap-bang shop, for half-a-pound of beef; and just as I'd got it up, to pop in the first bit, a woman, vaut I nows nothin' on, comes behind me, and vips it off the fork.—'Hallo! missis,' says I, 'don't you come that 'ere agen.'"—

Here his narrative was broken off by the magistrate desiring him to come to the watchman's charge at once; and he cut short his story by showing his wrist, marked with five little wounds, all a-row; which wounds, he said, were inflicted by the teeth of the lady who wanted his beef, and that he "got vell vhopp'd into the bargain by some of her chaps." Then the loss of his sheep, the bite of the lady, and "the vhopping of the chaps," made him "desperate out of humour," and meeting with his old friend the boot-closer, they went and got tipsy together, and, in that state, they thought to have a bit of fun with the watchman; but he was "sich a sulky chap," that he shut them up for it.

The magistrate told them to pay their fees, and go home, and mix a little wisdom with their merriment in future.

A LITTLE BIT OF A CAUTION.

Patrick Saul, a good-humoured looking Irishman, was charged with maliciously throwing a boy into a deep well, with intent to do him some grievous bodily harm.

Robert Hemmet, the boy alluded to, was crossing a field at Walham-green, when he met the prisoner, who asked him to fetch him half-a-pint of porter, and, before he could reply, took him up in his arms, and threw him into a well, in which there was seven feet depth of water. Having thrown him in, he walked leisurely away, and had he not been fortunate enough at his first rising to catch hold of the curb of the well, he must certainly have been drowned.

Honest Patrick said he had no intention of injuring the boy; and he denied that he walked away from the well after having thrown him into it. "I only wanted to give him a dip, your honour, by way of a little bit of a caution; bekase he is always tazing me about my country and my languages, bekase I happens to be an Irishman, your honour; and, plase your honour, I never meets him not at no time, which is every hour in the days of every week almost, but he comes after me with a 'Hurrah, Pat! which way does the bull run now?' saving your honour's presence; and I can't get any pace for him at all, your honour."

The lad denied having insulted him in any way; but the magistrate did not seem to give much credit to this denial. He, however, asked the prisoner how he could think of adopting such a strangely violent mode of punishing the boy, as throwing him into the water. "Why, plase your honour, I larned a little bit of the law in my own country," replied honest Patrick, "and I understand thereby that I'd no right to take the law into my own hands, by bating him with a stick, so I dipp'd him in the water instead."

The magistrate laughed at this curious distinction in Patrick Saul's Irish law; and, after some further investigation, he was ordered to find bail for the assault only.

The magistrate observed this was a very serious charge, and told the prisoner he ought to be very thankful he was not standing at that bar on a charge of murder.

DUNNING EXTRAORDINARY.

Mr. Thomas Kingston, a military officer on the half-pay list, appeared in custody to answer the complaint of Mrs. Bridget Bull.

Mrs. Bridget Bull was an old lady of respectable appearance, very gentle in manners, and rather infirm. She deposed that the defendant, Mr. Kingston, was indebted to her husband the sum of four pounds six shillings and ninepence halfpenny, for goods sold and delivered; which debt he neglected to discharge, and thereby caused her husband and herself much trouble and inconvenience. That on Wednesday last, she, by desire of her husband, waited upon defendant with an earnest request that he would settle the account forthwith. Defendant said it was not convenient for him so to do, and she therefore took upon herself to remonstrate with him on the impossibility of their waiting any longer; whereupon he pushed her out of his room with such violence, that she fell down and bruised her arms and back shockingly.—In proof of the violence, she exhibited her arms to the magistrate, and doubtless they were bruised shockingly enough.

Mr. Kingston, "a goodly portly man, of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage—and, as we think, his age some fifty—or, by'r Lady, inclining to three-score," entered upon his defence with an impassioned eloquence that would have done credit even to a Phillips. He spoke of the nature of his income making it impossible for him to pay but at stated periods; and of the remorseless rapacity of tradesmen. He disclaimed all intention of hurting Mrs. Bull, expressed his pity for her bruises, and contended that what he had done he did in his own personal defence. After having expatiated on all these matters for some time, he, at the earnest request of the magistrate, descended to a particular answer to the charge at issue. In the first place, he said Mr. Bull came, in the morning, urging payment in no very gentle terms. He promised him payment as soon as he should receive money, and with that promise he departed apparently satisfied. In less than an hour, however, just as he had dressed, and was leaving home in search of money, Mrs. Bull, with bill in hand, presented herself before the door of the house, and positively forbade his egress. He requested her to get out of his way, and let him pass about his lawful business; but the more he requested, the more she refused. She declared she would never lose sight of him till he paid her the money, and she dared him to send for a constable to remove her. Then he told her he should retire to his own private apartment: and he warned her of the impropriety and unconstitutionality of following him thither, as he should consider it as his "castle," agreeably to the good old English adage, for such cases made and provided. She vowed she would follow him whithersoever he went, let the consequences be what they might. Nevertheless, he did not believe she would dare to put this threat in execution, and therefore he commenced a retreat towards his own private apartment; and, to his great astonishment, she followed him step by step, continually vociferating—"Pay me my bill! Pay me my bill!" Having reached the first landing of the stairs, he attempted a parley, in the hope of convincing her of the impossibility of his paying, without money to pay with; but to all he said, she only answered—"Pay me my bill!" He retreated farther up the stairs, remonstrating as he went, and she still following with the hateful cry of "Pay me my bill!" even into the sacred retreat of his own private apartment. What was to be done? Money he had none, at that moment—he was not ashamed to confess it. He called a council of war in his own mind, determined upon a system of operation, and quietly, but firmly, addressing Mrs. Bull, he said, "Mrs. Bull—you come here to seek money; I have none to give you—This room is my castle, and if you do not depart instanter, I shall be under the unpleasant necessity of compelling you." Having so said he advanced towards her, for the purpose of gently ejecting her from the apartment, but she was too quick for him; she eluded his grasp, and seizing him by the under-lip, led him by it in triumph round the room! What could be more annoying than this? To be led about by a violent old woman, holding by his stretched-out and bleeding under-lip!

The magistrate admitted that it was a very awkward situation.

Mr. Kingston continued.—Under the circumstances, he called out, as well as he could, for help; she cried out also—but it was the old inveterate cry of "Pay me my bill!" At this moment a noise of people approaching was heard, and she relinquished her hold upon his lip. He went to the door, and saw it was Mr. Bull, and a whole posse of his servants and neighbours, coming to the assistance of the lady; and seeing this, he resolutely seized her by the shoulders, put her out of the room, and locked the door before the great body of the enemy could reach it. This was the whole head and front of his offending. If the lady fell and hurt herself in consequence of his ejecting her, he was sorry for it; but she had brought it upon herself by her own misconduct. Finally, he submitted to the magistrate that he was justified in what he had done, inasmuch as the lady was a trespasser on his premises, and he had taken the only means in his power of removing the nuisance.

The magistrate held that the means he had used were improper. If, when she insisted upon remaining in his house, he had sent for a constable to remove her, he would have done right. On the contrary, he had taken the law into his own hands, and must therefore find bail to answer the assault at the Quarter Sessions.

STREET ETIQUETTE.

This was a proceeding by warrant upon a matter of assault and battery, alleged to have been perpetrated upon the person of a very nice young attorney, Mr. William Henry Squibb, by John Bloomer, a youthful and golden-haired grower of cauliflowers and capsicums, in a pleasant village on the banks of the Thames.

Mr. William Henry Squibb deposed, that on the 22nd of March, between the hours of eight and nine o'clock in the evening, he, the said William Henry, was passing through Leicester-square, in the parish of St. Anne, Soho, and in the county of Middlesex, in perfect good-humour with all men. That as he (the said William Henry) was so walking, in manner aforesaid, and having a new brown silk umbrella on his shoulder, firelockwise, he was aware of the defendant John Bloomer coming, in an opposite direction, in company with two feminine persons, commonly called, "ladies of easy virtue" by the polite—"blowens" by the vulgar—and "courtesans" by the classically fastidious—he, the said John, having one of the said courtesans on either arm, and thereby monopolising at least two-thirds of the pavement. That he, the said William Henry, without having any or the slightest intention of offending the said John, regarded the aforesaid ladies of easy virtue with a kind of smile; whereupon the said John, being of irascible and pugnacious temperament, did then and there tell the said William Henry that he resembled an index post, with his umbrella over his shoulder, and that if he did not get out of his way, he would twist him up into a figure of 8! That the said William Henry, though he had no objection to be denominated an index, simply, yet he could not bear to have the appellation post applied to him; especially when coupled with the threat of distorting his person so shockingly as to produce the figure of 8; and considering the aforesaid appellation and threat as calculated and intended to excite a breach of the peace, he did forthwith lay hands on the coat collar of the said John and call loudly for the watch, in order that the said John might be conveyed to durance as a daringly dangerously disorderly sort of personage; but that the said John, without waiting the arrival of the watchmen, did instantaneously let fly a right-handed, point-blank belly-go-fister into the bread-basket[11] of the said William Henry—thereby depriving him of his wind, and convincing him that he had formed a right opinion of the dangerous qualities of the said John.

This was the substance of the evidence; and it farther appeared, by the conversations which ensued, that Mr. William Henry Squibb not only lost his wind, but his umbrella also, by the violence of the stomachic concussion above mentioned; but that nevertheless a parley ensued, which ended in Mr. John Bloomer going voluntarily to the watch-house; there, the night constable refusing to interfere, cards of address were interchanged; that, on the following morning, and for several days thereafter, sundry Chalk Farm-ish messages passed and repassed between the parties: that their gunpowder propensities, however, gradually and mutually evaporated; and, in conclusion, Mr. William Henry Squibb "determined to apply to the laws of his country, for redress."

Mr. John Bloomer began his defence by informing the magistrate, that it was an understood thing—a sort of street etiquette observed by all well-bred people—that when one gentleman happened to be in company with ladies of a certain description, no other gentleman should at all interfere in the business; either by "casting tender regards" upon the said ladies, or otherwise. This general understanding the complainant had grossly violated, by looking very significantly towards the whole party; and he, therefore, very properly, as he thought, applied the term "index-post" to him and his shouldered umbrella; but complainant took the term so to heart that he seized him by the collar, and then he certainly did strike him something in the manner he had described; and he would do so again under similar circumstances, let the consequences be what they might. He would not be insulted, he said, by any man, or attorney either.

Mr. William Henry Squibb now drew forth a large bundle of letters (supposed to be the warlike epistles above-mentioned) and was preparing himself to go more fully into his case, when the magistrate desired him to reserve his documents for the sessions, for he really had no more time to waste upon the matter; and having so said, he ordered the defendant to find bail.

In less than ten minutes, however, the parties again presented themselves before the bench, and said they had agreed to shake hands and say no more about it; upon which his worship observed, that he wished with all his heart they had thought of that mode of settling the matter an hour sooner.

THE LOVES OF M'GILLIES AND JULIA COB.

Mr. Robert M'Gillies was brought before the magistrates to answer the complaint of Miss Julia Cob. Mr. Robert M'Gillies was a tall, stout, portly, middle-aged, Scottish gentleman; and Miss Julia Cob, a diminutive Hibernian young lady, in a richly braided dark blue habit, smart riding hat, long black veil, and red morocco ridicule.

Miss Julia Cob made a multitude of complaints, by which it appeared that whilst she was living, a gay and happy spinster, with her friends in Dublin, she was courted by Mr. Robert M'Gillies, whose card bore the initials "M. P." after his name: and she, conceiving that M. P. meant "Member of Parliament," lent a willing ear to his honied words. That she afterwards discovered his profession was the taking of likenesses, and that the M. P. meant Miniature-Painter. That notwithstanding the disappointment of this discovery, she continued her affections towards him, and eventually consented to come with him to England—not as his wife, but as his friend pro tempore; for she could not think of taking up with a miniature-painter for life. That they did come to England accordingly, and took up their rest in London; but from that period Mr. Robert M'Gillies became an altered man; he relinquished his M. P. profession, and lived entirely upon her means, spending almost his whole time in smoking and drinking, lying in bed with his clothes on, and amusing himself between whiles with tearing his and her garments in shreds and tatters. That at length her affection for him began to evaporate, and, being much impoverished by these vagaries of his, she determined "To whistle him off, and let him down the wind to prey on fortune," as Othello talked of doing by the gentle Desdemona. That in consequence of this determination she "got herself acquainted" with another lover—not a Scottish and sottish soi-disant M. P., but a real, unadulterated, and genuine Irish Mem. Par.—one who had taken a house for her in Norfolk-street, Strand, furnished it fit for a princess to live in, and provided her with all things fitting for a lady in her situation. That Mr. Robert M'Gillies felt himself so dissatisfied at this new arrangement, that he forced his way into her new abode in Norfolk-street, turned her char-woman out of doors, broke her glasses, tore her clothes to ribbons, spat in her face seventeen times, and swore he loved her so that she should never live with any other jontleman till she was completely dead and done with.—Nay more—having done all this, he laid himself down on the best bed in the house, and, taking out his pipe, began smoking away as he used to do at home; though she told him her new lover "couldn't abide the smell of baccah."

MR. ROBERT M'GILLIES.

Under these circumstances, Miss Julia Cob begged the magistrates to interpose the strong arm of the law between her and Mr. Robert M'Gillies. He was a strong, powerful man, she said, and she verily believed he would never let her go to her grave alive—a figure of speech which she afterwards explained to mean—that she verily believed be intended to do her some grievous bodily harm—or, in other words, he intended to prevent her going to her grave in the natural way.

The officers who took Mr. Robert M'Gillies into custody, stated that they found him—though in the middle of the day—stretched out at full length in bed, with all his clothes on, except his coat, and smoking a long pipe; and on the chair by his bedside was a quantity of tobacco, and a large jorum of ale.

Mr. Robert M'Gillies, who had been with difficulty restrained while these statements were making, now entered upon his defence in form and manner following:—

"She is a villain, and will swear anything!" (Thumping the table and bursting into tears.) "But I don't blame her, I blame her evil advisers." (Another thump and more tears.) "She has been heard as a woman, and now let me be heard as a man!" (A louder voice, a heavier thump, and a greater flood of tears.) "I was a bright man before I knew her!—Her name is not Julia Cob. She has deceived many a man under the name of 'Julia Cob.' Her right name is Jane Spencer! and she knows it. I don't want to go near her, I tell you!" (A fresh supply of tears.) "I love her better than my own heart's blood; but I don't care—I won't be used in this manner—I'll be d——d if I will! Confound her and them altogether, I say! But I don't blame her—I blame the devils she has got about her. She said to me one day, says she, 'Come, M'Gillies,' says she, 'let you and I go down upon our bare knees and swear to be true to each other for ever and ever!' and now she uses me in this manner!—Oh! oh! oh!" (Lots of tears.) "What am I brought here for? What have I done? Answer me that!—Oh! oh! oh!" &c.

Mr. Robert M'Gillies filled up the pauses in this speech, by licking in with his tongue the tears, &c. which flowed plentifully through the stubble on his upper lip; and having made an end of speaking—

The magistrate told him he was a very foolish man, and Miss Julia Cob was not a bit better than she should be; nevertheless she must not be subjected to personal violence, and he therefore must put in bail to keep the peace towards her—himself in 50l. and two sureties in 25l. each.

It appeared, however, that his friends had previously been bound for him in a charge of assault upon the same lady, and the magistrate declaring their recognizances forfeited by this his subsequent violence, they declined coming forward again.

So Mr. Robert M'Gillies was consigned to his own lamentations in the dreary dungeons of Tothill-fields' Bridewell, and the false-hearted Julia Cob returned to her new lover in Norfolk-street.

TIPSY JULIA.

Miss Julia Johnson was charged by a watchman with infesting his bate in a state of bastely drunkenness. "It was King-street, your honour, that same I'm now spaking about," thundered Phelim O'Donaghue, "and she wouldn't come out of it anyhow, becase the beer had got the best of her, an' she couldn't, your honour; an' so I gathered her up, with her silks an' satins, an' put 'em altogether in the watch-house, your honour."

"Did she abuse you?" asked his worship.

"Fait, an' she hadn't sense enough for that, your honour!" replied the strong-lunged Phelim.

Miss Julia's "silks and satins" gave manifest proof that she had not been able to keep her feet; and, as she had nothing but tears to offer in her defence, she was adjudged to be drunken and disorderly, and ordered to find sureties for her better behaviour in future.

AN EVENING'S PLEASURE.

A schoolmaster of Greenwich, an apothecary of Plymouth, and a London sheriff's-officer,—"three good fellows and true," were brought before the bench, charged with having "shown off" a little too much in the pit of the Olympic Theatre.

Their situation in the office, when the magistrate took his seat on the bench, was thus:—The sheriff's-officer dead drunk on the floor of the outer passage; the apothecary dead drunk on the benches within the office; and the schoolmaster very drunk, but very sprightly withal, upon his legs before the magisterial table. Then as to their personal condition:—the sheriff's-officer had only half a coat—the entire sinister side having been torn away vertically; and he was moreover so grievously bedaubed with blood about the face, that his features were indistinguishable. The apothecary had his garments entire, but the exterior case of his olfactory apparatus was marvellously swollen and distorted—more like the budding proboscis of an infant elephant, than the nose of a Christian compounder of medicine. The schoolmaster's countenance was like that of his friend, the sheriff's-officer, excessively bloody; and his left eye was closed by a large blue and green tumour—from an orifice in the centre of which the claret flowed continually towards the corner of his mouth, as if in mockery of the bumpers that had brought him before the bench.

As to their achievements, it appeared by the evidence of sundry theatrical prompters, scene-shifters, firemen, constables, and deputy-constables, that they entered the theatre arm in arm, with each a flaming cigar in his mouth. That they had no sooner got within the pit than they began to shout lustily for the music. That the music not answering to their shouts the schoolmaster rushed gallantly forward over the heads of the more un-Corinthian part of the audience—to the infinite detriment of sundry Leghorn and other bonnets—and clearing the barrier of the orchestra, at one audacious leap he dashed into the regions beneath the stage in search of the musicians. That he was thence expelled by the united efforts of supernumeraries attached to the concern; and that, as the said supernumeraries of the concern attempted to get him back over the barrier of the orchestra, the sheriff's-officer and the apothecary scrambled forward to his assistance, and prevented his being so put back with all their might. That a general fight ensued—that many people left the theatre in dismay—that others who were entering refused to complete their entrée—that at length the riotous trio were got over by dint of numbers—that they were carried to this office—and that the manager was positively determined to prosecute!

To all this the schoolmaster was the only one of the three who could say anything in reply; but then he was a host in himself. He, as in duty bound by the nature of his calling, was the "Logic" of the "spree;" but unfortunately his logical powers were mystified with old port and beating, and he could make little or nothing of it. He began his defence with three distinct emissions of the fumes of the old Port above-mentioned, and then told the magistrate how they were all three Devonshire men, and old friends, who had met for an evening's pleasure, after a long and tedious separation—how the apothecary had never been in London in all his life before, and had been let into a secret by that night's adventure—how he himself had taken his tea before he set out from Greenwich to meet the apothecary—how the apothecary dined, and how he did not—how they met with the sheriff's-officer—how they got drunk at the Shades at London Bridge, at the expense of the apothecary—how they got more drunk in Fleet-street, at the expense of himself (the schoolmaster)—and how they got drunk in the superlative degree, "somewhere hereabouts"—how somebody gave them orders for the Olympic—how they went there, and found the pit as silent as the grave—how they called for music, and no music came—how the schoolmaster dashed into the cellar in search of the fiddlers, but couldn't find any—how the folks felt themselves offended at his interference—how a devil of a row ensued—how he might have escaped, but scorned to do so—how they were finally captured—and how they were vastly sorry for all of it.

Lots of conversation ensued upon these premises, and the manager, after two or three private conferences, declared himself satisfied, but the magistrate said he was not. "If poor men," said his worship, "were brought before me, charged with such mischievous absurdities, they would be inevitably sent to prison, unless they could find bail; and I will not suffer others to escape, because they may have certain means of satisfying those they injure."

So the schoolmaster and the sheriff's-officer were held to bail for their appearance at the sessions; and the apothecary was suffered to return to his disconsolate family unscathed, because he had not been quite so obstreperous as his companions.

A LAMPLIGHTER'S FUNERAL.

An elderly matron, one Mrs. Bridget Foggarty—the lady of an operative architect (vulgo a bricklayer) was charged with having wantonly assaulted a patrol, whilst in the execution of his duty.

It seems that a deceased lamplighter was interred, the evening before, in St. Pancras' burying ground, with much funeral pomp—there being more than two hundred of his brother illuminati present, each bearing a flaming torch in celebration of his obsequies. This, it was said, is the universal mode of lighting a lamplighter to "that bourne from whence no traveller returns," and, of course, the spectacle attracted crowds of people. Wherever crowds of people are collected, there the patrol very properly repair, to prevent disorder: and the officer in question was there for that meritorious purpose, when Mrs. Bridget Foggarty abruptly gave him a slap on the cheek with her own right hand—that hand being all begrimed with tar, in consequence of her having held one of the half-melted funeral torches while the bearer of it took a little of Deady's consolatory[12] on his way back from the mournful ceremonies.

This was the assault complained of; but the officer said he did not wish to be hard with Mrs. Foggarty; neither would he have taken her into custody, had not the surrounding multitude echoed the blow with such a shout of exultation as gave the lady a very evident intention of repeating it.

Mrs. Bridget Foggarty, when asked by the magistrate what she had to say for herself, wept audibly, and assured his worship that she took the gentleman for a friend of her husband's, or she never should have taken such a liberty as that 'ere. She declared that it was not tar upon her hand, but soot—plain, ordinary soot, "off of a chimney-sweeper;" and, if his worship pleased, she would tell him all about it.

His worship did not object, and she proceeded to state that she had been to see her husband, then lying ill in the hospital; that on her return, she went to see the lamplighter's burying, and that the folks were all very merry, "and quite larkish in a manner;" that being curious to see what sort of a coffin it was, she skrouged herself through the mob till she reached the brink of the grave, and she had no sooner done so, than the mob pushed a chimney-sweeper into it, and pushed her atop of him; and that was the way her hands were blacked.

The magistrate told her he thought her visit to her sick husband should have disposed her more seriously, than to be mingling in such a disgraceful scene; and desired her to go home, and conduct herself more decently in future.

Mrs. Foggarty was very thankful for the lenity shown to her, and departed courtesying and drying her eyes.

LATE HOURS AND OYSTERS.

Two gentlemen of pretty considerable respectability—one tall, and the other short—were charged with having assaulted the watch; and no fewer than five "ancient and quiet watchmen" appeared, to testify against them.

Dennis Mack was the first in order. He said he found the two gentlemen at the door of the oyster shop in New-street, Covent-garden, between one and two o'clock in the morning, kicking up a great row with a hackney-coach and two ladies. He told them to go home to bed, and not be making such a bother as all that, when the short one laid hold of his staff, and tried to twist it out of his hand, whereupon he sprung his rattle for assistance, &c.

Thomas Robinson was the next. He was a smart, upright, Corporal Trim-like sort of a watchman, and his discourse was somewhat "stuffed with epithets of war." He heard the rattle-call of his comrade, and advanced to his relief—he made his approaches with caution in order to reconnoitre the party—having so done, he challenged the offenders to surrender, and received the point-blank charge of a fist in his belly—saving his worship's presence.

"What are you?" asked the magistrate, struck by the novelty of his phraseology.

"I have been a soldier, your honour," he replied; "but since I was discharged from the army, I have endeavoured to fulfil the part of a cobbler."

Patrick Donaghue, a six-foot Emerald Islander, with an astonishing perpendicular expansion of countenance, was the third in order. He heard the hubbuboo as he was paceably walking his bate, and went, right on end, to larn the rights of it; and the biggest of the two—without saying "by yer lave,"—took him a mighty dacent stroke over the jaws.

Two other watchmen followed; but, as they said, they only came in at the tail of the row, and therefore they did not see the beginning of it. However, they bore testimony to the extreme repugnance of the gentlemen to go to the watch-house.

The gentlemen were now called upon for their defence, and the short one undertook the task of making it. It appeared that he and his tall friend were out so late because they were eating oysters, consequently the oysters were solely to blame, as far as late hours were concerned. Then, as they were coming out of the oyster-shop, they found two ladies, who also had been up stairs eating oysters, sitting in a hackney coach at the door. There was nothing extraordinary in this; but somehow or other the coachman had got it into his head that these two unlucky gentlemen had ordered the coach for the use of the ladies, then comfortably sitting therein, and of course he looked to them for the fare. The ladies themselves encouraged the coachman in this "iniquitous idea," and seemed to enjoy it very much; but our oyster-eaters were not to be had in this way. They re-sisted the "abominable demand," the coachman per-sisted, the ladies laughed, the watch came up, and the oyster eaters were hauled off to durance, most unjustly. As to the blow on the belly, the dacent stroke on the jaws, &c., they denied all that sort of thing in toto.

They were nevertheless held to bail for their appearance at the sessions; and, doubtless, should they ever be taken with an oyster fit again, they will try to get it over earlier.

SUPPING OUT.

Messrs. Theodore Planque (a very tall gentleman), Hugh Jackson (a very short one), and Robert Thomas Huff (neither tall nor short, but, as it were, between both), and a bamboo cane, almost as long and large as a little scaffold-pole, were brought before the magistrates from the subterraneous saloons of St. Martin's watch-house, charged with dreadful doings among the Charleys.[13]

It appeared by the statements pro and con., that the prisoners are very respectable people, and that on Friday night they went to sup with an unquestionably highly respectable tradesman in Long-acre. This supper was given on the occasion of his brother, who is a captain in the navy, having returned from a long and perilous voyage; and, of course, on such an extraordinary occasion, they drank deeper than ordinary. It is really surprising what a quantity of thirsty sentiments an occasion of this kind gives rise to. At last the tall gentleman—or, as one of the watchmen called him, "the long one"—was found stretched out at his length on the pavement before the door, completely done up. It was a charley who found him, and a very honest charley too, as times go; but whilst he was endeavouring to gather him up, the short gentleman came behind and floored poor charley himself, with the great bamboo, above mentioned. He was soon up again, however—though, as he said, he never was floored by such a queer thing in his life before, nor half so clanely. Once on his legs again, round went his rattle, and in half-a-dozen seconds up came half-a-dozen of his brethren. The short gentleman with his bamboo, seeing this, laid about him lustily—ribs, canisters,[14] or lanterns, it was all one to him. But "who can control his fate?" or what can one single arm do against a dozen? He was bundled up, or enveloped as it were, in a posse of charleys, all in full tog, enough to smother up a Hercules; and after some little ineffectual sprunting, he, and "the long one," and the "middle-sized one," and the great bamboo, were all safely lodged in the watch-house; where the long one, having shaken off his drunken slumbers, committed divers outrageous assaults upon the night constable and his men, as they were putting them down into the cellars.

In their defence before the magistrate, they admitted the drunkenness, but denied the violence; and begged his worship to believe that it was "entirely a case of simple intoxication."

BUNDLING UP.

The magistrate ordered the long one to find bail upon four distinct assaults; the short one to find bail upon two distinct assaults; and the middle-sized one was discharged on payment of his fees.

A GREAT MAN IN DISTRESS.

A personage, who described himself as "General Sarsfield Lucan, Viscount Kilmallock in Ireland, a peer of France, and a descendant of Charlemagne," presented himself before the magistrates to solicit a few shillings to enable him to proceed on important business to Wexford.

General Sarsfield Lucan wore an old brown surtout, with the collar turned up behind to keep his neck warm, and a scrap of dirty white ribbon fastened to one of the button-holes; a black velvet waistcoat, powdered with tarnished silver fleurs-de-lis, and an ancient well-worn chapeau bras, surmounted with a fringe of black feathers. He carried under his arm a large roll of writings, and all his pockets were stuffed with tin cases, pocket-books, and bundles of papers: his "fell of hair" was ruefully matted; an enormous tawny whisker covered either cheek and his upper lip and chin,—which, for want of shaving, "showed like a stubble-field at harvest home,"—was all begrimed with real Scotch.

He said he was a native of Wexford in Ireland, and had spent the last seven years in Paris, where his cousin, Louis XVIII., nominated him a peer, and gave him a decoration (the bit of white ribbon above mentioned); but his instalment had been postponed by the then recent change in the ministry; his cousin (Louis XVIII.) assuring him, that as soon as his present ministers were kicked out, he should come in. In the meantime his father had died, and willed him certain lands and houses in Wexford; whereupon he wrote to his sisters, who were resident there, to desire them to send him the proceeds of his estates forthwith; but instead of so doing, they had themselves administered to the will, and were dissipating his patrimony. Under these circumstances, his cousin, the king, advised him to set out immediately for Ireland, and seek redress in person. "Journeying with this intent," he landed at Dover a few days before, but on reaching London he found his finances exhausted, and he was now driven to the unpleasant necessity of applying to their worships for a few shillings, to enable him to proceed.

Sir R. Birnie said, he wondered his royal cousin had not furnished him with the means of prosecuting his journey.

"Sir! I scorned to trouble him at all on such a palthry subject as money," replied the general, with some warmth; and he then went on to state, that in order to satisfy his coach-hire from Dover to London, he had been necessitated to give up possession of his working tools.

"Your working tools!" said the magistrate; "and pray may I ask what trade your lordship follows?"

"No trade in the world at all," replied the general; "I am not the person to be after following trades.—The tools I am spaking about are what I used in some of the greatest inventions the world ever saw. I invented a happaratus for extracting stone and gravel from the blather, without any operation at all. I invented a machine for fishing up vessels foundered at sea, as aisy as fishing up an oyster; and I invented another machine for making accouchement the most aisy thing in existence—a mere fla-bite to the most tender lady imaginable! And it was partly these inventions, indeed, that brought me to this country now—because I did not choose to be giving foreigners the benefit of them."

"Pray, Sir," said Mr. Minshull, "will you give me leave to ask whether you were ever confined?"

The General—"Confined! for what would I be confined?"

Mr. Minshull—"If you do not understand the nature of my question, I am sorry I put it; but it certainly appeared to me possible that——"

The General—"Sir, you appear to me to be after taalking in a very queer kind of a way to a jontleman! You ought to know what is due to a respectable and graat man, even though he is in distress."

Mr. Minshull—"Well, Sir, I will speak as plainly to you as you do to me. It is my opinion, and the opinion, I believe, of every person present, that you are out of your mind; and that if you have never been confined, it is high time you were so."

The General angrily declared he was altogether mens sana in corpore sano; and professed himself astonished that any body should entertain a contrary opinion; then taking from his side-pocket a round tin case, nearly as large as a demi-culverin, he offered to produce from it documents to show that he was really the important personage he professed himself to be.

The magistrates, however, had no faith in the matter; they told him it might be all very true, but they had no funds to assist him with; and, as he appeared very incredulous on this subject, they at length ordered him to withdraw upon pain of being committed to prison under the Vagrant Act.

This was an awful alternative, which the gallant "General" did not think proper to risk; so gathering up his patents and papers, he put his feather-fringed chapeau upon his head, and taking an ample pinch of snuff—so ample, indeed, that it rushed through his olfactory labyrinth with the noise of a mighty cataract—he stalked majestically out of the office, muttering anathemas as he went.

MRS. WILLIAMS'S PETTICOAT.

This was a proceeding under the Pawnbrokers' Act, by which Mrs. Priscilla Williams sought to recover a compensation in damages for the loss of certain property pledged with a Mr. Simmons.

Mrs. Priscilla Williams is a bouncing buxom belle, of five-and-thirty or thereabouts, who, having occasion to raise the sum of eighteen-pence on some sudden emergency, was fain to carry her best black bombasine petticoat—or bum-be-seen petticoat, as she called it—to Mr. Simmons, of Seven Dials, a diminutive elder, who gathereth profit unto himself daily, by lending to the poor: in common parlance, a pawnbroker; or, poetically speaking, "My Uncle!" This Mr. Simmons received the petticoat; held it up to the light; observed that "it might well be called a bum-be-seen petticoat, for the moths had riddled[15] it sadly;" and finally, he lent the money required; but when she applied to redeem the petticoat, he told her it was lost, and refused to make her any compensation for it.

Mr. Simmons, in his defence, admitted having received the petticoat, and also having lost it; but he declared Mrs. Priscilla Williams had deluged him with abominable abuse; and he humbly submitted that the said abuse ought to go as a set-off against the lost petticoat.

Mrs. Priscilla Williams protested against any such settlement as that. She readily admitted having "blown Mr. Simmons up a bit," and she thought he richly deserved it; for he d——d her and her petticoat too, in the most notoriousest way imaginable:—"I shouldn't have minded his d——g me," she added, "because it couldn't hurt me, but I thought it extremely ongenteel in him to d——n my petticoat."

The magistrate ordered that Mr. Simmons should pay the value of the petticoat, with full costs of suit.

"INCHING IT BACKERT."

Two apprentice boys in the service of a very respectable tradesman in Museum-street, together with a little night-walker were charged by an Irish watchman with kicking up a great big row and clatter, at Charing-cross, at half-past twelve o'clock in the morning; and, what was still worse, with laughing at, and using bad words to the said watchman, when he very civilly told them to "be off of his bate;" and "moreover and above, with inching it backert in the teeth of him."

"And pray what is 'inching it backert?'" asked his worship.

"Fait, your honour, an' this it is"—replied honest Mahoney, shuffling his feet backwards, inch by inch.

His worship observed, that he had never heard the verb "inching" used before, and therefore he had asked for an explanation. "I suppose you conjugate it 'I inch—thou inchest—he inches,' don't you, Mr. Mahoney?"

"Your honour knows the rights of every thing," replied Mr. Mahoney; and the case proceeded.

It appeared that the two lads had obtained leave of their master to go home for clean linen, and had taken that opportunity of taking a twelvepenny peep at the wonders of Astley's Amphitheatre; and that, in their return to their master's house, they were picked up by the little night-walker; that she, being known to Mr. Mahoney as "a noisy customer," he told her to go off and leave the lads alone; whereupon she trated Mr. Mahoney with some abuse, and the lads taking her part, they were all three carried to the watch-house.

The worthy magistrate read them an excellent lesson on the impropriety of their conduct, and prevailed upon their master to forgive them. This done, they were discharged; and the lady was sent to Bridewell—she being well known as most depraved and disorderly.

MR. HUMPHREY BRUMMEL AND TERENCE O'CONNOR.

Mr. Humphrey Brummel, a tall, gaunt old gentleman, of pedagogue-ish exterior, with each particular hair standing on end, like quills upon the fretful porcupine, was charged by Mr. Terence O'Connor, a Covent-garden watchman, with having been extramely disorderly under the pehazies (piazzas) during the night.

The magistrate inquired as to the nature of his disorderliness, and Mr. Terence O'Connor explained it to be—"spaching to the lads, and frullishing his stick about like a merry Andrew." It also appeared that he continued these eccentricities from midnight till four in the morning, "clane contrary to all sorts of dacency;" and therefore Mr. Terence O'Connor lodged him in the watch-house.

Mr. Humphrey Brummel in his defence said, he took shelter under the Piazza from the inclemency of the weather: and it was very possible that, whilst there, he might have endeavoured to cheer the loneliness of the hour by an audible repetition of some appropriate passages from the poets. But he was totally unconscious of offence, and he solemnly declared that instead of "spaching to the lads," he stationed himself in a door-way far apart from every living soul; and had not Mr. Terence O'Connor been so over officious, he should have gone quietly to his bed, and his worship would not have been put to the pain of listening to such a frivolous charge.

"An' please your worship," exclaimed Mr. Terence O'Connor, "he says he's got a nact of Parlyment in his pocket, what'll lay me by the heels, an' I hope your worship will make him prove his words!"

"I will do my best," replied his worship, smiling, and at the same time asking Mr. Brummel what Act of Parliament he alluded to.

"Lord love you, sir," replied the tall old man, "I never alluded to any Act of Parliament; but I did threaten to report him to your worship for sleeping on his post."

"Is it true, O'Connor, that you really do sleep whilst on duty?" asked his worship.

"Ounly that time I got no sleep in the day," replied the night guardian, blushing as intensely as a fresh-washed Munster potato.

"You are both fool and knave, Mr. O'Connor," observed his worship—"a knave for sleeping when you are paid to keep awake, and a fool for wantonly bringing this complaint against yourself."

Mr. Humphrey Brummel was then discharged without a fee; and Mr. Terence O'Connor was dismissed with an assurance that his watching should be watched in future, and that he should be suspended if caught napping.

CUPID IN CHAMBERS.

A pretty little aquiline-faced, "gazelle-eyed" damsel, was brought in by one of the St. Clement Danes' constables, charged with creating a riot in the chambers of Mr. Snuggs, of Clement's Inn.

Master Constable knew nothing of the alleged riot, save and except what Mr. Snuggs had told him; and so he was ordered to stand aside; but Mr. Snuggs himself told a long and lamentable story of the sufferings he had endured from the fair prisoner. He had originally engaged her as a servant to attend to the domestic department at his chambers; but she took advantage of his partiality for her services, and made the chambers too hot to hold him, as it were;—she disturbed his studies by her loquacity; she lived intemperately; she set him at defiance; she got her relations to help her to persecute him; and, if he only attempted to remonstrate with her, she raised the whole neighbourhood about his ears! He concluded by expressing a hope that his worship would put a stop to her doings.

The magistrate thought there must be something very strange in all this; for what man of any spirit would suffer the serenity of his chambers and his mind to be so disturbed by a little gipsy of an Abigail, "when he himself might his quietus make with a bare warning." He therefore put a question, or two, to Mr. Snuggs, touching the "partiality" he had spoken of.

Mr. Snuggs replied afar off—somewhat approaching to the obscure; but not so the fair troubler of his peace and his chambers. She gave his worship to understand, in good round terms, that she was the veritable mamma of sundry little Snuggses; and that Mr. Snuggs was neither more nor less than a gay deceiver. She denied that she had ever "kicked up a row" in his chambers—she had merely told him of his faults and his failings; and she hoped his worship would not think of separating her from her children.

The magistrate immediately dismissed the charge; the damsel smiled triumphantly; and Mr. Snuggs, like a tall elderly gentleman as he was, stalked out of the office, sighing—as who should say, "The Gods are just, and of our pleasant vices make instruments to scourge us!"

FLORENCE O'SHAUGHNESSY.

This was a proceeding wherein one Mrs. Florence O'Shaughnessy sought "purtection behint the law agen the thumpings of her oun lawful husband," Mr. Phelim O'Shaughnessy, of the parish of St. Giles, labourer.

Phelim O'Shaughnessy was a clean-made, curly-pated, good-tempered little fellow, in a new flannel jacket, white apron, and duck trousers. His wife, Florence, was about his own size, no whit behind him in cleanliness, very pretty, and she had a voice—plaintive as a turtledove's.

"—An' plase your honour," said she, "this is Phelim O'Shaughnessy, the husband to myself, that was when he married me; and is—barring the bating he gave me yesterday, just for nothing at all, your honour, that I knows of—ounly that he listens to bad folks, the neighbours of us; and bad folks they are sure enough, your honour, for that same; and your honour'll be plased just to do me the kindness to make them hould their pace and not be after taking away the senses of my oun husband from me, to make him look upon me like a stranger, your honour—for what would I be then?"

Poor Florence would have gone on murmuring forth her little griefs in this manner by the hour together, if his worship would have listened to her. But the office was crowded with business, and he reminded her that the warrant she had sued for, charged her husband with having beat her; and she must confine herself to making good that charge, if she wished to have him punished for so doing.

"Your honour," said Florence, with a low courtesy, "it isn't myself that would hurt a hair of the head of him; ounly that your honour would hear the rights of it, and tell Phelim he shouldn't be after bating me for the likes of them. And here he is to the fore, your honour, for that same."

The magistrate found it would be vain to think of hearing "the rights of it" from Florence; and therefore he asked Phelim what he had to say to it.

Now Phelim was a man of few words. He had listened calmly to all Florence had been saying, and it was not till the magistrate had twice put the question to him, that he left off smoothing his dusty hat, and then, looking steadfastly in his worship's face, he replied, "Och! it's all about the threepence ha'penny, your honour. It was Saturday night when I gave her every farthing of the wages I earned that week—and so I does every Saturday night, come when it may, your honour—and when I ax'd her on Monday morning to give me threepence ha'penny, to get me a pint of beer and the little loaf, bekase I was going to a long job in the city, and didn't know what time I'd be back to my oun place, she wouldn't give it me any how, your honour; and sure I did give her a clout or two."

"But you would not do so again, I am sure, Phelim," observed his worship. "You should remember that she is your wife, whom you have vowed to protect and cherish; and besides, you know it is disgraceful in any man to strike a woman—especially in an Irishman. You must give me your solemn promise, Phelim, that you will not strike her again."

"Sure I'd be a baste if I whopp'd her again, your honour," replied Phelim, "when I just thought of a skame to do without it.—It's ounly keeping the threepence ha'penny in my oun pocket, your honour, and I'll have no occasion to bate it out of her at all."

The bystanders laughed at this skame of Phelim's, and even the magistrate smiled, as he good-humouredly told Florence, that, though he believed her to be an excellent wife, he thought that she was a little too hard in refusing her husband such a trifle as threepence half-penny when he was going to work so far from home.

Florence smiled also; but there was a thoughtful sadness in her smile; and, when the laughter had subsided, she told his worship, that it was not the "coppers," nor the bit of a "bating" Phelim had given her, that she cared about. He had harkened to bad tales about her, she said, and had sworn never to be good to her till she said "two words" to him.

His worship asked her if her husband supposed she was untrue to him.

She replied that he did, and implored the magistrate to let her swear to her fidelity!

His worship told her he was sure there was no need of any such ceremony—"Phelim," said he, "has too much good sense to listen to any idle stories about you."

Still, however, poor Florence would not be pacified; and snatching the Gospels from the table, she pressed the sacred volume fervidly to her lips, and then raising her eyes, she exclaimed—"So help me God! that, barring Phelim and myself, I don't know man from woman."

All this while Phelim stood hanging down his head, and fumbling at the buckle of his hat in the simplest manner imaginable. "For shame, Phelim!" said the magistrate, as Florence made an end of her oath—"For shame, Phelim!—How can you stand there and see the distress of such a wife, without coming forward and assuring her of your confidence?—Give her your hand, man, and comfort her as she deserves."

Phelim stretched forth his hand—Florence grasped it almost convulsively, and raising it to her lips, all chapped and sun-burnt as it was, she kissed it—they looked each other in the face for a moment—burst into tears, and hastily left the office arm-in-arm.

CORINTHIANISM.

Mr. Christopher Clutterbuck and Mr. Dionysius Dobbs were charged with having created a great uproar and disturbance in the lobbies of Drury-lane Theatre on the previous evening, and with having grievously assaulted certain peace-officers, who attempted to quell the said disturbance, by taking the said Christopher Clutterbuck and Dionysius Dobbs into custody. These gentlemen were Corinthians—that is to say, in the fashion of the time, gentlemen who were "up, down, and fly to every thing."

They were brought from Covent Garden watch-house, together with a gang of young thieves, disorderly cobblers, drunken prostitutes, houseless vagabonds, and other off-scourings of society; and a very respectable appearance they made.—Christopher Clutterbuck, a long, sturdy, burly-boned, short-visaged, curly-headed, whiskerless subject, with a hat of that cut called a kiddy shallow, and an enormous pair of bull's-eye spectacles; and Dionysius Dobbs, a lean, lack-beardical, long-faced, sunken-cheeked, hollow-eyed, cossack-waisted concern, with a very gentlemanly imperfection of vision, and a silver eye-glass to correspond. And there they were, for nearly an hour before the arrival of the magistrate, crammed among the tagrag-and-bobtail in the common waiting room, or sweating-room, as it is sometimes more properly called.—Mr. Kit Clutterbuck, strutting to and fro, with arms a-kimbo, as vigorous as a turkey-cock; and Dionysius Dobbs, lolling upon one of the forms, lifting his eye-glass from time to time, and gasping like an expiring magpie; whilst the torn and bemudded toggery of each of them, all tacked together with pins, gave ample proof of their love of "Life."

The magistrates having taken their seats, the demolished Corinthians were ushered into their presence, and a charge, of which the following is the substance, was exhibited against them.

Between the third and fourth acts of the play—which happened very appropriately to be Wild Oats—they were swaggering about the lobbies, insulting every body that came in their way; the "big one"—that is to say, Mr. Kit Clutterbuck—offering to mill "any body in the world," and repeatedly exclaiming—"Oh! that a man of my own powers would come athwart me!" and the "thin one" (that's Mr. Dionysius Dobbs) lisping responsively—"That's your sort! Go it, Kitty my covy!" Nobody taking the challenge, Kitty my covy, in the overflowing of his Corinthianism, seized his friend, the delicate Mr. Dionysius Dobbs, and dashing him against the wall of the lobby, shattered one of the lamps with his empty knowledge-box. Dionysius Dobbs took the concussion in good part; but Mr. Spring, the box book-keeper, who happened to witness the feat, was not so well pleased, and sent for Bond, the officer, to remove them. Bond prevailed upon them to be a little more quiet; and the loss of the lamp was overlooked. But in a quarter of an hour after, he found them taking indelicate liberties with the wretched women in the saloons, sparring, bellowing, and capering, like a pair of drunken ourang-outangs, as he said, to the great danger of the mirrors, and the scandal of the saloon itself. He again attempted to remonstrate with them; but all he could get from them was a challenge to fight, from Kitty my covy; and therefore he called for the assistance of his brother officers, determined to remove them entirely from the theatre. A posse of other officers came to his assistance; and then began what the Corinthians called a prime spree—viz., Billingsgate bellowings, black eyes, broken coxcombs, and rending of garments; Kitty Clutterbuck swinging his arms about like the sails of a windmill; Dionysius Dobbs shrieking and clinging to the balustrades like a monkey in hysterics; and the officers dragging at their collars in front, and twisting at their tails behind; and in this fashion they were, by degrees, worked out of the theatre into the street. And then, as they had been so very obstreperous and Corinthianish, the officers determined to deposit them in the disorderly dépôt of the watch-house. In their way thither, Kitty Clutterbuck got hold of an officer's hand, and gave it such a twist that three of the fingers were dislocated, and the tendons of the wrist very seriously injured. When they got into the watch-house, Kitty conducted himself more like a mad bull than any thing else—butting and bellowing at every thing that came in his way. His honour, the nocturnal constable, therefore, ordered that he should be put down below—in the subterranean boudoir; but Mr. Christopher Clutterbuck blew up the boudoir, and his honour too, in good set terms, and threatened his honour, moreover, with the high displeasure of a certain noble marquis. "Tut! none of your gammon!" retorted his honour; and Mr. Christopher Clutterbuck was forthwith "quoited down stairs like a shove-groat shilling;" but not before he had grievously avenged himself on the persons of his quoiters. There were five of them engaged in the service, and every one of them came off halting.

These matters having been duly set forth in evidence before the magistrates, they called upon the conquered constable-quelled Corinthians for their defence. Whereupon Mr. Christopher Clutterbuck, with many propitiatory deviations from the perpendicular, delivered himself thus:—

"Your worships—that is to say, your worships, I—hem! I beg pardon, your worships, but I don't know. It is extremely awkward—all I can say is—that is, all I have to offer is, that I—belong to—to his Majesty's service, hem! But unfortunately—unfortunately, your worships, have not been in the habit of being much in town, and—the fact is, your worships, I really don't know exactly; but this gentleman (Mr. Dionysius Dobbs) is my friend—my particular friend, and a gentleman, as you perceive—that is, he is a gentleman, I assure you. I suppose your worships, we were not in our regular senses—certainly we could not be—we were not so sober as we might have been at sometimes, I suppose; but the fact is, no doubt, I imagine, we must make amends for any damage we have done, certainly."

Mr. Dionysius Dobbs said nothing. Once or twice he essayed to speak, but what he had to say stuck in his throat. So he gasped piteously; and looked unutterable things, with an aspect so droopingly lack-a-daisical, that the very officers seemed sorry for him.

Their worships, however, commented severely upon their misdeeds, and ordered that they should put in good and sufficient bail for their appearance at the Quarter Sessions, there to answer to five distinct indictments for assault. Mr. Christopher Clutterbuck in 100l., with two sureties in 50l. each; and Mr. Dionysius Dobbs in 80l., with two sureties in 40l. each.

They had no bail ready, and were locked up all day, among other unfortunates, in the iron room. In the evening they gave the required bail; and, meanwhile, the Grand Jury returned five true bills against them. But they were never brought to trial; for, before the next Sessions, they found means to make their peace with the injured officers, at an expense of some forty or fifty pounds. And this is worshipful Corinthianism.

A DEBT OF HONOUR.

This was a proceeding, by warrant, for an assault and battery, arising out of the non-settlement of a debt of honour.

Mr. Elias Simmons, the complainant, is of the children of Israel; a fat, round man, of a pleasant countenance, and addicted to luxuriating in brown stout and a pipe, in the little back parlour at the Cannon Tavern—a comfortable public-house, somewhere in Knightsbridge. The defendant, Mr. Jacques Breton, is a native of Switzerland; tall, gaunt, and elderly, with a nice sense of honour, "sudden and quick in quarrel," and, withal, in the practice of sometimes taking a half-gill of old sherry in a goblet of pure spring water, at the Cannon Tavern aforesaid. He appeared before the magistrate with a large black silk handkerchief bound round his head, so as to cover one of his eyes.

On the day named in the warrant, it being between four and five o'clock in the afternoon, Mr. Elias Simmons was in the little back parlour at the tavern aforesaid, luxuriating as aforesaid, and several other gentlemen, then and there assembled, were luxuriating in like manner, when the door opened, and in stalked Mr. Jacques Breton; who, having seated himself, rang the bell and ordered his sherry and water as usual. Now it so happened that Mr. Jacques Breton was indebted to Mr. Elias Simmons in the sum of two shillings and sixpence; and, moreover, the said debt had been standing almost time immemorial, so that Mr. Elias Simmons was weary of waiting for it; and, as it was a "debt of honour," he began to entertain doubts that Mr. Jacques Breton meant to avail himself of that circumstance, and forget to pay it. He did not presume to say that such was the case, but he entertained that opinion; and the moment he saw Mr. Jacques Breton enter the room, he determined in his own mind to put it to the proof. Howbeit, knowing Mr. Jacques Breton's constitutional irascibility, and unwilling to wound his feelings before the English gentlemen present, he addressed him in French, viz., "Monsieur—voulez-vous—donner moi—mon leetel demiécu, monsieur?" To which civil interrogation—put with all the good humour in the world—Mr. Jacques Breton instantly replied, "Ahah! sacré! vat? you want to 'front me!"—and seizing a heavy cue from a bagatelle board on the table, he grasped it in both hands, and, before the company could interfere, he gave Mr. Elias Simmons a "thundering thwack" on the bare head, which shivered his tobacco-pipe into a thousand pieces, and laid him prostrate among the spittoons!