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Title: Mornings at Bow Street - A Selection of the Most Humorous and Entertaining Reports - which Have Appeared in the 'Morning Herald'
Author: Wight, John
Language: English
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Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

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  "Sweet Birds that love the noise of Folly,
  Most musical, most melancholy"]


  A Selection




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




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



  A COOL CONTRIVANCE                                 1

  A COSTERMONGER'S QUERY                             3

  A TEA PARTY                                        3

  PAT LANGHAM'S LOGIC                                7

  MANGLING AND MATRIMONY                             9

  BATTLE IN THE BOXES                               13

  A SPOILED QUADRILLE                               17

  OYSTER EATING                                     19

  A WATCHMAN'S WALTZ                                22

  A LITTLE BIT OF A CAUTION                         24

  DUNNING EXTRAORDINARY                             26

  STREET ETIQUETTE                                  31


  TIPSY JULIA                                       42

  AN EVENING'S PLEASURE                             42

  A LAMPLIGHTER'S FUNERAL                           47

  LATE HOURS AND OYSTERS                            49

  SUPPING OUT                                       52

  A GREAT MAN IN DISTRESS                           57

  MRS. WILLIAMS'S PETTICOAT                         61

  "INCHING IT BACKERT"                              63


  CUPID IN CHAMBERS                                 67

  FLORENCE O'SHAUGHNESSY                            69

  CORINTHIANISM                                     73

  A DEBT OF HONOUR                                  79

  CHEAP DINING                                      82

  THE GENTLEMAN AND HIS BOOTS                       87

  BEAUTY AND THE BROOMSTICK                         92

  THE COCKNEY AND THE CAPTAIN                       96

  JEMMY SULLIVAN                                   101

  ONE OF THE FANCY                                 105

  A SUNDAY'S RIDE                                  108

  DISAPPOINTED LOVE                                112

  TOM CRIB AND THE COPPERSMITHS                    115

  SOLOMON AND DESDEMONA                            118

  A COACHMAN'S CONSCIENCE                          121

  DANCING DONAGHU                                  123

  A MISS-ADVENTURE                                 126

  THE WEDDING RING                                 129

  FLAGELLATION _versus_ PHYSIC                     133

  TOM SAYERS                                       137


  A GROWN GENTLEMAN                                144

  DRURY LANE MISSES                                147

  A SMALL TASTE OF JIMAKEY                         149


  THE COOK AND THE TAILOR                          158

  THE TWO AUTHORS                                  164

  A BOLD STROKE FOR A SUPPER                       167

  CUPBOARD LOVE                                    171

  LOVE IN CHANCERY                                 173

  KITTY KAVANAGH                                   181

  FRENCH AND ENGLISH MIXTURE                       184

  UNREQUITED LOVE                                  187

  A DUN AT SUPPER TIME                             191

  THE CANTAB AND THE TURKS                         195

  JOHN BROWN                                       198


  'PON MY HONOUR IT'S TRUE                         209

  BEER--NOT BODIES                                 212

  MOLLY LOWE                                       216

  A WEARY BENEDICT                                 224

  THE GOLDSMITH AND THE TAILOR                     227

  THE RAPE OF THE WIG                              230

  A BRUMMYJUM OUTRIDER                             232

  PAT CRAWLEY'S MULE                               235

  THE TEMPLAR AND THE COOK                         238

  A HAGGLING CUSTOMER                              243

  STEALING EX-OFFICIO                              245

  A DISTRESSED FATHER                              246

  SORROWS OF THE SULLIVANS                         253

  "WHERE SHALL I SLEEP?"                           258

  BEEF VALOUR                                      261

  JEMMY LENNAM AND THE JEW                         266

  WOLF _versus_ WELLDONE                           268


  JONAS TUNKS                                      277


  ROEBUCK _versus_ CLANCEY                         286

  PIG WIT                                          288

  AN IRISH TAILOR                                  294

  BOX-LOBBY LOUNGERS                               298

  IRISH GALLANTRY                                  302



                                    ENGRAVED BY   PAGE

  FRONTISPIECE                    _G. Cruikshank_

  A COOL CONTRIVANCE              _J. Thompson_      1

  VIGNETTE TO DITTO               _Ditto_            2

  MR. ROBERT M'GILLIES            _H. White_        38

  VIGNETTE TO DITTO               _R. Branston_     41

  SUPPING OUT                     _Ditto_           52

  DITTO                           _Ditto_           53

  BUNDLING UP                     _W. Hughes_       55

  CHEAP DINING                    _R. Branston_     84

  DITTO                           _J. Thompson_     85

  TOM CRIB AND THE COPPERSMITH    _R. Branston_    116

  VIGNETTE TO DITTO               _Ditto_          117

  PETTICOAT GOVERNMENT            _W. Hughes_      155

  DITTO                           _Ditto_          159

  A DUN AT SUPPER TIME            _R. Branston_    193

  MOLLY LOWE                      _J. Thompson_    220

  VIGNETTE TO DITTO               _Ditto_          224

  DISTRESSED FATHER               _R. Branston_    247

  DITTO                           _J. Thompson_    249

  JONAS TUNKS                     _W. Hughes_      280

  PIG WIT                         _J. Thompson_    292

  VIGNETTE TO DITTO               _W. Hughes_      294

[Illustration: 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 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

"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


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.


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.


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

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.


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.


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

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

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

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

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


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.


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.


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

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.


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.


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


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_."

[Illustration: 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

"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 50_l._ and two sureties in 25_l._ 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.



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.


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.


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

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.


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

"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

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

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.


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_."

[Illustration: 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 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

"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.


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.


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, 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

"_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.


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

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!"


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

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.


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 100_l._, with two
sureties in 50_l._ each; and Mr. Dionysius Dobbs in 80_l._, with two
sureties in 40_l._ 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


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

For this outrageous and totally unanticipated attack, Mr. Elias Simmons
now sought redress from the laws of that country in which he has the
honour of sojourning.

The magistrate having strictly inquired whether no other provocation had
been given, and having been assured there had not, asked Mr. Jacques
Breton what he had to say in excuse for such violence?

Mr. Jacques Breton prepared for his defence by throwing back his head and
lifting up the black silk handkerchief before-mentioned; and having placed
himself in this unpicturesque position, he began--"_Ahah!
monsieur_--see--he broke my eye! _Voilà, monsieur!_ see my eye! _Voilà!_"

It was very evident that beneath his black handkerchief he had a dreadful
black eye, and the magistrate asked how he came by it?

The witnesses replied that it was done in disarming him of the _cue_,
whilst complainant was still sprawling among the spittoons.

Mr. Jacques Breton proceeded with his defence. "I vas ver much vex at
Monsieur Simmon," said he, "because I vood pay ven it satisfied myself. I
vas so mush up--vat you call d--n angry, dat de taut come I vood punise
him, ahah. But, monsieur, de _strike_ vas not sufficient to murder von
littel--von vara littel fly!"

Monsieur Jacques Breton had nothing better to offer in his defence, and
after having repeated the same things half-a-dozen times over, he was
delivered into the iron custody of the turnkey till he should find bail
for his appearance at the Sessions.


A person of very respectable exterior was brought before the magistrate,
charged with assaulting the waiter, and destroying the property, of an
eating-house proprietor in the neighbourhood of Covent-garden.
Eating-houses, properly so called, are, as is well known to the initiated,
vulgarly denominated "_slap-bang_ shops;" and certainly the affair of the
defendant, in the present case, was a genuine slap-bang adventure.

The gentleman went into the house in question, and called for some roast
beef, "under-done, and not too fat." The waiter instantly brought him what
they call "a _plate_" of roast beef--several good jolly slapping slices,
swimming in twelve-water gravy, and duly displayed upon an ordinary-sized
dinner plate. "What the devil do you bring me such an infernal quantity
for?" asked the gentleman. "Do you think I'm a coal porter, or a
ploughman? Take it away, you vagabond! and bring me a more christian-like
quantity--about half as much." "Master doesn't make _half_ plates, sir,"
replied the waiter. "Then I shall have none!" rejoined the gentleman, and
resuming his gloves, hat, and stick, he was about to make his exit in a
rage; but the waiter, with plate of beef in hand, and napkin under arm,
placed himself at the head of the stairs, seeking to cut off his retreat
with a "Please to pay me for the beef, sir; it was cut by your orders, and
you mustn't go till you have paid for it. It only comes to ninepence, sir,
_wedgittubles_ and all." "Stand out of my way, you scoundrel! or I'll
knock you down!" said the gentleman. "I shan't, sir; you only wants to
bilk[16] master, and bolt," replied the waiter. This was enough. In the
next instant, a kick from the enraged gentleman sent the plate of beef
spinning up to the ceiling; the waiter seized the gentleman by the collar,
the gentleman grasped the waiter by the throat, and they struggled
together for a moment, and then, down stairs they trundled together, slap
bang on to a table just covered with smoking hot dishes of roast and
boiled: the table was upset with the concussion, and in the next moment,
the half-strangled combatants lay sprawling upon the floor, in the midst
of shoulders of mutton, pieces of beef, _dabs_ of boiled cabbage,
broken platters, capsized mustard-pots, and many other odd things too
tedious to mention.


[Illustration: CHEAP DINING.]

The master-cook stood aghast at the horrible clatter occasioned by this
comical catastrophe, and the ruin which accompanied it; but he was soon
sufficiently recovered from his astonishment to gather the gentleman up
again; and then, having had him well wiped down, he gave him in charge to
a constable. The constable carried him before the magistrate, as a matter
of course, and the master-cook now sought compensation in damages for the
injury done to his plates, dishes, and victuals, and the waiter sought a
reparation for the bodily injury he had sustained.

The magistrate directed the gentleman to find bail to answer the complaint
of the waiter at the Sessions; but he refused to make any order with
respect to the damages upon the eatables; inasmuch as the waiter appeared
to be as deeply implicated in that part of the business as the gentleman.


One morning in the dog-days, a gentleman presented himself before the
magistrate to claim redress against a bootmaker, who, he said, had done
him irreparable injury, and had wantonly inflicted upon him unheard-of
torments--torments fit only for the howling inhabitants of
_Tartarus_!--This unfortunate gentleman had walked or rather _waddled_
into the office slip-shod, in green morocco slippers: whilst he spoke, he
stood first upon one foot, and then upon the other; and there was such a
manifestation of intense suffering in his voice, his countenance and his
gesture, that every person present pitied him.

He said he had been miserable enough to have a dispute with his
boot-maker, about a pair of boots which he had sent the rascal to repair;
and in that dispute he expressed himself more warmly, perhaps, than the
occasion warranted; but he little thought he was to suffer for it in the
way he had done. Some days after the dispute above-mentioned, the
boot-maker sent the boots home; and, on the next morning, he put them on,
and walked out with the intention of calling upon several friends, with
whom he had particular appointments. But he had not walked more than two
or three hundred yards, when his feet began to feel "cursedly
uncomfortable;" and the more he walked and tried not to notice them, the
more uncomfortable they became. What the plague could be the matter with
the boots, he could not imagine! They were quite large enough, and the
leather seemed soft and pliable; and yet, had they been made of iron, and
two sizes too small for him, he could not have felt more uncomfortable.
Nevertheless--though with less and less of comfort, he still walked, and
walked, until his walk became a downright ridiculous hobble; and at last,
without having called upon a single friend, he returned home in as
lamentable a condition as Peter Pindar's pea-perplexed Pilgrim--

  "His eyes in tears, his cheeks and brows in sweat,
  Deep sympathizing with his groaning feet!"

"Bring the boot jack, Molly!"--he exclaimed, in a paroxysm of
perspiration. Molly brought it in a moment, and, with eager anticipation
of ease, he stuck his heel into it; but, alas! he no sooner began to pull
than his agonies were increased tenfold! and the boot-jack was kicked away
in despair. In two minutes he tried it again--and again he suffered the
most excruciating torment. Oh! miserable state!--Hercules himself could
not have suffered more whilst writhing in the poisoned shirt; and had the
unlucky boot-maker been there at that moment, it is a hundred to one but
he would have undergone the fate of the hapless Lychas--at least he would
have stood a good chance of being well pulled by the nose, and perhaps
knocked down with the boot-jack. At last--for it is miserable to dwell
upon such horrors--at last, the gentleman, sweating at every pore, and
wound up almost to madness, thrust his heel once more into the yawning
jack, and shutting his eyes, he pulled with such a desperate might, that
his foot came forth indeed--but it came forth completely _flayed_. Not
only the stocking, but the skin was left behind--and even his very corns
were torn up by the roots! Can any one imagine a sharper operation than
this must have been? And then to be obliged to undergo a similar operation
on the other foot, too!--Really it makes one perspire only to think of it.
However, it was inevitable[17]--the other foot was torn away in the same
miserable manner, and it came forth from the bottom of the confounded boot
almost as skinless as an anatomical preparation!

"And now, Sir," said the gentleman, when he had told his story thus
far--"and now, Sir, what do you suppose was the cause of all this misery?"

"Upon my word," replied the magistrate, "I cannot imagine--I never heard
of such a case before."

"Why, Sir," continued the gentleman, "it was _cobbler's wax_!"

"Cobbler's wax!" echoed his worship.

"Cobbler's wax, Sir!" re-echoed the gentleman.--"The rascally boot-maker,
in pure revenge for the scolding I gave him--had, with _malice prepense_,
lined the foot of each boot with cobbler's wax! and I trust, Sir, you will
punish him soundly for such unwarrantable wickedness."

The magistrate observed that it was altogether a new case; and, though it
certainly was a most unpleasant one, he feared it could not be brought
within his jurisdiction.

The gentleman suggested that, it would probably come under the Act for
_preventing the wanton destruction of property_. His stockings were
utterly destroyed; his boots were totally spoiled; and his feet were
cruelly scarified! All this had been done wantonly and wilfully, he said;
and in corroboration of the premises, he now produced from his pocket the
dangling remains of the stockings he wore on the agonizing occasion.

The stockings were utterly spoiled; and after much urging on the part of
the gentleman, his worship consented that a summons should be issued for
the boot-maker's appearance. However, it came to nothing; for in half an
hour after, the gentleman waddled back to the office, and said the
boot-maker and he had come to an _éclaircissement_ which would render his
worship's interference unnecessary. What was the nature of that
_éclaircissement_ did not appear; but certainly the boot-maker who could
have the heart to put a poor gentleman to so much misery ought no longer
to call himself one of the "_gentle_ craft."


Mrs. Mary Evans was brought before the magistrate on a warrant charging
her with an assault on the person of Miss Jemima Jennings.

Mrs. Mary Evans was a tall thin matron, somewhat declining into the vale
of years; but her countenance--especially the most prominent part of it,
which was very prominent indeed--was still blooming with spirituous
comforts. Miss Jemima Jennings was a very pretty mild-spoken young woman,
with a countenance blooming with youth.

Miss Jemima deposed, that on a certain day named, she _happened_ to be
going along a certain street, and, as the weather was very hot, she
_happened_ to go into a certain public-house to take a glass of Henry Meux
and Co.'s entire. She there _happened_ to see a gentleman, who very
politely asked her to take a glass of _something short_;[18] telling her
it would _squench_ her thirst better than porter. She resisted his
invitation for some time; but at length she consented to take a drop of
something short--a cool _dodger of cloves and brandy_;[19] and having
drank it, she thanked the gentleman for his politeness, and went on her
way--pretty considerably refreshed. Next day, she _happened_ to go into
the same public-house again--not with any expectation of meeting the same
gentleman again, but with the sole intention of taking a dodger of cloves
and brandy on her own account--she having derived great comfort from the
one she took on the preceding day. It so _happened_ that the gentleman was
not there; at which she was very much pleased; for she could not "bear the
_highdear_ of being _beholding_ to one gentleman two days together."
Whilst she was taking her cloves and brandy, thinking of nothing at all
but how very nice it was, who should come in but the defendant, Mrs.
Evans, with an "I want to speak to _you_, young woman." Now she, Miss
Jemima, thought this very comical, for the lady was a perfect stranger to
her. However, she followed her, up one street, and down another, till at
last Mrs. Evans opened the door of a house and said, "pray walk in,
_Mem_;" and in she did walk, wondering what all this could mean. Mrs.
Evans, having closed the door, made her a low courtesy, and said, "Have
the kindness to walk this way, _Mem_;" and Miss Jemima followed her along
the passage to an inner apartment, like a lamb to the slaughter-house, as
she said; for they had no sooner entered the room, than Mrs. Evans seized
a _broomstick_, and without uttering a single word, began to belabour her
over the back and shoulders with all her might! Miss Jemima shrieked or
_squeeked_, as she called it, for help; but not a soul came to her
assistance; and she was obliged to defend herself as well as she could
with her hands alone, till Mrs. Evans dropped her broomstick for lack of
breath; and then she, Miss Jemima, made her way out of the house, covered
with bruises and wonder.

This was the unprovoked assault complained of and for this Miss Jemima
Jennings claimed redress at the hands of the magistrate.

Mrs. Evans made a very voluble defence. She was cursed with a husband, she
said, who--though she had brought him twelve children--was continually
hankering after other women. On Monday last he went out, taking with him
six _goolden_ sovereigns, which she had put by to pay her coal-merchant,
and he did not come near home for three whole days thereafter. Some of her
neighbours told her that he had been seen courting the complainant (Miss
Jemima) with cloves and brandy; and she was so _hasperated_ at hearing
this, that she certainly did entice Miss Jemima to her house, and
_bansell_ her with the broomstick as she had described. In conclusion, she
admitted that she was wrong in so doing, but her passion got the better of
her judgment, and she hoped his worship would consider that as an excuse.
It was very hard, she said, for a woman at her time of life to be
neglected for such _creatures_.

The magistrate told her he thought she ought not to have proceeded to such
a violent outrage upon the complainant, without better proof that she was
the cause of her husband's faithlessness; but as jealousy was an
ungovernable passion, and as she appeared to repent of her violence, he
would order the warrant to be suspended for a day or two, in the hope that
she would in that time make her peace with the complainant, and save
herself further trouble and expense.


Captain J---- F----, a gallant officer, who had lost an eye in the service
of his country, and was residing with his family in the pleasant village
of Mortlake, was brought before the magistrate, on a warrant, charging him
with having assaulted and beaten one Samuel Cooper, who called himself "a
London shop-keeper, in a small way, residing in _Vitechapple_."

Samuel Cooper, it appears, went out to ruralise one fine sunny day, and
having strolled as far as Mortlake, he called upon a friend of his, a
little fat man in a brown bob wig, who keeps a little shop in the
neighbourhood of that village. It is a sweet little cottage, with a little
garden in front of it, well stored with potherbs, "gilli-flowers gentle
and rosemarie;" and has a little wicket gate opening to the road. His
bob-wigg'd friend was _mighty_ glad to see him, and invited him to stay to
dinner; an invitation which was gladly accepted, for Samuel Cooper was
come out to make a day of it. They had a dish of very nice beans and bacon
for dinner--broad Windsors, and a prime cut of gammon; and having chatted
an hour or two, and finished a couple of pots of mild porter, Samuel
Cooper walked out into the little garden in front of the cottage, and
leaned over the little wicket-gate, enjoying the beauties of the prospect
and a lovely evening, whilst his bob-wigg'd friend was busied with some
little matters in his shop.

As Samuel Cooper was thus leaning over the gate--pondering, no doubt, on
the possibility of getting back to _Vitechapple_, without paying
coach-hire--he was aware of two ladies coming along the lane. One of these
ladies was a considerable distance behind the other; and when the foremost
of them came nearly opposite to the place where Samuel Cooper stood, she
stooped--apparently without seeing him--and began rectifying the lace of
one of her boots, which appeared to have got loose in walking. Now,
whether Samuel Cooper is a man prone to gallantry, or whether the
delightful evening, the beans and bacon, and the mild porter, opened his
heart more than usual, we know not--but so it was, that when he saw the
lady stoop, and begin doing something at her foot, he suddenly called to
her, "Shall I tie up your boot-lace for you, Ma'am?" Unlucky Samuel
Cooper! The words had scarcely passed his lips when the lady raised
herself, looked round for a moment, gave a loud shriek, and ran off down
the lane with the speed of an antelope--followed by the loitering lady
whom Samuel had seen in the distance. Samuel Cooper looked after them as
they ran, and smiled to think that women should be so "_timmersome_." But
he soon had cause to smile on the other side of his mouth, as it were; for
in the next moment Captain F---- rushed into the garden, exclaiming, "You
rascal! how dare you insult a lady?" and before the astonished Samuel
could reply, he received the gallant Captain's clenched fist full on the
centre of his nose, and down he went--all amongst his bob-wigg'd friend's
gilliflowers! The Captain then walked away; and the luckless Samuel
gathered himself up, leaned his head over the wicket-gate, and there he
stood bleeding for more than half an hour, bemoaned both by himself and
his bob-wigg'd friend.

This was the violence he complained of. He assured his worship that he had
not the most distant idea of insulting the lady, and he was utterly
astonished at the consequences that ensued.

  "Thou shalt be punished for thus frighting me,
  A _woman_, naturally born to fears;
  And though thou now confess thou didst but jest,
  With my vex'd spirits I cannot make a truce,
  But they will quake and tremble all this day,"--

said Lady Constance to William Longsword, Earl of Salisbury, when he
merely told her there was a wedding in hand; and what would she have said
had the noble Earl startled her with such an offer as Samuel Cooper's?
But, may be, honest Samuel has tied up the boot-laces of many a buxom lass
at _Vitechapple_, and he thought he might do the same kind service for the
ladies at Mortlake. Ah! simple Samuel Cooper!

The whole of his statement, as far as the Captain was concerned, was fully
substantiated by his bob-wigg'd friend, whose garden had been watered, as
it were, with Samuel's innocent blood; and then, Captain F---- was called
upon for his defence.

The gallant Captain gave a rather different account of the affair: and
took off something from Samuel's veracity. The Captain said his wife and
sister had gone to visit a friend at some distance on the afternoon in
question, and some time afterwards he set out with the intention of
meeting and accompanying them home; but a sudden shower coming on, he took
shelter in the house of a brother officer on the road. Whilst he remained
there, he saw his wife and sister pass by, and he was just preparing to
follow them when he heard his wife shriek. Rushing instantly from the
house, he met both the ladies running back again with great trepidation
and alarm. He hastily inquired what was the matter. They told him as
hastily, that they had been grossly insulted by the complainant, Samuel,
who still stood chuckling at the gate. He naturally felt very angry, and
immediately went up to Samuel, and taking him gently by the lappel of his
coat, he said to him, "Now my good fellow, unless you make an apology to
the ladies, for your insult, I certainly will chastise you." "Boo!"--said
the boorish Samuel--"I'll see 'em d--d first!" and as he said this he
threw his arms up in such a manner that his elbow struck the Captain on
the chin; whereupon the Captain knocked him down, as above stated; and he
submitted that any other man would have done the same under the same

The magistrate viewed the matter in the same light. He told Samuel, his
conduct to the lady was extremely impertinent; and his manner, when
remonstrated with, grossly insolent; and therefore he should discharge the
warrant, leaving him to seek his remedy at the Quarter Sessions, if he
thought proper.

Samuel stared, and appeared inclined to reply, but seeing it was useless,
he left the office in silence, wondering more than ever; and his
bob-wigg'd friend slowly followed him.


A jocund little Irishman, with dark sparkling eyes and black glossy
well-curled poll, dressed in a carter's frock, and heavy travel-stained
shoes, was brought in by some of the patrol, who had found him strolling
about Long-acre, in the dusk of the evening, apparently without either aim
or object, and laden with a large bundle tied up in a very handsome shawl.
This bundle contained seven gowns, sundry shawls, handkerchiefs, hose,
&c., and a smartly-trimmed straw-bonnet nearly new; and the patrol
declared, that from the very unsatisfactory manner in which he accounted
for his possession of these articles, they verily believed he had stolen
them. They also pointed out to the magistrate a round hole, about the size
of a shilling, in the side of his hat crown, which they strongly suspected
had been made by a pistol-ball.

"What is your name, friend?" said his worship, to the brilliant-eyed,
smiling prisoner.

"Jemmy Sullivan! your honour," was the instantaneous reply, in a rich
Tipperary brogue, and a tone so loud, that all the office echoed, "Jemmy

"And pray, where did you bring these clothes from, and to whom do they

"From Portsmouth, your honour--and they belongs to the wife o' me."

The magistrate doubted the correctness of this statement--it was not
likely that the wife of such a man could have such a wardrobe.

"Sure enough it's the truth, every bit of it, your honour," replied Jemmy

"How came this hole in your hat?" asked his worship.

"Is it the hole your honour's axing about?--'Faith, then, the mice made
it, to get at the bread and the cheese, your honour--bad luck to 'em!"

"What! do you carry your bread and cheese in your hat?"

"No, 'faith, your honour, not a bit of it any time, barrin that time the
mice stole it all; and then, your honour, it was not in it, that's the
hat, at that same time, but on the shelf, your honour, and I'd none of it
left for me breakfast at all. Gad's blood, says I to meself, but ye shan't
do that to me again, says I, for I'll put it under me hat all the night;
and so I did, your honour; but bad luck to them, the craturs, they bored
the hole clane through the side of it, which your honour's axing about."

"Are you sure it was not on _your head_ when the ball was fired at it?"
asked his worship, without seeming to have listened to his bread and
cheese adventure.

"Was it on me head, your honour! Faith if it was, meself wouldn't be here
spaking to you about the mice," replied Jemmy Sullivan.

The officers, in searching his pockets, had found a number of English and
Irish pawnbrokers' duplicates; and the magistrate, selecting one of them,

"Where did you get this ticket for a pelisse?"

"Bought it, your honour, of Myke Dermot, in Donaghadee--_He's a bagpipes_,
your honour."

"And pray what are you?"

"A tailor, your honour," was the reply. But one of the patrol, who is
skilful in such matters, having examined his hands, declared, that if he
was a tailor, he had not used the needle for twelve months at least.

"What have you to say to that, Mr. Sullivan?" asked his worship.

"Bad luck to the _tailoring_, your honour, it wouldn't agree with me at
all, anyhow, and I discharged meself clane out of it, by the same token,

"And how have you got your living since?"

"I walks down be the water-side, your honour, an gets me little bits o'
reeds an things, and ties 'em up like little bagpipes, and plays on 'em,
your honour, _Thady you Gander_ an _Gramachree_, and the likes of 'em; an
the jontelmen plases to hear me, your honour; an some gives me a shilling,
an some half-a-crown, may be, an some buys the little bagpipes for
themselves, your honour."

Honest Jemmy endeavoured to make the nature of these "little bagpipes"
very plain to his honour; but he did not seem to understand it exactly
himself, and so he made nothing of it. Neither could he account for his
bringing his wife's wardrobe up to London whilst she remained herself in
Portsmouth; and eventually he was committed for further examination.

Even this order for his imprisonment he took in perfect good humour; and
having carefully counted the ten or twelve shillings which the magistrate
ordered to be returned to him, he replaced them at the very bottom of his
pocket, and said, "I hopes your honour'll take care o' me things?" The
magistrate assured him he would, and honest Jemmy Sullivan then followed
the turnkey as blithely as if he had been going to Donnybrook Fair instead
of to prison.

This poor fellow was kept in prison nearly a month, during which time his
wife came to London, and not hearing anything of him at the place they had
appointed for their meeting, she went over to Ireland in search of him. At
length Jemmy was discharged because there was no evidence against him; but
his clothes were not given up to him till long after.


A poor harmless translator of old shoes was placed at the bar by a city
officer, upon a charge of having stolen, or otherwise improperly obtained,
a cheque for 300_l._ from one Jonathan Freshfield, _Esquire_, "one of the

This Jonathan Freshfield, Esq., was a diminutive, forked-radish sort of a
young man, very fashionably attired, or, as he would say, _kiddily
togg'd_; and, though it was scarcely noon, he was rather _queer in the
attic_; that is to say, not exactly sober.

He stated his case in this manner:--"Here--I wish this fellow to say how
he got hold o' my cheque for three hundred--that's all, you know; let him
come that, and I shall be satisfied. Rum go--had it last night, missed it
this morning--d----d rum go! Here--here it is, see; payable at
Hankey's--all right--grabbed him myself. Went to Hankey's two hours 'fore
Bank opened--waited two hours--sat upon little stool--wouldn't be done,
you know. In he comes with it--grabs him! There he was--looked like a
fool. 'Hallo!' says I, 'how did you come by it?' Mum. Hadn't a word, you
know. Only let him come it now, all about it, and I'm satisfied. Don't
like to be done--a rum go, but can't stand it--that's all."

The city officer said he had been sent for to Hankey's to take the
prisoner into custody; and having done so he carried him before the Lord
Mayor; but as it appeared the offence, if there was any, had been
committed in the county, his Lordship had referred the matter to

The magistrate asked to see the cheque, as the Esquire called it. The
officer produced it, and it proved not to be a cheque, but an
acknowledgment from Messrs. Hankey and Co. that they had received 300_l._
from Jonathan Freshfield, Esq., for which they would account to him on

"Pray, have you an account at Hankey's, Mr. Freshfield?" asked the

Mr. Freshfield replied, "Who, I? not a bit of it. I'm from the country,
you know. D--n town!--Had enough of it almost. Diddled in this
manner!--it's a _sick'ner_. Got it again though--only want to know how
that fellow, the long one there, came by it. Put the _blunt_ at Hankey's,
to be safe--'cause wouldn't be done, and then lost the cheque!--that's a
rum go--isn't it, your worship?"

The magistrate asked the prisoner how he came by it.

He said he lodged at _Mister_ Burn's, the _fighting man's_, in
Windmill-street, and two gentlemen there, whom he did not know, gave him
the cheque to get cashed.

His worship directed an officer to go to Burn's house and inquire about

In about half an hour he returned with _Mister_ Burn in company.

"Burn, do you know anything of this business?" asked the magistrate.--"Who
was it gave this paper to the man at the bar?"

"Who gave it to him, your worship?" said Mister Burn, "Why, I did." "You
did!--and pray how did you come by it?"--"Why, I won it, your worship--won
it by _shaking in the hat_;" replied Mister Burn, squeezing the sides of
his hat together, and giving it a hearty shake to show his worship the
trick of it.

The magistrate looked at Mr. Freshfield; Mr. Freshfield looked at Mister
Burn; Mister Burn looked boldly round at everybody as if nothing was the
matter, and at last, Mr. Freshfield ejaculated--"Well, that's a rum go,
however! D--n me, never thought of that, you know. Don't believe it,
though. Coming it strong, eh! Burn? May be, though--won't be sure."

After soliloquising some time in this style, he began a long history of
his having gone from Spring's to Burn's, and Burn's to Spring's, and
betting upon the "match for Monday;" and taking the long odds at one place
and giving them at another, till the magistrate and everybody else was
quite weary of it. So his worship discharged the prisoner; recommended
_Mister_ Burn not to addict himself to "shaking in the hat," directed the
city officer to return Mr. Freshfield his 300_l._ "cheque," and advised
Mr. Freshfield to put it into his pocket, and return to his native woods
as soon as possible.


Mr. Lester, a respectable elderly man of considerable property, residing
at Battersea-rise, applied to the magistrate for an assault warrant
against a person whom he described as a high-flying linen-draper, carrying
on business in Parliament-street. The warrant was granted upon his
affidavit, and Mr. Highflyer was shortly after brought up in custody; but
as the magistrate had been called from the bench for a few minutes, he
seized that opportunity of making an _atonement_ for his misconduct to the
party complaining, and so escaped the Sessions, though the assault and
outrage he had committed were certainly most sessionable.[20]

It appeared that this Mr. Highflyer had determined on taking his spouse
for a ride in a gig--we beg his pardon, in a _tilbury_,--one Sunday, and
that they did take a ride in a tilbury accordingly. They trotted gaily
along in connubial comfort till they had almost reached Battersea-rise;
but there all the connubial comfort evaporated: for--whether it was that
the motion of the tilbury swung away Mr. Highflyer's ordinary notions of
connubial concord, or whether the expansion of prospect around him
produced a corresponding expansion of the amatory principle within him, we
know not--but so it was, that about a quarter of a mile on this side
Battersea-rise, he bowed very gallantly to a pretty young woman who was
passing; and she familiarly nodded in return. Now this might be all very
innocent, but his wife thought otherwise; and she took so much umbrage at
it, that high words ensued. In short the "green-eyed monster" took
possession of all her perceptions; and Mr. Highflyer, in the buoyancy of
his heart and tilbury, carried it with such a high hand--so cavalierly as
it were, that his lady declared she would not ride another inch with such
a faithless creature, and insisted upon his setting her down directly. And
cruel Mr. Highflyer did set her down _instanter_;--instead of trying to
pacify her, and convince her of her error, he coolly set her down and
drove on without her. This was nearly opposite Mr. Lester's house on
Battersea-rise; and as Mr. Lester looked through his window he saw the
lady sitting on a low wall by the road-side, weeping and sobbing most
piteously. Mr. Lester, though as sturdy a John Bull as ever thrust carver
into smoking sirloin, has much of the spirit of chivalry in his
composition, and seeing a lady in such a distressing situation, he sallied
forth and offered her a temporary asylum in his hospitable little parlour.
The weeping lady thankfully accepted his offer; but he had no sooner
seated her carefully on his sofa than she fell into hysterics, and it
required all the skill of his wife, his daughters, and his handmaidens, to
bring her to her senses again. She did recover, however, but it was only
to renew her sighs and tears; and neither Mr. Lester nor his wife knew
what to make of it, when a thundering rap at the door nearly shook all the
glass out of the windows, and in the next moment Mr. Highflyer stalked
loftily into the parlour. At the sight of him Mrs. Highflyer went off into
hysterics again, and Mr. Highflyer, in his endeavours to recover her from
the fit, conducted himself so _at-homeishly_, that Mr. Lester did not half
like it.--He called about him for all sorts of things, tore the sofa
cover, threw the cushions about the room, upset the china tea things, and
broke the pole of the fire screen! At length Mr. Lester's anger got the
better of his hospitality, and he reminded Mr. Highflyer that he was not
in his own house. "Damn the house!" exclaimed Mr. Highflyer, "what the
devil do I care whose house it is? I am a gentleman and nothing else, and
I shall do what I like--here or anywhere else!" "No, Sir!" said the
astonished Mr. Lester, "No, Sir, you shall not, and no _gentleman_ would
have done as you have done already." I'faith this was enough--the words
had scarcely passed Mr. Lester's teeth, when three of those teeth were
loosened to their very foundation by a blow from the gentlemanly fist of
Mr. Highflyer. "Take that, Sir!" said he, "and if you don't like it, I'll
fight you with either sword or pistols!" The astonished Mr. Lester was
still more astonished at this treatment; but being no match in _thews_ and
_sinews_ for Mr. Highflyer, he flew to the poker, and had it not been for
the interference of the ladies, Mr. Highflyer would doubtless have been
laid low.

As it was, the affair went off in a clamorous palaver; after which Mr. and
Mrs. Highflyer returned to town in the tilbury, highly dissatisfied with
their day's pleasure; and Mr. Lester went to bed, wondering that there
should be such queer people in the world.

It was reported among the officers that the peace-offering for all this
was _ten sovereigns_; and if so, Mr. Highflyer got off cheaply.


Mr. Owen M'Carthy appeared in custody before the Bench, to answer the
complaint of Mrs. Margaret Reading, spinster. Mr. Owen M'Carthy is five
feet two without his shoes, and sixty-seven years old; but--as he himself
observed--"sound as the big bell of St. Paul's, both in mind and body."
The lady has seen sixty-five winters pass away; and in all that time she
has so conducted herself that no living creature can say, "black is the
white of her eye"--at least that is her opinion; and surely she ought to

It appeared by her evidence that Mr. Owen M'Carthy and she reside under
the same roof, and have for many years been upon the most friendly terms;
till, in evil hour, Mr. Owen M'Carthy, who was then a widower, took unto
himself a second love--a second _wife_ he called her; but Mrs. Margaret
Reading declared it was no such thing. Well, this second wife, or
mistress, be it which it will, according to Mrs. Margaret Reading's
account, is "a born devil;" and takes every opportunity of treating Mrs.
Margaret Reading in the most ridiculous manner--such as calling her a
frumpish old fool, spitting at her as she goes up and downstairs, &c., and
in all this Mr. Owen M'Carthy, forgetting the kindness that formerly
existed between them, encourages her. One day Mrs. Margaret Reading went
up to their apartment, determined to give them the telling of some of
their faults; but she had scarcely opened her mouth, when Mr. Owen
M'Carthy bounced up from his chair, and gave her such a push, that she
tumbled down, rolled on to the landing-place, and it was God's mercy she
did not trundle downstairs.

This was the assault complained of, and she called upon the magistrate to
punish him _sewerely_.

Mr. Owen M'Carthy in his defence said, "May it plase your honour, when the
wife that I had twenty-seven years died, this ould woman and another was
living in the place, and they both made love to me extramely. But I
thought to myself, thinks I, your honour, sure and what would I do with
two ould women at one and the same time? Well, then, your wortchip, says
I, in that case I'll ounly have one of 'em, and that will be Judy M'Craw;
bekase, your wortchip, she was the comlier one of the two, and I larnt
she'd the best carackter for peaceableness; and I married her; and, saving
your wortchip's presence, she's my lawful wife at this same time, and like
to be, sure enough, to the end of it. Well, your honour, bekase of this,
Mrs. Reading bother'd me exsaadingly, and wouldn't be quiet for her
jealousy, and was always making _corruptions_ between me and Mrs. Owen
M'Carthy that is; and so, when she comed up with her phillaloo
botheration, about nothing in the world but I wouldn't have her, I put my
hand out, and 'go along wid you, Misthress Margaret,' says I; and with
that she laade herself clane down o' the floor, and rolled herself out of
it just in no time, your honour, at all."

Mrs. Margaret had nothing to say against this, and she was non-suited.


The Champion of England--not he who, gallantly armed, rode proudly through
ranks of assembled chivalry, and challenged the world in defence of his
sovereign; but the champion of England's prouder pugilism--the belted hero
of the prize ring--the man whose fist is fate--the--in a word, honest Tom
Crib, entered the office covered with mud, and holding, in his giant
grasp, a little, well-bemudded, wriggling coppersmith, named William
Bull.--"And please your worships," said the Champion, "this here little
rascal (_shaking him_) comes into my tap-room, with two or three dirty
chaps of the same sort, and got so sweet upon themselves with drinking
beer, that they must needs go into the parlour to drink grog amongst the
gentlemen, your worships! and because I wouldn't stand that, this here
little rascal (_shaking him again_) smashes two panes of glass to shivers,
and then tried to bolt, but it wouldn't do."


The Champion was desired to loose his hold upon the coppersmith, which he
did instantly; but he still regarded him with a look of angry indignation,
whilst the saucy little coppersmith, adjusting his disordered jacket,
exclaimed, "My eyes, Mister Tommy! let us ever catch you at Bristol again,
and we'll _zarve_ you out for this!"

Mr. Bull--Bill Bull, he called himself--was ordered to be quiet, on pain
of being instantly locked up; and other witnesses of the affair were
examined, by whose evidence the Champion's account of it was fully
substantiated, with an additional circumstance or two, which he, with his
usual modesty, had omitted to mention, viz. that he, with his own right
arm, cleared his house of three coxcombical coppersmiths in a minute, and
that when the fourth, Mr. Bill Bull, milled the glaze and bolted, the
Champion himself pursued with the fleetness of a wild elephant, caught the
scampering coppersmith by the "_scuff_ of the neck," and falling with him
to the earth, they rolled over and over in the mud, till the impetus of
their fall was spent, and then they got up again; and this was the way in
which they came to be so muddily encased.


The coppersmith had nothing to say for himself except that he thought
himself "as good a man as Mister Tommy _any day_," and that he had as much
right to drink grog in a parlour, as any _other_ gentleman.

The magistrate commended the Champion's conduct; told him he should be
protected from insult and outrage in his business; and ordered the
pot-valiant coppersmith to be locked up until he should pay for the
windows he had demolished.


An elderly man, brown as a fresh-roasted coffee-berry, a poll that bespoke
him of the race of wandering gipsies, and "the darkness of whose Oriental
eye accorded with his _gipsy_ origin," advanced towards the table, bowing
at every step, and said, "May it please your vorship's honour, I'm Mister
Lovell, your vorship (_another bow_), knife-grinder and chair-bottomer,
your vorship." Having so said, he smiled and bowed again; and then,
shading the lower part of his brown shining visage with his rusty hat, he
stood smiling and bowing, and bowing and smiling; but whatever else he had
to say, refused to be said.

At length, seemingly to his great relief, the magistrate asked him what he

"Your vorship, I am Mister Lovell, the knife-grinder, your vorship, and I
_vantz_ you to give me a little bit of 'sistance to get me back my _vife_,
_vot_ I _vere_ lawfully married to last Monday _vere_ a _veek_, at
_Soreditch_ Church:--that's _vot_ I _vantz_, your vorship."

"Yours is a very unusual application, indeed, friend," said the
magistrate; "I am frequently requested to _part_ man and wife, but I do
not recollect that I was ever once asked to bring them together."

"Vell, your vorship," replied Mr. Lovell, "but mine's a werry hard case--a
werry hard case, indeed! Here's the certifykit, your vorship."

His worship told Mr. Lovell he wanted no voucher in proof of what he said.
He opened the certificate, however, and found it fairly set forth therein,
that on a certain day specified, "Solomon Lovell, bachelor, and Desdemona
Cocks, spinster," were duly married by banns in Shoreditch Church.

"And pray, what is become of the 'gentle Desdemona?'" asked his worship,
as he returned the certificate to Mr. Lovell, who instantly crammed it
back again into the sow-skin purse from which he had taken it; and then
having deposited it safely in the very bottom of his left-hand
breast-pocket, he proceeded to lay open his entire grievance. It was a
lengthy, and rather unconnected narrative, but we gathered from it that
Mr. Solomon Lovell absolutely loved the gentle Desdemona; and but for
that, "he would not his _unhoused_ free condition have put into
circumscription and confine,"--"not on no account whatever." But the
friends of Desdemona, who were in the _costermongering_ line, thought the
match too _low_ for her; and they had not been united more than three
happy days, when those friends cruelly contrived to _inwiggle_ her _away_
from his arms, and shut her up in a garret in Charles Street, Drury Lane,
where they still continued to detain her, in spite of her unceasing tears,
and his most earnest remonstrances.

"Of what age is the lady?" asked the magistrate.

"Your vorship, she'll be _forty-three_ come a fortnight a'ter next
Bart'lemy fair."

"Then she is no _chicken_! and she certainly could come to you, if she was
inclined to do so."

"No, your vorship, she's no chicken, but she's desperate tender, though;
and they'd kill and murder her, if she vasn't to keep herself quiet."

"Is she very disconsolate under her bereavement?"

"_Anan_, your vorship," said Solomon.

"Does she grieve much?"

"Oh! desperately, as your vorship may natt'rully suppose, when ve'd only
come together three days."

"Is she very handsome?"

This was a question which seemed rather to bother the love-lorn Solomon.
He simpered and sighed, and looked down and looked up, and nibbled the
edge of his hat; and when the question had been repeated the third time,
he replied, "I don't know 'xactly, your vorship--she's reckoned so. And I
reckon--I reckon I vouldn't a married her if I didn't think so, your

After some further question and reply, in which he earnestly entreated
that an officer might be sent with him to enforce his claim, and get the
gentle Desdemona out of the garret by force of arms, the magistrate told
him he could do nothing for him; whereupon he gathered up his features
into a frown, put the lid upon his knowledge-box, and stalked out of the
office, exclaiming, "Then by goles, I'll go to Marlborough-street! for I
vont be diddled out of my vife in this ere manner, howsomever."


A hackney coachman appeared before the Bench, upon a summons to answer the
complaint of a gentleman from whom he had extorted _seven_ shillings and
sixpence for a _four_ shilling fare!

"How could you think of attempting such an impudent extortion!" asked the

"Why, your worship," replied honest _Coachee_, "I'll tell you how it
was--I knows I'm guilty, but I'll tell you how it was, and I hopes you'll
take it into your consideration, and not be too hard upon me. The gemman's
sarvent what rode on the box wi' me, said to me, says he, as we were
toddling a little ways down Oxford-street, your worship, says he to me,
says he, 'Coachee,' says he, 'there's a _weddun_ (wedding) in _this_ job,
so you needn't be afeard of laying it on pretty thick; and then, you know,
you can tip me a _bob_ for my own cheek.'"

"And pray what is a _bob_?" asked his worship.

"Why a _shilling_, your honour, all the world over! When he ax'd me to
stand a bob, your worship, I thought he was a rummish sort of a customer,
but howsomever I took the hint; and when I set the gemman down I ax'd
seven-and-sixpence, instead of a four shillings, God forgive me! But I
thought I couldn't in conscience ax less?"

"And pray," asked the magistrate, "did you give the servant the shilling
you had promised him?"

"No, your worship, I wouldn't give him anything; 'cause I thought he
didn't desarve it, after putting me up to diddle his own master in that

The gentleman said it was certainly true that on the day in question he
had been present at a wedding; but he had received an excellent character
with the servant, and as he had now lived with him several years, during
which time his whole conduct had been unexceptionable, he would not
believe him capable of making such an unprincipled proposition.

The magistrate said he had little doubt that it was a mere invention of
the coachman's; and even admitting his story to be true, it would be no
palliation of his offence.

Honest Coachee was then fined twenty shillings for the pliability of his
_conscience_, and he left the office, observing, "I'll take 'nation good
care how I gets into this here sort of a scrape again!"


Michael--or as he himself called it, "_Mykle_ Donaghu," was brought up on
a warrant for assaulting and beating James Davis.

Mr. Davis is a tall, gaunt, lank-haired, melancholy, middle-aged
Englishman. _Mykle_, on the contrary, is a short, plump, curly-headed,
bushy-whiskered, merry little Irishman. They both lodge in the same
house--_Mykle_ uppermost, and thence comes the grievance; for _Mykle_,
when he is _beery_--and seldom's the time he is not--is given to dancing.
Mr. Davis is a man of staid and serious habits, who goes to bed every
night when the clock strikes ten, and every night--just as he gets into
his first sleep--home comes sprightly _Mykle_, brimful of beer, and begins
dancing his "Irish _fandangoes_" about the room overhead, till he shakes
down great patches of the ceiling upon poor Mr. Davis below. Nay, it was
stated by a _credible_ witness, that he sometimes danced so vigorously as
to shake down the ceilings in the adjoining house! Mr. Davis bore these
irregularities as long as he could, but at last his patience, as he said,
was quite entirely exhausted, and he ventured to tell _Mykle_ that he
would bear it no longer; when, what does _Mykle_ do, but seize the
_poker_, and threaten to "_Kennedy_ him"[21] if he dared to interfere with
his private amusements. Mr. Davis, quiet as he is, had too much spirit to
let any man swagger over him in this manner; and, whilst _Mykle_ was
"shelalegh-ing about" with his poker, he attempted to take it from him;
and in the attempt he received sundry thumps on the head and shoulders,
which made his eyes strike fire.

Thus far was Mr. Davis's statement; and now for _Mykle_ Donaghu:--

"Plase your honour," said he, "is it bekase a man canna dance if he's
merry?--and Misther Davis, says I, is it myself that isna' to dance the
bit bekase the lazy likes of ye canna get yer sleep before sun down? I
shall go to the bed in reasonable time, when I like me self, Misther
Davis, says I. Come out o' that, ye Irish Grecian, says he--come out o'
that, and I'll give it to ye! And he pulls the coat off him, and shakes
his fist in the face of me; and come out o' that, says he, again, and I'll
give it t' ye. Faith, Mr. Davis, says I, and if ye will give it to me, ye
sha'n't give it me for nothin, for be th' powers I shall _Kennedy_ ye, my
jewel; and I took Kennedy to myself, and he had his fists in his own
hands, y'r honour, and faith it wouldn't be aisy to say which of us had
the best of it," &c.

Some witnesses brought by Mr. Davis, admitted that Mr. Davis had
challenged _Mykle_ to come out of his room, and that something like a
regular fight had taken place between them; and, therefore, the magistrate
dismissed the warrant.

"But, Michael," said his worship, "do not let me hear any more of your
tricks; drink less beer in future."--"I _sholl_, Sir!" said _Mykle_. "And,
Michael, let me advise you to go home in better time in future."--"I
_sholl_, Sir!" "And, above all, Michael, get another lodging as soon as
you can; and take care that your amusements do not disturb your
neighbours." "I _sholl_, Sir!" reiterated honest _Mykle_, and making a
bow--so low that the tattered hat he held in his own right hand almost
touched the floor, whilst his left leg mounted into the air behind--he
gave his worship St. Patrick's benison, and let the office a merrier man
than he entered it.


Among the watch-house prisoners from St. Mary-le-Strand, was a young
gentleman, who was charged with having beaten a lady.

He was a fine, blooming, well-grown, genteelly-clad young gentleman--a
very Adonis of the woods; and his name was Smith--William Augustus Smith,
as we understood.

His case had been thus registered in the charge-book, by his honour the
Night Constable of St. Mary-le-Strand:--

"Mr. Smith charges Miss Charlotte Long with picking him up and striking
him; and Miss Charlotte Long charges Mr. Smith with knocking her down."

Of course it was a "cross-charge;" and his honour the Night Constable of
course detained both parties; and, moreover, was coarse enough "to shut
them up down below." But that was no great matter; for Mr. Smith's bloom
suffered no deterioration in consequence; and as for the lady, as his
honour the Night Constable said, why she was "_manured_ to the place."[22]

It appeared that on Saturday night Mr. Smith went to one of the Theatres;
and after the Theatre was closed, he went to the Rainbow to sup; and,
after the supper was over, he returned through Temple-bar, towards his
home in the West, arm in arm with a friend; and that friend was smoking a
cigar. In this way they walked along very comfortably--"by none offended,
and offending none"--quietly discussing the beauty of the night, and the
merits of the players, and the supper, and the wine, and the waiters at
the Rainbow, and every thing of that sort, until, just as they emerged
from beneath the arch-way of Temple-bar, Miss Charlotte Long, in passing,
squeezed the dexter hand of his smoking friend. Now, whether it was that
his smoking friend had "a hydrophobia" of ladies in general, or whether he
_smoked_ Miss Charlotte Long's _character_ in particular, Mr. Smith could
not say; but so it was, that Miss Charlotte Long no sooner squeezed his
smoking friend's hand, than his smoking friend _smoked_ Miss Charlotte
Long's _countenance_, by puffing a cloud from his cigar at it. Mr. Smith
could not, in justice, be held responsible for his friend's want of
gallantry; but nevertheless Miss Charlotte Long instantly gave Mr. Smith
such a smack on his nice round blooming cheek, that all the avenues of the
Temple echoed to the blow; and he, fearing the smack would be repeated
pushed her from him, and she lost her balance. "And this is the whole
truth of the matter," quoth Mr. Smith.

Miss Charlotte Long, on the other hand, declared that she never touched
the filthy fist of the smoker--but that as she was quietly walking along,
he rudely puffed the smoke in her face--a thing which she could not
a-bear--and then Mr. Smith knocked her down as flat as possible--like a
brute as he was.

The worthy magistrate having listened to these counter-statements with
great patience, expressed a wish to see the smoker, and that gentleman
immediately came forward; but unfortunately _his_ recollection of the
affair had entirely evaporated with the fumes of his own cigar; and
eventually the double charge was dismissed, upon each party paying their
own fees; the magistrate admonishing Mr. Smith to keep better hours in
future, if he valued either his morals or his complexion.


Mrs. Catherine Casey was charged with having purloined Mrs. Judith
O'Leary's wedding ring.

The ladies are both natives of "the Emerald gem of the western world"--the
green land of shamrocks and shilelaghs. They came to this country together
in the days of their youth; they toiled together year after year in the
sunny harvest fields; they got comfortable husbands to them; they grew
old together; they ate, they drank, they smoked together; they were
gossips--"sworn gossips and friends." "But what is friendship but a name!"
saith the poet.--Let Mrs. Judith O'Leary tell her own tale.

"Yer honour, this is Misthress Casey--the gossip she was to me many a long
year in ould Ireland and since we comed to this; and much is it I made of
her at all times, your honour--for we got our bits o' livings, and we ate,
and slept, and we drink't together"--

"And got _drunk_ together," said his worship.

"Faith did we, your honour--and wonst _too often_;" rejoined Mrs. Judith
O'Leary, making an _illigant_ curt'sy. "T'other day, your honour, we were
taking the drops at the Blue Pig, and talking of the ould consarns, and
the talk came up, and the drops went down softly and swately--that's the
throats of us, your honour; and by-and-by, says Misthress Casey to me,
says she--'Misthress O'Leary,' says she to me, 'let's be home to our own
place.'--'And so I will, Misthress Casey,' says I--'ounly we'll have
t'other drop with the three halfpence that's left in the bottom of
it,'--that's the pocket your honour. 'Gad's blood, we'll have t'other
drop, gossip,' says I to her. And sure we had, and it was a drop too much
for the head of me--it went round like the hind wheel of an
_ackney_--rowling and rowling, your honour, and I rowl'd home mighty queer
that day; and I laid meself down on my own bed; and the child I had be my
own lawful husband, Tom Leary, laid be the side of me fast asleep--ounly
sober as a judge was the child at that same time--why shouldn't it? And
when I waked up, says I to me--'how comed I here,' says I, 'in my own
bed,' says I, 'before dark?' says I to myself; but I couldn't tell, for
the life of me, your honour, in regard of the gin--that's the _blue ruin_,
as Misther Jenkins the pratur marchant calls it, your honour. 'Well,' says
I to meself, 'sure I'll get up,' says I, 'for what's the use of lying here
like a baste,' says I, 'when Tom Leary isn't in it, and is coming to it
may be?' And I got up and shook meself, and got the water to wash my
hands, and I looked at 'em--that's the fingers, but d--l a _ring_ was on
'em! '_Deevle_ burn ye, Kate Casey,' thinks I to myself, 'but ye've got
the bit of gould from me at last!' and I went to her place--that's in
Bainbridge-street, your honour; 'and Misthress Casey,' says I, 'where's me
_ring_?' 'What ring?' says she.--'My wedding ring that I got with Tom
Leary,' says I.--'_Deevle_ a know I know!' says she.--'Don't be tellin the
lie to the face of me,' says I, 'for sure there's them that seen ye
_slither_ it off the finger of me,' says I.--'Be the mother of Moses! it's
a graat lie!' says she.--'Thank ye, Misthress Casey,' says I.--'Take
_that_ for yerself, Mrs. O'Leary,' says she"--

"And what was _that_?" asked his worship.

"Faith, a beautiful blow on the mouth of me!" your honour, replied Mrs.
O'Leary--laying hold of her upper lip, and turning it inside out for his
worship's inspection.

But his worship declined inspecting it; and Mrs. O'Leary, having let her
lip down again, proceeded to state that, having got this beautiful thump
on the mouth of her, she did not choose to have any more to say to Mrs.
Casey, but forthwith handed her over to an officer.

The Officer in question said he had learned that Mrs. Casey pawned a
wedding ring on the day of the row, but she redeemed it in a few hours
afterwards, and that was all the pawnbroker knew about it.

Whilst Mrs. O'Leary was telling her story, Mrs. Casey could hardly be
restrained from opening upon her at almost every sentence. She seemed to
be bursting with words; and, no doubt, it was a great relief to her when
his worship at length gave her leave to speak by asking, "Where is this
poor woman's ring?"

"Honour bright! your worship," replied Mrs. Casey, in a voice as
melodious as a cracked bagpipe--"Honour bright! your worship; _deevle's_
the bit I knows about it at all! Och! Mrs. O'Leary, but yer a bad one
after all of it," &c. "You knows you'll say any thing but your prayers,
Mrs. O'Leary, and meself never to find it out till this present
time!--Your worship, she gived the ring to a _man she has_!"

"Och! an is it the likes of _me_, with three childer and Tom Leary!" cried
Mrs. O'Leary, lifting up her hands and eyes in astonishment at the

Mrs. Casey persisted in her story, and at last the charge was dismissed
for want of evidence.--In ten minutes after, they were seen together at
"The Grapes," in Bow-street, taking their drops, as good friends as ever
they were.


W. C., Esq., a gentleman of family and fortune, was brought up in custody
of an officer, charged with assaulting Mr. H., a highly respectable
surgeon and apothecary, residing in the Strand.

Either party was attended by a solicitor, and the following is a "succinct
synopsis" of the affair.

Mr. H. is an elderly personage, of very gentlemanly deportment, and Mr. C.
is a tall, athletic gentleman, in the full bloom of five-and-twenty, or
thereabout. Some three or four yeas ago, Mr. H. had the honour of curing
Mr. C. of some indisposition--no matter what; but the _honour_ was all he
had for his services; for though he sent in his bill, amounting only to
7_l._ 3_s._, Mr. C. neglected to discharge it. He, however, made
_promises_ in plenty, time after time; and if Mr. H. could have fed upon
this "_cameleon's_ dish," it would have been all very well, and this
assault would never have happened. But he could not--he had no relish for
it--he knew that nobody could "fatten capons so;" and therefore he
determined to have something more substantial. In consequence of this
determination, he lost no opportunity of dunning Mr. C. for the money; but
unfortunately the opportunities were very rare, as Mr. C. was fond of
variety, and had a knack of frequently, very frequently, changing his
residence; so that Mr. H. never knew "where to have him." At length, on
Wednesday morning last, he heard he was in town, and he instantly sent one
of his young men to his lodgings, with an earnest demand of payment. The
young man returned, saying Mr. C. was not risen, nor would he be up till
after eleven o'clock. At eleven o'clock Mr. H. himself went out, with the
intention of repeating the demand in person; and, on his way, he met Mr.
C. in the Strand, who, on perceiving Mr. H., immediately crossed over to
the opposite side of the street. Mr. H. crossed also, or, rather,
like-wise--and so they met full butt, as it were; whereupon Mr. H., after
the usual salutation of well-bred people, requested instant payment of his
account. Mr. C. said it was not convenient to him to pay it at that
moment. "Will you give me your word of honour that you will pay it in a
week?" demanded Mr. H. "I tell you, Sir, it shall be paid in a few days,"
replied Mr. C. "Well, Sir, I'll tell you what--if it is not paid in the
course of a week, I will put it into the hands of my solicitor!" rejoined
Mr. H. "Sir!" retorted Mr. C., "if you say that again I will flog you
round the place--I will flog you every time I meet you; and if it was not
for the disagreeableness of raising a crowd around us, I would flog you
now, Sir!" And, so saying, he held his stick over the head of Mr. H. in
token thereof.

This was the whole amount of the assault complained of--for it did not
appear that he did flog, neither did it appear how Mr. H. "backed out of
the concern."

Mr. C. began his defence by observing that the account had not been
standing more than _two_ years; whereas Mr. H. had called it _three_ or
_four_ years. The account itself, he added, was a mere trumpery affair,
not of the slightest consequence to him; in proof whereof he was ready to
pay it that moment, before the magistrate--

"Oh! I shall take care to _make_ you pay it!" exclaimed the agitated Mr.

SIR R. BIRNIE.--Had you not better receive the money now it is offered to
you, Mr. H.?--You know the old adage says, "If you will not when you may,"

Mr. H. thanked his worship for his suggestion, and said--to be sure--that
was another affair--and if Mr. C. were actually to tender him the
money--he did not know that he should, altogether, refuse it.

Mr. C. instantly took out a handful of sovereigns, and tossed the amount
of the claim down upon the table; and it as instantly slided into the
right-hand breeches pocket of Mr. H.

This interesting ceremony ended, Mr. C. resumed his defence. He denied
that he had menaced Mr. H. in the violent manner he had described. It was
true he had raised his stick for a moment, but it was only in consequence
of Mr. H. exclaiming, loud enough to be heard by many people passing, "Oh!
Sir--everybody knows what you are!"

SIR R. BIRNIE said the affair hardly amounted to a breach of the peace,
and unless Mr. H. could swear that he went in "bodily fear" of Mr. C., he
certainly should not feel justified in holding the latter gentleman to

"_Bodily fear!_" cried Mr. H.--and snatching up his hat he left the
office, uttering something which to us sounded very much like "_Fudge!_"


Tom Sayers, a fellow of lofty dimensions was brought up on an assault
warrant, charged with having broken the nose of one Mr. Bybie Garmondsway,
against the peace, &c.

Tom Sayers is a man who, during the late Peninsular war, "sought the
bubble reputation, e'en in the cannon's mouth," as a British grenadier.
Whether he found it or not, we are unable to say; but certain it is that
he now enjoys the reputation of being an admirable culinary bricklayer--a
dexterous setter of kitchen ranges; and with this reputation he is fully
satisfied--handling his trowel, and dandling his little ones, and
cherishing his wife, and drinking his beer, in peace and thankfulness.

Mr. Bybie Garmondsway, notwithstanding his uncommon name, is as common a
looking concern as possible--a dirty little land-lubber in a seaman's
dress, with a queer nose, queerly decorated on this occasion with divers
broad straps of sticking-plaister--_à la Baron Munchausen_.

"An please your worship," said Mr. Bybie Garmondsway, with his hat grasped
in both hands, and giving the floor a long scrape with his off foot--"an
please your worship, last Tuesday night, as ever was, I goz into the
Crown, in Seven Diles, thinking of nothin at all."

"Very likely,"--said his worship.

"Thinking of nothin at all," continued Mr. Bybie Garmondsway, "an ax'd for
a pint of porter; an there were this here gentleman, Mr. Sayers, singing a
song; an, becoz I said the song was all _gammon_, he punch'd my head, as
your worship may see by my nose, an the landlord chucked me out before I'd
half drink'd my beer!--an that's the whole truth about it, as Mr. Sayers
can't deny if he's a mind to speak."

"I shall speak when his honour gives me orders," said tall Tom
Sayers--drawing up himself to his full height, squaring his shoulders,
turning out his toes, and placing his thumbs exactly in line with the
seams of his dusty trousers--"I shall speak when his honour gives me

His honour told him he was ready to hear anything he might have to say.

"Thank your honour," said honest Tom Sayers--with a hand-over-brow salute,
and without losing the twentieth part of an inch in his altitude--"thank
your honour! Your honour sees that I had been setting a stove grate and
oven, for the landlord of the Crown here; with which setting he was
pleased to say he was very well satisfied: and he asked me to take a pint
of beer in token of the same. Just then, in comes my wife, with my child
in her arms, to see whether I had done my job, and to walk home with me. I
was pleased to see her, your honour--God bless her!--and I was pleased to
see my child, and I was pleased that the landlord was pleased with my
work; and so I took the child on my knee, and my wife and I sat down,
side by side on the settle, to drink the pint of beer the landlord had
given me. There he is! If I tell a lie, let him say so."

His worship told him he believed every word he had said.

"Why, thank your honour again, and I'll not disgrace your belief,"
rejoined the veteran grenadier. "As I was saying, your honour, I and my
wife sat down kindly to drink the pint of beer--the beer the landlord gave
me, your honour, because I had done my duty by his oven; and the child sat
laughing on my knee, and an old comrade came in, and we drank together in
memory of old times abroad, and in the pride of my heart--God forgive
me!--I sung the '_Battle of Barossa Plains_.'--It was a battle I served
in, your honour, to the best of my ability, and my comrade had served by
the side of me; and we thought no harm or offence to anybody. But this
_thing_ here--half sailor and half _scamp_ (meaning Mr. Bybie
Garmondsway), he must begin _mocking_ me whilst I was singing, and
insulting all land battles whatever. I asked him to be quiet, and he
wouldn't; and after a bit the landlord marched him out, and told him to go
home to his own quarters. Three times the landlord turned the envious
lubber out, but he was no sooner out than he was in again, challenging me
to fight. At last, your honour, I put down the child, and made a charge
upon him, thinking to put him out in the street--for as to _fighting_ with
such a thing! that's neither here nor there; but I no sooner got hold of
him, than, like a false lubber as he is, he turned about and tried to--to
do me a private injury, your honour!--and then, sure enough, I did let fly
my fist at his face; and, I if have done wrong, I must answer for it."

The landlord substantiated every part of honest Tom's story, and the
magistrate instantly dismissed the complaint; at the same time telling Mr.
Bybie Garmondsway that a civil tongue was the best preventive of a bruised


Mr. Daniel Butcher, "a jolly young waterman," was charged with assaulting
Mr. Robert Wingrove, a carpet beater--commonly called "Bob Wingrove, the

Mr. Bob Wingrove deposed thus:--"Your worship, I beats carpets and does
portering, by which means I was looking out of my window yesterday
afternoon, when I saw a servant _gal_[23] go by, which belongs to a house
what I beats for, by which means I runs down stairs to speak to her, and
Dan Butcher, this here chap in the scarlet jacket, comes up to me, and
without saying '_by_ your leave,' or '_with_ your leave,' he took me two
smacks in the head, right and left."

"Why did he strike you?" asked the magistrate.

"Aye, that's what I wants to know, your worship!" replied Mr. Bob.

"Then suppose you ask him now," rejoined his worship; "ask him, why he
gave you the two smacks, as you call them."

Mr. Bob, turned, and looked Mr. Dan in the face, as though about to put
the question to him; but Mr. Dan smiled him out of countenance, and Mr.
Bob, turning back to his worship, said--"It's no use axing him anything,
your worship, for he's got a spite agen me ever since I was in prison for
saying a few words to a servant _gal_ what brought me here on a peace
warrant, by which means he never sees me but he peeps through his fingers
at me, as much as to say, 'who peep'd through the prison bars?'--He's a
great blackguard, though he's a little chap, your worship; and he never
meets my wife, Mrs. Wingrove, but he cries--'Here's a charming young
broom!' when my wife is _not a charming young broom_--as all her
neighbours can testify, but as honest a woman as ever broke bread--only
that, like all other women, your worship, she likes a drop of something
comfortable now and then."

Mr. Bob's landlady corroborated all his evidence general and particular,
and her evidence closed the case for the prosecution.

Mr. Dan Butcher, in his defence, admitted that he _took_ Mr. Bob Wingrove
_two smacks in the head_, as that gentleman had deposed, but he assured
his worship they were in return for a _punch in the stomach_ which Mr. Bob
Wingrove had _lent_ him; and he called two witnesses to prove that Mr. Bob
was the aggressor.

Both these witnesses declared that Dan Butcher was walking quietly under
Mr. Bob's window, singing a song, and "giving no offence to nobody," when
Mr. Bob ran down stairs, and struck him in the bowels "without any
_privy-cation_ whatsoever."

"And pray what song was he singing?" asked his worship; "I have no doubt
it was a song intended to insult him."

"Your worship, I don't know what song it was," replied the first
witness--"it was a funny sort of song enough, and there was a _tithery um_
at the end of it."

The second witness, however, after much pressing, admitted that it was a
song called "_Bob's in the watch-house_," and made by one of the
Hungerford-stairs poets in commemoration of poor Mr. Bob's imprisonment.

Mr. Dan could not deny that he sung this song vexatiously, and he was
ordered to find bail--So, then, it was Mr. _Bob's_ turn to sing "_Dan's_
in the watch-house."


A very precise, well-dressed young man presented himself before the
magistrates, saying he had a very great desire to punish a Mr. Bradbury
for _extortion_, _abuse_, and _assault_, and he would be particularly
obliged to his worship if he would assist him in so doing.

His worship desired him to describe the nature of his complaint more
minutely; whereupon the gentleman went into a long and rather melancholy
story, from which it appeared--

Firstly, that Mr. Bradbury lives in the Strand, and is famous for
teaching _grown_ gentlemen to write a fine free hand in six lessons, for
the trifling sum of one guinea, though they might previously be only
capable of scrawling "pot-hooks and links."--Secondly, that the applicant
being in this unfortunate predicament, applied to Mr. Bradbury for his
assistance.--Thirdly, that Mr. Bradbury undertook to make him a ready
writer for the sum of one guinea; and also to teach him how to make a pen,
without any additional charge.--Fourthly, that he went through his six
lessons in writing, when Mr. Bradbury demanded his guinea.--Fifthly, that
he gave Mr. Bradbury a sovereign and a half-crown, desiring him to take
his guinea therefrom.--Sixthly, that Mr. Bradbury, instead of returning
him one shilling and sixpence, returned him a sixpence only, stating that
he retained the extra shilling for stationery; this was the "_extortion_"
he complained of.--Seventhly, that he remonstrated with Mr. Bradbury on
this stationery charge; and moreover complained to him that he had not
sufficiently instructed him in the art of making a good pen.--Eighthly,
that Mr. Bradbury replied he should teach him no more, for he had not
conducted himself like a _gentleman_.--Ninthly, that he told Mr. Bradbury
he should summon him before the Lord Mayor.--Tenthly, that Mr. Bradbury
replied, that he cared no more for the Lord Mayor or the Lord _Horse_
either, than he did for him. This was the "_abuse_" he complained
of.--Eleventhly, that, on his attempting to remonstrate farther, Mr.
Bradbury got up from his desk, clenched his fist, and told him if he did
not walk off quietly, he would "_bundle_ him down stairs." This was the
"_assault_" he complained of; and having stated all this, he respectfully
submitted that he had made out his case.

"And pray, Sir," asked the magistrate, "did he, in effect, '_bundle_' you
down stairs?" "No, Sir," replied the gentleman, "but I think he would if I
had not walked away very rapidly." "Then, Sir, I am sorry I cannot
accommodate you by interfering," rejoined his worship;--"if you had
undergone the _bundling_ operation, something might have been done,
perhaps; but as it is, I don't see that you have any redress for your
manifold grievances, except you sue him in the Court of Conscience for the
recovery of the _shilling's-worth_ of stationery; and the issue of that
measure would, in my opinion, be very doubtful."

The gentleman looked at his worship, then at his own hat, then at his
worship again, and then he slowly withdrew; seemingly quite at a loss what
to make of the matter.


Mrs. Margaret Bunce, a lean, dirty, slatternly matron, apparently between
fifty and sixty years old, complained that she had been grossly assaulted
by Miss Eliza Pritchard and Miss Hannah Maria Bagwell--a pair of little
stunted damsels from the back settlements of Drury-lane; who, according to
their own account, maintain themselves "very _cumfuttably_ by going a

"Please your worship," said Mrs. Bunce, "I lives in Short's Gardens, and
these ladies lives in Charles-street, and I can get no comfort for 'em
night nor day. They'm always at me for everlasting, go out when I will;
and yesterday _arter_noon they pounced upon me as I was standing in
_Doory_-lane, and give me this here black eye; and my nose has been as
yellow as a _marygoold_ ever since, as your worship may see."

"Have you any witness?" asked the magistrate.

"Yes, your worship--I was standing talking to this 'ere _lady_ at the very
time," replied Mrs. Bunce, pointing to a meagre young woman in a ragged
hurden apron, a worn-out man's coat, and an old muddy hat, something in
the form of a barber's basin. "I was talking to this 'ere lady at the very

The _lady_ came forward, dabbed a court'sy, and wiped her face with the
corner of her apron.

"Oh! _this_ lady," said his worship; "and what may _your_ name be,
Miss?"--"Julia Legge, your worship."--"And pray may I ask what occupation
you follow--Miss Julia Legge?"

"I sells _vauter creeses_ and _sweeps crossings_, your worship," replied
the gentle Julia; and then she wiped her weather-beaten charms again, and
substantiated every word Mrs. Margaret Bunce had uttered.

"_Miss_ Eliza Pritchard and _Miss_ Hannah Maria Bagwell, what have you to
say for yourselves?" asked the magistrate.

They answered--"in a joint and corporate voice," "Vy, your Vorship, ve've
this 'ere to say--as ve never did _nuthin_ o' the sort; and that there
lady (Miss Julia Legge) vasn't there at the time."

Mrs. Bunce and the gentle Julia hearing this, lifted up their eyes and
hands in astonishment, and opened a fresh volley of evidence, which
concluded with a declaration from Mrs. Bunce, that she never went to see
her own mother that they did not lie in wait for and attack her.

"Your _mother_!" said the magistrate, "why how old are _you_?"

"_Me_, your worship--why I'm turned of forty."

"And pray how old may your mother be?"

"Why, your worship," replied Mrs. Bunce, doubtingly, "I reckon she must be
_fifty_--or thereabouts!"

There was a general and very ungallant burst of laughter at the broad
guess; and poor Mrs. Bunce seemed a good deal confused; but at length the
gentle Julia took upon her fair self to say that Mrs. Bunce's mother was
_seventy-eight_, to her own certain knowledge.

At last it was ordered that the young ladies, Miss Eliza Pritchard and
Miss Hannah Maria Bagwell, should find bail to keep the peace towards Mrs.
Margaret Bunce; and not being prepared with any, they followed the turnkey
to his stronghold, weeping as they went.


A new-booted, yellow-vested, blue-coated, red-headed, rosy-faced, buckish
young bricklayer, was brought up from the neighbourhood of
Cranford-bridge, charged by one _Tom Nagle_ with having robbed him, on the
King's highway, of ten shillings in money, and one bottle of "the best
_Jimakey_ rum."

Tom Nagle is an honest, hard-faced, sandy-whiskered Emeralder, who takes
out a drop of the rum or the whiskey, now and then, into the country, to
make an honest penny of that same. "It so happened that, one Tuesday
night, he went into the Queen's Head, at Cranford, with a bottle of the
best _Jimakey_ rum in his little basket. There was a lovely sweet fire in
the chimney, and the buckish young bricklayer was there sitting before it,
with a face like a full moon at the rising, and a yard-and-a-half
_backey_-pipe sticking out of the middle of it. And there was the
parish-clerk, and the blacksmith of Cranford, and many other jontlemen
_blowing_ their _steamers_, and taking their drops mighty convanient at
that same time. So Tom Nagle sat down amongst them, and _took his drops_
'mighty convanient' too. He drained off one pot of _heavy wet_,[24] and
then another, and another, and he blew a bigger cloud than any of them;
and at the last, he introduced his bottle of _Jimakey_, in the hope that
some of the jontlemen would _dale_ with him--but they wouldn't. They only
bother'd him--bad luck to 'em, and wouldn't dale with him at all; so he
put out his pipe, and departed. Then, as he was walking away from
fore-anent the door of the place, the buckish young bricklayer comes out
after him, and says he, 'Hallo! Tom Nagle,' says he, 'what shall I give
you for the rum?'--that's the _Jimakey_ he was axing about. 'Four and
sixpence,' says Tom Nagle, says he, 'and ye shall have the corck and the
bottle into it,' says he.--'No,' says the bricklayer 'I sha'n't give thee
four and sixpence, but I'll give ye just a shilling for a small _taaste_
of it.'--'No,' says Tom Nagle, 'get along wid ye,' says he--'fait ye
sha'n't have any _taaste_ of it at all,' says he. Then the buckish young
bricklayer, bad luck to him! took the bottle from Tom Nagle by force, and
took a taste of it, just in no time to spake of, and slithered his fist
into Tom Nagle's breeches pocket, and pulled out ten shillings from the
bottom of it; and split back again along the road--with the shillings in
one hand, and the bottle of _Jimakey_ in the other, and Tom Nagle went to
look for a constable.

In reply to all this it was stated, by the buckish young bricklayer, and
the parish clerk, and two other witnesses, that Tom Nagle was neither more
nor less than a bit of a smuggler, and a great pest to all the country
round about Cranford for many miles; that on the night in question he was
very much the worse for the beer, and that the company at the Queen's Head
did certainly joke him about his spirituous calling; that he was very
angry in consequence; that he went out of the house in a passion; that the
bricklayer followed him, and having given him a shilling for a taste of
his rum, he took the bottle from him--telling him, "in a lark," that he
would inform against him, for selling spirits without a license. It was
further stated, that the bottle was carried back to the Queen's Head, and
safely deposited with the landlord, to be re-delivered to Tom Nagle, when
he should call for it; and as to the ten-shilling story, it was declared
by everybody to be a great fib--a pure invention of Tom Nagle's, and
intended by the said Tom as a set-off against the threat of information
for selling contraband spirits.

The magistrate asked Tom Nagle--"Is it true that you were drunk at the

"Yer honour," replied Tom Nagle, "I was _hearty_--but not _drunk_ by no
manes--bekase I'd only _three pots_ of the beer, and a small drop of the

"Could you walk steadily?" asked his worship.

"Is it _that time_, your honour?" said Tom Nagle: "Fait, then, I could
walk as well as I can now--and _better_."

His worship observed that, however disreputable and illegal Tom Nagle's
occupation might be, the bricklayer had done wrong in taking his property
from him, and he should therefore take care that he was forthcoming at the
Sessions, where Tom Nagle might indict him if he thought proper.

Tom Nagle thanked his worship, and the buckish young bricklayer was held
to bail.


Among the "_disorderlies_" brought before the magistrate from St.
Clement's watch-house, was a Mr. H., a very respectable law-stationer.

Robert Hunt, a watchman, deposed, that between twelve and one o'clock in
the middle of the night, he heard a lady's voice crying "Watch!
Watch!--Stop him, Watch!" whereupon he turned himself round about, and
seeing the prisoner, Mr. H., running with all his might, he as in duty
bound, stopped him full butt, and "civilly seizing him by the collar,"
told him he must wait a-bit, till "the lady what _skreeked_ should come
up." But Mr. H., instead of waiting quietly, as a gentleman ought to do,
slipped himself out of his coat, "_momently_ as it were," showed fight,
and gave him two or three desperate "punches on the belly" before he knew
where he was. This being the case, he "twirled his _rackler_," and other
watchmen coming up, Mr. H. was conveyed to the watch-house.


Mr. H., in his defence, gave rather a different account of the matter. It
appeared by his statement that, having occasion to call upon a friend late
on Saturday night, he found that friend was gone to a neighbouring tavern,
and, without thinking any harm, he followed him thither, and having found
him, they sat down to take a friendly glass together; but they had
scarcely got through the first glass of cold brandy-and-water,
with-a-little-sugar-in-it, when, who should come in but his wife, Mrs.
H----y! Now, such a visit, at such an hour, and in such a place, he humbly
submitted to the magistrate, was confoundedly annoying. He told Mrs. H.
that it was extremely indelicate, and desired that she would return home
forthwith, and he would follow her in a few minutes. But no--before all
the company she peremptorily refused to stir an inch without him! What was
to be done? If he departed with her, every body would laugh at him; and
if he remained, she would remain also; thereby making the thing still more
ridiculous. In this dilemma he consulted with his friend; his friend
advised him to go, his own feelings prompted him to stay; but, as matters
were getting worse and worse every minute, he resolved to go--and go he
did. In order, however, to show Mrs. H. that he would not quietly succumb
to petticoat government, exercised in this vexatious manner, he no sooner
got into the street, than he took to his heels and ran away--determined in
his own mind not to go home for an hour or two. But here again Mrs. H. got
the better of him; for he no sooner began to run, than she began to bawl
"Stop him, watch! stop him!" and the watch did stop him--not as the said
watch had deposed, by "_civilly_ collaring him," but by grasping him by
the cravat, and _sticking_ his knuckles against his throat till he was
nearly strangled; and he was verily of opinion that he should literally
have died of the said strangulation if some persons had not providentially
come to his assistance, and forced the watchman to take his hand from his
throat. With respect to the "dreadful _punches_" complained of, he
positively denied having inflicted them.

Mrs. H., and another lady or two, who, it seems, accompanied her in her
tavern expedition, fully substantiated this statement in all its
interesting particulars.

On the other hand, the watchman called four of his brethren, who all
offered to swear that Mr. H. struck him repeatedly.

The magistrate was of opinion that the watchman had done his duty well,
and called upon Mr. H. to find bail to answer for the assault at the
Sessions, unless he could satisfy the watchman for his trouble.

Mr. H. said he had no money to bestow on any such purpose; and, feeling
himself the aggrieved party, he had rather go before a jury; so he retired
in the custody of the turnkey.


This was a matter of assault and battery, originating in roast lamb and
cauliflower, carried on by means of a misfitting toilinet waistcoat, and
ending in battle and bloodshed.


Mr. Ellerbach, the defendant, a tailor (by _trade_), small in person and
fashionably attired, with his dexter arm gracefully suspended in a
black silk sling, was brought up by the nocturnals of St. Martin's
watch-house, and placed before the bench. Whereupon Mr. Arundel, the
complainant, "a good portly man, and corpulent; of a cheerful look, a
pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage," being first duly sworn, deposed,
that he was the proprietor of an eating house (commonly called a
_slap-bang_ shop); and that the defendant, Mr. Ellerbach, being indebted
to him for sundry plates of roast lamb and cauliflower, he, the
complainant, expressed a strong desire to have the said plates of roast
lamb and cauliflower paid for without delay; inasmuch as he was fully
aware that when a good dinner had answered the purpose for which it was
taken, it was speedily forgotten, especially when taken on _tick_. He,
therefore, as aforesaid, expressed a strong desire to be paid; which so
incensed Mr. Ellerbach, that he came into his shop, as he, the
complainant, was standing in the midst of his men, and, after having
kicked up a great dust, threatened to beat the whole lot. Complainant
having no inclination to be beaten, ordered him to depart in peace, and
pay for the lamb and cauliflower when convenient. But the defendant's
voice was still for war; he d----d the lamb and cauliflower,
"vain-gloriously;" and when one of complainant's cooks went towards him,
with the kind intention of pursuading him to be quiet, he took up his fist
and struck the unoffending cook right on the mouth. The blood gushed forth
in a torrent; and, whilst poor _cookey_ was looking for his teeth,
complainant called in the watch, and defendant was conveyed to durance.

Mr. Ellerbach entered upon his reply in a mild tone of impassioned
eloquence; he admitted having eaten the lamb and cauliflower, and also
that he took it on _tick_--not because he lacked the means of paying for
it, even to the uttermost farthing;--but because he had a counter-claim
upon the complainant for making him a toilinet waistcoat, which he, the
complainant, alleged was a _misfit_, and therefore disputed the payment.
Things were in this state, when he, the defendant, sent to complainant's
shop for some cold roast beef and pickled cabbage, intending to eat it for
his supper, and, to his immense amazement, the messenger returned, stating
that complainant not only refused to send it, but had actually threatened
to make pickled _cabbage_ of him (the defendant), unless he immediately
paid for the lamb and cauliflower. This allusion to _cabbage_ he very
naturally took as a reflection--a vulgar reflection upon his profession as
a _tailor_, and he, therefore, went to his shop in person, to know what
he meant by _pickling_ him. But he had scarcely entered the doors, when
he found complainant and his surbordinate cooks all up in arms against
him. Complainant called him a scoundrel, and ordered him to depart,
without giving him time to demand the explanation he came for; and whilst
he was endeavouring to obtain a hearing, one of the cooks made "a
contemptuous and rather indecent sort of noise with his mouth;" which so
exasperated him, that he certainly did strike the offending cook upon the
offending organ; and in so doing he thought himself fully justified. In
conclusion, he said, though the cook might have lost a little blood by the
blow, and even, perhaps, an odd tooth or so, yet he, himself, at the same
time knocked the skin off his own knuckles against cookey's teeth, and
strained his thumb so, that he was obliged to carry it in a sling; and
therefore he submitted that the assault account ought to be considered as

The magistrate, however, was of a different opinion, and ordered him to
find bail for his appearance to answer it at the sessions.

Thus, though the cook failed to _pickle_ the tailor, the tailor contrived
to place himself in pickle--and in such a pickle as probably _cured_ him
of his pugnacious propensities.


A man of six feet in height, of seedy exterior, and most melancholious
physiognomy--principal contributor of bawdry and balderdash to the
"Rambler's Magazine;" sixpence-a-sheet translator of the "Adventures of
Chevalier Faublas," _et cetera, et cetera, et cetera_--was brought up in
custody, to show cause why he should not be prosecuted for obtaining money
under false pretences from one Mr. Robert Wedderburn--tailor and
breeches-maker, field-preacher, radical reformer, romance-writer,
circulatory-librarian, and ambulatory dealer in drugs, deism, and
demoralisation in general.

Mr. Robert Wedderburn--or Robertus Wedderburn, as he delighteth to
designate himself, is a man of colour--something of the colour of a toad's
back, plump and puffy as a porpoise, and the magnitude of his caput makes
it manifest that nature cut him out for a counsellor, had not the
destinies decreed that he should cut out cloth. He therefore became a
tailor and flourished (his shears), but age and fatty infirmity at length
unfitted him for the operative department of his profession; his back
would no longer bend to the board; his legs refused to let him cross them
as he was wont to do; his eyes declined seeing a needle unless it was
close to his nose; and though he got spectacles of all sorts, and let go
his braces to their utmost limits, he could not manage it any how; and so,
since he could no longer sew, he joined the _radicals_ of the day, and,
from mending breeches, took to mending the state. His doings in this way
made some noise in the world. He it was who had the honour of first
inoculating the invincible Carlile with pure Deism; he it was who suffered
pains, penalties, prosecutions, and imprisonments for his too liberal
promulgation of too liberal politico-theological preachings; and he it
will be that will have a place in the list of patriot martyrs of the
nineteenth century--if a list of them should ever be published. _Shelved_,
with the rest of the radicals, he turned his thoughts to literature;
literature brought him acquainted with the prisoner; his acquaintance with
the prisoner brought the prisoner to the bar of this office; and that
brings us to the immediate matter at issue.

It appeared by the evidence, that Mr. Robertus Wedderburn--being a man, as
he himself said, "fruitful in imagination, but no great scholar," was in
the habit of cutting out pretty little sixpenny romances, and employing
the prisoner to touch them up grammatically. This caused a kind of
literary intercourse between them; and at one of their interviews
lately--on the subject of a new romance, to be called "Beatrice, or the
Bleeding Beauty," the prisoner tendered a pawnbroker's ticket to Mr.
Robertus Wedderburn, requesting him to buy it. This ticket purported to be
a pledging of thirteen volumes of new novels for the trifling sum of ten
shillings, and Mr. Robertus Wedderburn willingly undertook to purchase it
for three shillings--wisely considering that these thirteen volumes would
be a handsome addition to his little circulating library, and that at a
shilling a-piece they were certainly "dog cheap." He therefore paid the
prisoner the three shillings; and as soon as he could raise the money, he
went to the pawnbroker's to redeem the books; when, to his utter
astonishment, he found instead of _thirteen_ there were only
_three_!--that the prisoner had taken the liberty of placing a 1 before
the 3 on the ticket, thereby converting 3 into 13; that the three books
were thus pledged for their full value; and that Mr. Robertus Wedderburn
was of course bamboozled of his blunt--in the vulgar, "cheated of his

The magistrate, having listened with great patience to the premises, asked
the prisoner what he had to say for himself; and, as he only played with
his hat-band in reply, he was remanded until the evening, in order that
the pawnbroker might attend.

In the evening he was again placed at the bar; but there was no pawnbroker
in attendance; and Mr. Wedderburn begged leave to withdraw the
prosecution--he having been satisfied by the bounty of the prisoner's

The magistrate then commented severely on the conduct of all the parties,
and reluctantly consented to the prisoner's discharge.


A pair of showy young men, _exquisitely_ attired, with their exquisite
attire cased in street mud, and their crops _à-la-Titus_ filled with bits
of straw, were brought up from one of the lower apartments (commonly
called the _Black "hole"_) in Covent-garden watch-house; where they had
passed the night in doleful durance, merely because their appetites were
in better order than their finances--or, in plain terms, because they had
eaten more supper than they could pay for. They gave their names _John
Bright_ and _Henry Walsh_, gents.--the former of Queen's-square, and the
latter of----"nowhere in particular." The following is the story of the
little adventure which brought them under the _surveillance_ of the

On Sunday night these gallants went into the Imperial Hotel, Piazza,
Covent-garden, and asked if "Mr. Kecksy" was there. They were told that he
was not; at which they expressed much surprise. They then ordered a "rite
jollie supper;" and when it was ready they ate it up, washing it down with
three bottles of prime old port. Nevertheless, they frequently cast an
anxious eye towards the door, and talked from time to time of the
unaccountable absence of "Mr. Kecksy." At length they became what is
classically called "_Bacchi plenus_," and the landlord thought it was then
time to send up the bill. He sent it up accordingly; but they tossed it in
the waiter's face, and ordered him to send up the landlord, Mr. Joy. Mr.
Joy obeyed their summons, and demanded to know their pleasure. "Joy, my
hearty! you must put up _this_ to Kecksy.--He invited us, and by G--d he
shall pay," was the jovial reply. "Upon my word, gentlemen, this is too
bad--Mr. Kecksy has not been here these many weeks; you are utter
strangers to me, and I cannot think of letting you go without paying,"
replied Mr. Joy. "You can't!--then I'll tell you what, my old boy, we
shall _tip you the double_ and _bolt_, by all that's comical!" retorted
one of the bucks. This kind of phraseology put their gentility quite out
of the question with Mr. Joy, and without further ceremony he ordered one
of his waiters to call in a watchman. This was a measure the supper-eaters
had not calculated upon, and they became indignantly anxious to put their
threat of "tipping him the double" into immediate practice; but Mr. Joy
and his waiters opposed their retreat; upon which they threatened to kick
Mr. Joy downstairs, and throw his waiters out of the window; and they had
actually commenced proceedings in this way when the watchman made his
appearance and took them in charge. They now moderated their choler a
little, and proposed that somebody should accompany them home, where they
would pay the bill. This was acceded to on the part of Mr. Joy, and an
extra watchman agreed to accompany them, with one of the waiters, for that
purpose. But they had scarcely left the hotel before they suddenly
_bolted_ in different directions, and would inevitably have _tipped_ their
pursuers _the double_ at last, had it not been for the rattles of the
watchmen. As it was, one of them was caught as he was scampering up
Bow-street, and the other was found ingloriously concealed among the sheds
in the market. Farther parley was not attempted on either side. They were
forthwith conveyed to the watch-house, and there they conducted themselves
so "_obstropolously_," that the constable of the night found it necessary
to have them put down below, "instead of letting them sit by the fire like

This was the substance of the evidence for the prosecution, and the muddy
_watch_-worn defendants were asked by the magistrates what they had to say
to it.

They replied that they were actually invited to supper at that hotel, by
their friend Mr. Kecksy, who was very well known to the landlord, and they
fully expected he would have come in during the supper, or otherwise they
would not have ordered the supper. They had, however, offered the landlord
their address, and had assured him he should be paid in the morning.

"Then pay it now"--said the magistrate--"the morning is arrived!"

The defendants looked blank--and did not offer to pay.

Mr. Joy observed, that their story about Mr. Kecksy was a mere absurdity,
as that gentleman was _out of town_.

"He is not out of town," said one of the supper-eaters, "for I saw him
yesterday afternoon."

"The fact is, your worship, he is in the King's Bench prison," said Mr.

"That is false, Sir!--He is not," exclaimed the supper-eater.

"Where is he, then?" said his worship.

"Why, Sir, he is--in the _Rules_!" replied the supper eater.

Every soul in the office laughed at this nice distinction; and the
magistrate cut the matter short by telling Mr. Joy he could not detain the
gentlemen for the amount of their _supper_, as it was a simple contract
debt; but he could hold them to bail for the _assault_.

They were accordingly ordered to find bail, and not being prepared with
any, they were consigned to the attentions of the turnkey, without any
order for their breakfast.


Mr. George Pendergast, the principal of a _flue-feaking_
establishment--or, in ordinary phrase, a master chimney-sweeper appeared
upon a peace warrant issued at the instance of Mr. Christopher Williamson,
a painter--not of pictures, but posts and penthouses.

Mr. Christopher Williamson deposed, that on a certain day named, Mr.
Pendergast came into his apartments while he and Mrs. Williamson were
quietly taking their tea and crumpets, and without any notice whatever,
knocked him off of his chair what he was sitting on; and upon his telling
Mr. Pendergast he thought such conduct very _ungenteel_, Mr. Pendergast
told him to make himself easy, for he would "come it again" as often as he
thought proper; from all which, he verily believed that Mr. Pendergast
intended to do him some grievous bodily harm, and therefore he prayed the
interposition of the law.

Mr. Pendergast, who stood before the bench all soot without, and all gin
and jollity within, very readily admitted the assault--adding, "I think,
your worship, it was time to give him a bit of a floorer when I found my
own wife in his _cupboard_!"

His worship said if that was the facts it certainly had a rather awkward
appearance; but Mr. Williamson assured him Mrs. Pendergast only ran into
the cupboard to avoid her husband's violence--"And upon my honour, your
worship," said he, "there wasn't a morsel of _Crim. Con._, or anything of
that 'ere sort, in the business at all."

Mr. Pendergast admitted that he was not much afraid of Mr. Williamson "in
the _Crim. Con._ line;" and then went on to detail some other provocations
he had received from him: particularly upon one occasion, when Mr.
Williamson persuaded him to take a ride on the Thames with him, and
because he refused to lend him 10_l._, chucked him overboard right into
the river!

Mr. Williamson denied this, and said Mr. Pendergast went overboard by
accident, being rather top-heavy-ish. Mr. Pendergast was bound, in his own
recognizance of 20_l._, to keep the peace towards all the King's subjects
generally, and particularly so towards Mr. Christopher Williamson.


About the middle of the year 1821, Horatio, a young apothecary, of a
certain city in the West, fell desperately in love with Drusilla, a
wealthy damsel of that city; and the damsel returned his passion, though
her father forbade her so to do. Then her father, in his anger, had her
made a ward in Chancery, and the Lord Chancellor issued an injunction
prohibiting Horatio and Drusilla from becoming man and wife. Fathers, and
Lord Chancellors, have cruel hearts! and these youthful
lovers--instigated, no doubt, by that "giant dwarf, _Dan Cupid_," and,
moreover, not having the fear of the _Fleet_ before their eyes--eloped
from their native city, with the intention of uniting themselves in
defiance of the solemn injunction above-mentioned.

Now it appears that they contrived to elude the pursuit that was made
after them by the father of Miss Drusilla; and also by the officers of the
court, who were anxious to serve the enamoured Horatio with a copy of the
Lord Chancellor's injunction. In this predicament application was made to
Bishop--"_Indefatigable_ Bishop," as he is sometimes called--one of the
principal Bow-street officers, and he soon discovered their retreat. He
found them, by some means or other best known to himself, in
_Myrtle_-place, or Myrtle-grove, Hoxton. Perhaps it was the name of the
place that led him thither; for where could a pair of lovers take refuge
more appropriately than in a _myrtle-grove_?--

And "alas! that an _officer's_ cruel eye

  Should e'er go thither
  Such sweets to wither!"

--But so it was, he did go, and of course he spoiled every thing--indeed,
it would seem that he had no sooner made his appearance at the front door
of the house, than "_love_ flew out at the window"--the _lady's_ love at

It was just about dusk, in the evening, when Bishop, armed with full
powers for the capture of the lady's person, proceeded in a hackney-coach
to the Myrtle Grove above mentioned, and alighting at a short distance
from the house in which he believed the lovers were concealed, he left his
coach in waiting, and walked in silence towards the house. Not the
slightest sound was heard from within, but he had no sooner lifted the
knocker, than the door was opened by a young lady fully equipped for
travelling--it was the fair fugitive, Drusilla herself! She was surrounded
by trunks and band-boxes, and bundles; and, as it afterwards appeared, she
was at that very moment waiting the return of her beloved Horatio, who was
gone to call a coach to convey them to some other place of refuge.

"Your name, I believe Miss, is _Drusilla_ ----, and you are lately arrived
from ---- ?" said Bishop, with his accustomed courtesy.

"O dear, no, Sir!" exclaimed the lady. "I am Miss Jenkinsop, the daughter
of the mistress of this house."

Bishop remarked that he had no doubt she was telling a _fib_, and desired
her to introduce him forthwith to her alleged mama. No; she could not do
this, as she was just going out; but if he would walk into the parlour,
her mama would come to him presently. Bishop was not to be _had_ in this
way; and so, taking the young lady by the hand, he led her into the
parlour, and, having rang the bell, the mistress of the house shortly
appeared, who disclaimed all relationship to the young lady, and declared
she knew no more of her than that she was the "strange young lady" who
came to her house with a "strange young gentleman" a day or two ago, and
hired her apartments for a week.

The cruel officer now told Drusilla his business, and she wept--for at
least a minute and a half; but she no longer denied that she was the
identical Drusilla who ran away from ---- with Horatio; and wiping away
her tears, she put her hankerchief in her _reticule_, declared she was
glad she was caught, and should be very happy to return to her friends, if
she was but "sure the _Lord Chancellor_ would do nothing to her."

Bishop told her he had no doubt she would be very kindly received, both by
the Lord Chancellor and her father; and offering her his hand, she tripped
lightly to the coach he had there in waiting for her. The luggage was
then put into the coach, and it was just about to drive off, when another
coach drove up, and out jumped Horatio. "Oh! Sir," exclaimed the landlady,
who was still standing at the door--"Oh! Sir, they have taken away the
lady!" "_Who!_--who has taken her?" demanded the astonished lover. "Why
_I_ have," replied Bishop, ordering the coachman to drive on;--crack went
the whip, and away went the horses with the coach behind them:--

  "But who can paint Horatio as he stood,
  Speechless and fix'd in all the death of woe!"

--He did not stand many seconds, however, but ran after the coach like a
greyhound, jumped up behind it, and peeping in at the window called
mournfully upon Drusilla. "Drusilla, my angel! where are you going?" His
angel sat snugly in the corner of the carriage, and made no reply; but
Bishop, looking out at the opposite window, said, "Come, come, young chap,
don't be rude; or I shall be under the necessity of taking _you_
somewhere--get down from the coach instantly, or I'll take you into
custody." Horatio took the hint and jumped down; but, like a true knight,
he continued to follow, even on foot, panting and puffing, till the coach
stopped in Bow-street; and then his _Drusilla_ having been deposited in a
place of safety, without seeing him--for he could not, with all his
fervour, keep up with the coach--he attempted a parley with Bishop, about
_his share of the luggage_, which had been carried off with the lady.
Bishop told him if he would call at the Public Office in Bow-street next
morning, he should have "what _belonged_ to him;" and with this promise he
departed apparently pretty comfortable. Bishop is a shrewd sort of a
subject--his object, in getting Horatio to call at the office, was to give
the Chancery Solicitors an opportunity of serving him with a copy of the
injunction; and he completely succeeded, for Horatio was punctual in
calling for "his share of the _luggage_." He was shown into a private
room; where, neither the copy of the injunction nor "his share of the
luggage" being ready, he amused himself with a volume of "Coke upon
Lyttleton"--instead of pacing the room with his arms folded across his
breast to keep his heart down. Indeed it was very evident that he
considered himself pretty comfortable under the circumstances. By-the-bye,
notwithstanding the desperate adventure he had undertaken, he seemed of a
very cool, phlegmatic temperament; and how Drusilla could have fallen so
deeply in love with him we cannot imagine; for, though he was nearly six
feet high, and had a pleasing obliquity of vision, his nose was embossed
with very angry-looking pustules, and his person was spare and
uncouth.--But--_de gustibus non est disputandum_.

A length, after he had pored over "Coke upon Lyttleton," and "the Statutes
at Large," for about an hour and a half, the Chancery Solicitor arrived
and served him with a copy of the injunction; and, had it been a tavern
bill of fare, he could not have taken it more comfortably. He opened it;
turned it about in different directions; looked at it both on the outside
and the inside, played leisurely with the red tape that bound it, and
then--thrust it into his coat pocket.

"I have sent for your proportion of the luggage, Sir, and it will be here
directly," said Bishop. Horatio gave a nod, as much as to say "thank ye,"
and then he looked out at the weather. In a minute or two his share of the
"_luggage_" arrived. It consisted of a little band-box, and some unwashed
shirts and cravats tied up in an old silk handkerchief. Horatio opened the
hand-box. There was a well-worn hat in it, two pairs of cotton stockings,
and three pairs of gloves--that, somehow or other, had lost the ends of
the fingers; and there was, moreover, a very nice pair of yellow morocco
slippers, nearly new. Horatio turned over these things some time,
seemingly in a sort of brown study; and at last, he remarked that there
was a piece of Irish cloth which he did not see amongst them. Bishop said
he understood the Irish cloth belonged to the lady. "No, Sir," said
Horatio, "it belongs to me. It was to make me some shirts. But it is of no
_great_ consequence--let her keep it!" As he said this, he sighed a
little; and Bishop--willing to console him for the loss of his love as
much as possible--sent for the piece of Irish cloth and delivered it to
him. Horatio tied it up in his bundle; put the bundle under his arm; and,
balancing the band-box on the palm of his hand, he stalked forth into the
street, with the Lord Chancellor's injunction sticking out of his hinder
pocket like the handle of a stewpan. Unfortunately for the picturesque,
however, as he was crossing the street, the wind, which was then rather
high, blew the band-box from his hand. Horatio attempted to catch it
before it fell to the ground; but, instead of doing so he struck it--up it
went in the air, off flew the lid, and the old hat, the stockings, the
fingerless gloves, and the yellow morocco slippers, were scattered on the
muddy pavement. Horatio--the luckless Horatio--gathered them up as
quickly as the wind, and the carts, and the coaches would permit; but,
whilst he was busied in getting them together, the _injunction_ dropped
from his pocket. At last he managed to cram them, injunction and all, into
the band-box; and, calling a coach, he set off for the White Horse Cellar,
with the intention, no doubt, of returning to the culling of simples at
home--for he was manifestly a young man who, like his namesake in the
play, could take Fortune's _buffets_ as thankfully as her _rewards_.

The lady, in the course of the day, was delivered to her friends in town;
and thus ended the loves of Horatio and Drusilla.


There was a pretty, though homely Irish girl, named _Kitty Kavanagh_,
brought before the magistrate on a charge of having stolen a small piece
of coarse calico from a Mrs. Dermody.

Kitty Kavanagh is the daughter of a watchman; and she and her father lodge
in the same house as Mrs. Dermody. The piece of calico formed "the
_canopy_" of Mrs. Dermody's tester bed. One day lately, Mrs. Dermody
missed the canopy--it was taken away even whilst Mr. Dermody was in the
bed; and, in a day or two after, she found it on Kitty Kavanagh, in the
shape of an apron! Mrs. Dermody displayed this apron before his worship,
and told him she could swear to the hemming of it--"because it was very
_confident_ to be seen by any one."

Mr. Dermody offered his evidence; and, being sworn, he said, "Your
_wortchip_, it's true, every word of it, what Mrs. Dermody was after
telling you, for myself was fast asleep in the bed at that same time."

His worship now asked Kitty Kavanagh what she had to say to it; and she
replied, in the richest brogue that ever rolled through the red lips of an
Irishwoman--"It's herself and her husband comed home _bastely_ drunk, your
honour; and her husband _bate_ her, and _kilt_ her your honour; and your
honour sees Mrs. Dermody could not get to the bed by herself any how,
_bekase_ of the liquor that night, your honour; and Mr. Dermody lay down
in the bed by himself, your honour's honour, and Mrs. Dermody lay down in
the coort."

"But what has all this to do with the stolen linen?" asked his worship;
"what have you to say about the piece of linen?"

"Is it the bit o' linen your honour's _spaking_ about?" asked Kitty, with
infinite _naïveté_--"Och! I found that same at the stair-foot when all the
bother was over!"

His worship shook his head, as much as to say he feared Kitty was adding
falsehood to theft.

Her father, the watchman, presented himself; and having expatiated upon
the excellent _carackter_ himself and his daughter had hitherto borne in
the world he next attacked the reputation of the Dermodys; which he said
was all that was "bad and _bastely_;" and then he called two witnesses,
who would tell his honour "all the rights of it."

His witnesses came forward; they were Patrick Doole and Michael Sullivan.
But all that _Misther_ Doole could prove was the drunkenness of the
Dermodys on the day of the robbery; and Mr. Sullivan had nothing to say to
it at all, only that Kitty Kavanagh was a nice young _cratur_, and her
father was just like her for all the world.

This was of course all nothing in the face of the fact so distinctly sworn
to, and the prisoner was committed for trial.--So the interesting Kitty
Kavanagh was sent to gaol, and perhaps lost her character for ever, for a
bit of old calico, not worth sixpence.


Mons. Gaspard Jacques Hercule Flament, a French gentleman with one
eye--"_dégraisseur extraordinaire_ to the British public;" was brought
before the magistrate to show cause why he should not be committed to
prison for neglecting to maintain his wife in that style of elegance and
comfort to which she was entitled--or rather, for neglecting her
maintenance altogether.

The lady, Mrs. Flament, was a pretty, little, black-eyed, sprightly
Englishwoman; who, "by some odd whim or other," as she said, fell in love
with, and married Mr. Flament, about six years ago. But they never could
agree very well; and after five years of connubial misery, they determined
to separate--Mr. Flament undertaking to allow her a separate maintenance
of ten shillings a-week; with which she was very well content, as she had
"a good comfortable mother to fly to." Mr. Flament, however, was not a man
of his word; for, though he paid the ten shillings a-week pretty regularly
at the outset of their separation, he afterwards reduced it to seven, and
latterly to three. This, she humbly submitted to the magistrate, was an
income upon which no lady could exist; and, as Mr. Flament was the very
best _scourer_ at that moment out of Paris, she did hope his worship would
compel him to make her a more suitable allowance.

Mr. Flament could speak no English, and so he was attended by a "professor
of languages" in a military cloak; and this professor took great pains to
convince the magistrate that Mr. Flament was a very poor man, and that
Mrs. Flament was a very naughty woman. "She has robbed her husband three
times," said the professor,--"shut him up in _de prisonne_ vonce, and made
_seex_, seven hondred _grands faux pas_!--Monsieur Flament had better
broke de best of his two leg, dan marry such hussey! hussey! as madame his

Mrs. Flament was about to recriminate, but the magistrate prevented her,
by observing that, whatever faults she might have, she was the defendant's
wife; and by the laws of this country, he was bound to support her. The
only question, therefore, was, what sum should be fixed upon; and he
thought _seven_ shillings a-week would be an equitable allowance.

The professor said Mr. Flament would sooner quit the country than pay any
such sum.

"Will he?" said the magistrate, "but I will take care he does not; for
unless something is agreed upon before he leaves this office, I will
commit him to prison; and then we shall see how he will manage to leave
the country."

The professor asked ten thousand pardons for offending his worship; and
begged to observe that madame could earn seventeen shillings a-week for
herself, by her own hands.

Madame replied, that it was _hat binding_ to which the professor alluded;
but she was sorry to say, she was not so far _accomplished_ in it at
present, as to be able to earn half that money.

After some further conversation, it was agreed that _six_ shillings a-week
should be the stipulated allowance; but then the parish must be

The professor said there was not the least danger that Mons. Flament would
run away--

"Then why did you threaten that he would?" asked the magistrate.

"I did not mean, Sare, that he should leave the country--the England,"
replied the professor, "only this town, Sare--that he should go
out--into--the country, is all what I mean."

The magistrate observed, that it was not the custom in this country to say
one thing and mean another--

"Vera true--your worship," replied the smiling professor with a low
bow--"but John Bull say many things he does not mean, for all that."

His worship smiled also, and did not take the trouble of refuting the
slander; and the matter ended in the professor and another friend of Mons.
Flament becoming sureties to the parish on his behalf.


Mr. Peter Twig--a venerable, rosy-gilled Greenwich pensioner, was charged
with having created a great riot and disturbance in and about the attic
residence of Mrs. Margaret Muggins; and with having threatened to beat the
said Margaret Muggins to a mummy, under pretence of being _in love_ with

It appeared that Mrs. Muggins--having lost her husband, and being short of
money and one leg, was some time an inmate of the parish workhouse; and
there she was first seen by Mr. Peter Twig, who no sooner saw her than he
felt he was a lost old man, unless he could make Mrs. Muggins his own. He
therefore determined to get himself admitted an inmate of the
workhouse--for even the walls of a workhouse cannot hold love out; "and
what love can do, that dare love attempt." He succeeded in getting into
the house, and he succeeded in getting into the good graces of Mrs.
Muggins. He told her of the battles in which he had fought--all on the
roaring sea: he spoke to her of land perils, and water perils; of fire,
and smoke, and grape-shot, and the miseries of six-water grog; and he
expatiated on the splinter that knocked off a piece of his nose; and Mrs.
Muggins was moved. "She loved him for the dangers he had seen, and he
loved her"--because, as he said, he couldn't help it. So they eloped
together from the workhouse, and took shelter in a three-pair back,[25]
and there they fostered their venerable loves with gin and jugg'd
jemmies[26] for three entire weeks. But, before the end of the fourth
week, Peter's pension-money, and Mrs. Muggins's love, were all exhausted,
and in spite of his tears and entreaties she left him, and went to reside
with her married daughter. Poor Peter was inconsolable. He tried to drown
his sorrows in max-upon-tick,[27] but it would not do; for his credit was
little, and his sorrows were large, and at length he resolved to move Mrs.
Muggins to pity him by casting himself at her _foot_. But Mrs. Muggins had
a heart as hard as any rock, and she would not see him; and he laid
himself down at the threshold of her apartment, and wished the door at the
devil! So he--

  "Built him a willow cabin at her gate,
  And called upon his love within the house--
  Making the babbling gossip of the air
  Cry out--Meg Muggins!"

And all this gave great offence, not only to Mrs. Muggins and her
daughter, but to all the gossips of the neighbourhood; and they insisted
upon his bundling himself off, and he would not. Then they attempted to
bundle him off themselves, and then he flew into a great rage, and swore
he would beat Mrs. Muggins to a mummy and mollify her heart with his
_fistes_, since he could not soften it with sighs; and then they gave him
into custody of a constable for fear he should do so.

These things having been detailed to the magistrate by the daughter and
neighbours of Mrs. Muggins--for Mrs. Muggins herself was too much alarmed
to appear--his worship asked the forlorn old swain what he had to say to

"Your honour," replied Peter, "I have been desperately ill-used. She--she
knows she has ill-used me: and yet I can't forget she, for the life of me!
When a man's in love, your honour, it's of no use talking to him! They may
punch me and knock me about, but they can't knock the love out of me; and
your honour may send me to quod, but quod won't cure me. What is it I
would not do for _she_?--(_Mrs. Muggins_, he would have said, but Mrs.
Muggins stuck in his--gizzard). What is it I wouldn't do for she? And yet
you see how she uses me. Your honour, I've served my king and country many
a long year, and have seen hard service in all parts of the world, and
have seen many places took by storm, and it's desperate hard to be used a
_thisns_ after all!"

His worship admitted that it was very hard; but as it was evident the lady
was determined not to yield, it behoved him to raise the siege and go into
quiet quarters, for he certainly would not be allowed to take _her_ by

Peter declared he had no intention of taking her by storm; and said if she
would only write him an answer to the letter he had _shoved_ under her
door, he would try to be content.

His accusers undertook that the letter should be answered--if it could be
found; and eventually Peter was discharged, with an admonition to cease
from pestering Mrs. Muggins, on pain of imprisonment.


Mr. John Dunn appeared upon a warrant to answer the complaint of Mrs.
Amelia Groutage.

Mrs. Amelia Groutage is an elderly lady of some sixteen stone or
thereabout, and short in proportion--or, more properly speaking, out of
proportion; for it is a doubt whether her breadth is not nearly equal to
her height. We are thus particular in her admeasurement, because it
materially influenced the decision on her complaint.

She deposed, that upon her going to Mr. Dunn's house to demand payment of
some money he owed her, he took her _round the waist_ with _one_ arm,
whilst he gave her a violent blow on her shoulder with the other, and then
turned her out of door.

The magistrate expressed some doubt whether so small a man as Mr. Dunn
could encircle her waist with _one_ arm; but she assured him it was the
fact; and so Mr. Dunn was called upon for his defence.

Mr. Dunn had such a multitude of words at his command, and used them so
lavishly, that we cannot pretend to give his defence _verbatim_; but we
gathered, that he and Mrs. Groutage lived within seven or eight doors of
each other, and that the account between them is a disputed balance.
Nevertheless, they had lived upon good neighbourly terms with each other
up to last Tuesday night. On that night, Mr. Dunn had a little supper
party at his house, to which Mrs. Groutage was invited, and she came among
the rest. After supper, Mrs. Groutage "got very _glumpish_;" and nobody
could imagine what ailed her, till at last she was rude enough to ask Mr.
Dunn when he meant to pay her what he owed her; and threatened that if he
did not pay her that very moment, she would summon him to Court next
morning. The company were, of course, quite shocked at this sort of
conversation; and Mr. Dunn, determined not to have the harmony of the
evening destroyed in this manner, went quietly behind the angry and
ill-bred Mrs. Groutage, threw _both_ his arms round her waist, fairly
carried her out of the house, and set her down at her own door! This was
the only violence he offered to her; and any injury she had received was
entirely owing to her own kicking and plunging, and clinging to the
door-posts as he carried her along.

[Illustration: A DUN AT SUPPER TIME.]

This statement was confirmed by a host of witnesses, and Mrs. Groutage was


A pair of venerably-bearded Turks, in the full costume of the East,
appeared before the magistrate, attended by one of the porters belonging
to the Home Secretary of State's Office, who informed his worship, that
one of the under secretaries had desired they should be conducted before
him; they having some complaint to make against a member of the University
of Cambridge.

Neither of the Asiatics could speak a syllable of English, but they were
accompanied by a man who offered himself as their interpreter, and who
also called himself a Turk--though he was an exact personification of an
English stage-coachman,--a sturdy, curly-headed, red-faced,
knowing-looking fellow, in topp'd boots, bird's-eye _fogle_, and poodle

To this man one of the strangers talked for nearly a quarter of an hour,
with astonishing volubility, and most redundant gesticulation; and, having
concluded, the man delivered the following narrative--partly in English,
partly in French, partly in Arabic, and partly in a dialect of his own,
composed of all the others:--

The Turks, in the course of their travels, had sojourned some days at
Cambridge; and whilst there had sold about ten pounds worth of their
merchandise to a "_college-man_"--a collegian, whose name and address they
produced. The "college-man" did not pay them for the merchandise; but
promised to be ready with the money on a future day. When the day arrived,
however, he was "gone somewhere away," and they could not find him. Some
days more elapsed before he made himself visible; and then another day of
payment was appointed; but when that day came, he was gone away again. In
short, as the interpreter said, he was "always far off, round about in the
countries--sometimes here, and sometimes there, sometimes everywhere, and
sometimes nowhere at all." In all these eccentricities the poor Turks
endeavoured to keep up with him; and urged the chase so warmly, that it
would appear he began at length to grow confoundedly tired of it; and,
hopeless of exhausting their patience by this kind of wild-goose chase, he
hit upon the following queer contrivance to rid himself of their
troublesome presence:--Having apologized for the delay that had occurred,
he appointed to meet them on the following morning at a certain
public-house, about five miles from Cambridge, on the road to London. The
Turks were exact in keeping their appointment, and they had not waited
long before "the college-man" made his appearance. He was accompanied by a
young woman; and he proposed to the Turks that they should escort this
young woman to London and take great care of her, as she was very _dear_
to him, and wait altogether at the White Horse Cellar, Piccadilly, till he
joined them; that he would follow them in a day or two at farthest, and
immediately on his arrival in town he would give them a cheque upon his
banker for the original debt, and the travelling expenses altogether! This
would have been a comical proposition to have made to an Englishman, but
it answered very well with the poor Turks, and they readily agreed to
it--not doubting but he would keep his word when they had a lady in pawn
who was so very "_dear_" to him; and they took their departure for the
metropolis by the first coach that passed; the "college-man" taking a
tender farewell of the lady, and the simple _Mussulmen_ escorting her
along the road with as much care as though they had been conducting some
fair Circassian to the Seraglio of the Grand Seignor! They arrived at the
White Horse Cellar in due course, and waited day after day for the
arrival of "the college-man;" but to their _astonishment_ he never came,
and their patience and faith evaporating together, they at length sought
redress, by applying to the Secretary of State, as above stated.

The magistrate said, it appeared that the collegian, by this unprincipled
trick, had "killed two birds with one stone,"--he had rid himself of his
creditor and his mistress at once. The stratagem, he said, was the more
unprincipled, inasmuch as it was played off upon foreigners, who were
utterly ignorant of the customs of the country, but unfortunately it did
not come within his jurisdiction, and therefore he could render no
assistance. His worship then recommended them to apply to a solicitor; and
the interpreter tried hard to make them understand the nature of a
solicitor, but the strangers only shook their turban'd heads and shrugged
their shoulders in reply; and, so doing, they walked out of the office.


One of the churchwardens of St. Anne's, Soho, appeared in custody before
the magistrate, to answer the complaint of John Brown.

John Brown--or, more courteously speaking, Mr. John Brown--is landlord of
a respectable inn, in Essex, and a jolly landlord he is--plump, unctuous,
and rosy; and being at that time blessed with a fine pair of bloodshot
eyes, his countenance looked as glowingly rubicund as a full-blown
Patagonian peony.

John Brown, it appeared, had a correspondent in London, named B--, who
some time before accepted a bill in his favour, and within a few days,
John Brown had received a letter from a Mr. D., informing him that his
friend Mr. B. would not be able to honour his acceptance, because _Mrs. B.
had eloped_! This was sad news for John Brown. He felt for his friend who
had lost his wife; he felt more for himself, who was likely to lose his
money; and, what with the wife and the money, and the money and the wife,
he was puzzled exceedingly. But he was not the man to sit idly twirling
his thumbs and bothering his brains, when there was a chance of mending
the matter by using his legs; and so, having set his affairs at home in
order, he came bang up at once to London, determined (like King Lear) to
do something--though what he knew not.

In the first place, he called upon Mr. D., for Mr. B. was from
home--roving round the country in search of his faithless spouse, poor
man! John Brown and Mr. D. laid their heads together; and, indeed, John
Brown could not have come more opportunely, for Mr. D. had just got
intelligence that the runagate Mrs. B., and her paramour, Lieutenant H.,
were concealed at No. 19, Carlisle-street, Soho. "Ho! ho!" thought John
Brown to himself, "now I'll do the business genteelly--I'll get poor B.
his wife again--I'll _baste_ the blackguard that took her away, and I'll
get my bill honoured, _all quite regular_." Full of this hope and
expectation, he instantly sallied forth on his way to No. 19,
Carlisle-street, Soho; but, unfortunately, John Brown's memory "lacked
retention"--the number of the house imperceptibly evaporated as he went
along--by the time he reached Carlisle-street, _ten_ of the nineteen had
completely vanished from his recollection, and so he boldly knocked at the
door of No. 9. Now No. 9 was the residence of a most respectable maiden
lady, the daughter of a late magistrate, and of very retired habits. But
what was all that to John Brown? he had as little doubt of his having
mistaken the house as he had of his own existence.

The door was opened by one of the maid-servants, and John Brown, with his
fine flaming physiognomy, strode manfully into the hall. The girl, with
the open door still in her hand, stared after him with surprise.--"Shut
the door, young woman!" said the peremptory John Brown, "shut the door,
young woman, and show me up to the _missis_." "My mistress, Sir!" said the
astonished girl;--"it's impossible--she is not up." "Aye, that won't do
for me," replied John Brown, "I must, and I will see her directly--so show
me up stairs!" The girl became alarmed, and called her fellow-servant;
whilst John Brown continued marching about the hall, wiping the dewy
moisture from his blushing brows, and vociferating aloud, "You baggages!
you know all about it! But I won't be gammoned!--you know the _missis_ is
in bed with Lieutenant H.! But I'll have him out in spite of you!"

At length the two girls together prevailed upon him to moderate his choler
a little, and write a note to their mistress. They furnished him with pen,
ink, and paper, and he set about it lustily; but he wrote and wrote, and
could write nothing to his mind. He threw his coat off, and tried again;
but still it would not do. Then he recollected that he had been bled the
day before, and that the bandage might possibly impede the flow of his
thoughts as well as the motion of his pen. Up goes his shirt sleeve in an
instant; and stretching out his brawny arm, he ordered the girls to
unloose the bandage; but by this time they had no doubt that honest John
Brown was neither more nor less than a madman, and one of them slipped out
of door and requested Mr. N., the churchwarden, who resided immediately
opposite, to come to him. The churchwarden came, just as John Brown had
managed to unroll the bandage from his arm himself, and was taking pen in
hand to have another try at writing. He demanded John Brown's business
there, and John Brown told him all about it without bating an inch. When
he had done, the churchwarden told him he was either mad, or was labouring
under some gross mistake. John Brown was doubly fired at this--his
countenance, from a glowing red, became of a mahogany tint, and he
manifested symptoms of kicking up a row. But the churchwarden was not to
be frightened by "the blustering of a _turkey-cock_;" and so, quietly
grasping John Brown by the arm, he "_walked_ him out of the house;" and
walked him, and walked him along the street, till he had walked him into
the office of the lady's solicitor, in order that he might be dealt with
according to law for his strange intrusion into her house. But the
solicitor happened to be from home, and John Brown was suffered to go at
large; whereupon he repaired to the nearest tavern, took a bumper of
brandy and water to reconglomerate his faculties, and then applied at this
office for a warrant against the churchwarden,--who, as he said, had dared
to walk him out of one house into another.

The magistrate having heard the business from beginning to end, with great
patience, dismissed the warrant, and told John Brown he might think
himself well off that it was no worse.

This is the end of John Brown's adventures, as far as we are acquainted
with them.


Showing how, like John Gilpin, he went further than he intended, and got
safe home again.

_Mr. John Saunders_, a remarkably soft-spoken, mild young man, of demure
carriage, slender proportions, and rather respectable appearance, was
placed at the bar, under a (not very violent) suspicion of having stolen a
horse; but it turned out that the suspicion was groundless, and that
instead of John Saunders stealing the horse, the horse stole John

It appeared that as Mr. Stephen Marchant, of Turnham-green, was riding
quietly homewards from town, between eight and nine o'clock in the
evening, his horse got a pebble in one of his feet, which made him go
lame, and Mr. Marchant alighted to extract it. Whilst he was busied in
this operation, who should come up offering assistance but John Saunders,
with a large white band-box in one hand, and an umbrella in the other. Mr.
Marchant accepted his help with many thanks; and John Saunders, setting
down his band-box in the road, began grubbing away at the unlucky pebble
with the spike of his umbrella, whilst Mr. Marchant held up the foot of
the horse; and he grubbed and grubbed at it, so earnestly, that at last
the spike of the umbrella "broke off as short as a carrot." Well, what was
to be done now? Why Mr. Marchant, thinking he could knock out the pebble
with a large stone, asked John Saunders to hold the horse whilst he looked
for one; and John Saunders readily undertook to do so; but whilst Mr.
Marchant was groping about, in the dark, for the stone, he saw, to his
utter astonishment, John Saunders on the back of the horse, scampering
away towards Kensington as if the deuce was in him--his umbrella tucked
close under his arm, and his great white band-box banging about from side
to side _like mad_, as he said.

Mr. Marchant stood aghast for a moment, and then followed, crying "Stop
thief! Stop thief!" with all his might. Every horseman on the road, the
horse-patrol and many foot passengers, hearing this cry, scampered after
John Saunders with might and main, and the hue and cry sounded far and

  "Stop thief! stop thief!--a highwayman!"
    Not one of them was mute;
  And all and each that passed that way
    Did join in the pursuit.

  And still, as fast as he drew near,
    'Twas wonderful to view
  How in a trice the turnpike men
    Their gates wide open threw.

--Tramp! tramp! away he went, through merry Kensington, down Phillimore
Place, dashing by Holland House, and so away for Hammersmith, with a
continually increasing rabble rout at his heels. But John Saunders gained
upon them at every bound of his steed; he shot through Hammersmith-gate
with the rapidity of lightning, and wheeling round to the left, down
Fulham-lane, he got so far a-head of his pursuers, that they could see
nothing but his great white band-box--as it went bobbing and swinging
from side to side at his back. Down Fulham-lane, however, they followed
him, slap bang!--and on they went, hallooing and hooting, through mud and
through mire, through fog and moonshine, till at last he took a desperate
leap over the fence of a ploughed field; and when the foremost of his
pursuers came up to the gap, even the bobbing of his band-box was
invisible!--In _plain_ terms, he fairly "tipped 'em the double"--he was
vanished; and Mr. Marchant having thus lost his horse, was under the
annoying necessity of--getting home how he could.

On the following morning Mr. Marchant repaired to town on foot, to give
notice of the robbery to the police; and almost the first object that
caught his eye, on getting into Piccadilly, was John Saunders--still
mounted on his Bucephalus, but without either band-box or umbrella. He
stared at John Saunders--John Saunders stared at him; and they gradually
drew near to each other without a word being uttered on either side.
Having conglomerated, John Saunders offered him his horse again--telling
him he had "mounted it by accident," and it ran away with him; that he
wished it at the _dooce_, almost, for taking him so far from home; and
that he was come to town for the sole purpose of advertising in the
_noosepapers_ for its owner. When he had told the astonished Mr. Marchant
all this, he dismounted; gave the bridle rein into Mr. Merchant's hand,
and then produced the manuscript of his intended advertisement. But Mr.
Marchant having no idea of a man's "mounting a horse by _accident_,"
seized John Saunders by the collar, and gave him in charge to one of the
passing patrol, who brought him to this office.

So far was Mr. Marchant's statement of the affair; and, he having
concluded, John Saunders was called upon for his defence.

John Saunders, as we have already stated, was a remarkably mild, quiet
young man; and he told a story--or rather a story was drawn out of him bit
by bit, of which the following is the substance:--He resided with his mama
at Clapham--was himself "brought up in the glass line," (and truly he
seemed as _transparent_ as glass,) but was then out of business. On the
afternoon preceding the night on which he met with Mr. Marchant and his
wicked horse, his _mama_ sent him to her milliner's, at Kensington, to
bring home a bonnet and feathers which she had sent there to be "done up."
He went to Kensington--called upon a friend, who gave him some Scotch
ale--went to the milliner, who put the bonnet and feathers in a large
white band-box, and he was quietly returning home to Clapham with it, when
he fell in with the gentleman, and his horse with a pebble in his foot:
but he wished he never had fallen in with them; for he had been made very
miserable by it. He offered his services to get the pebble out, and
spoiled his umbrella; he undertook to hold the horse while the gentleman
looked for a stone, and the Scotch ale, having got into his head, as he
supposed, induced him to get on the horse's back--quite contrary to his
intention. The horse ran away with him directly--directly contrary to the
way he wished to go--he was hurried along, in a dreadful manner, he knew
not whither, till the horse stopped at Brompton; and then he found that
the large white band-box was worn almost to tatters by its excessive
agitation on horseback, and that one of the feathers of his mother's
bonnet was sadly broken. He then considered within himself that it would
be impossible to find the gentleman to whom the horse belonged that night;
and, having bought a new band-box for his mother's bonnet, he rode home to
Clapham, put the horse in a butcher's stable, gave it some corn, had his
own supper, and went to bed dreadfully tired. In the morning he got up
early, wrote an advertisement about the horse, and was coming to town to
put it in the papers, when he met the gentleman, who was very angry with
him, and gave him into custody.

Mr. Marchant, in reply, said he was inclined to believe his story, but he
thought it right he should be told authoritatively that he was not to play
such pranks with impunity.

The magistrate, therefore, gave John Saunders a suitable admonition, and
dismissed him.


A German mechanic having laid information at this office that a countryman
of his, named Schultz, residing in Green Street, Leicester Square, was
kept in a state of durance, in his own house, by an Englishwoman, who, he
verily believed, had a design both upon his life and property, the
magistrate sent some officers to bring the parties before him.

They accordingly proceeded to the house, but the English lady peremptorily
refused them admission, and it was several hours before they were able to
effect an entrance. At length, however, they brought the parties to the
office in a hackney coach--for the lady was too magnificent to walk, and
the poor old German was so afflicted with paralysis, that he was carried
before the magistrate on the back of one of his countrymen.

He was indeed a miserable object--his limbs utterly useless--his eyes dull
and unnaturally protruding--his beard unshaved--his hair matted with
feathers--and his whole person disgustingly filthy.

The lady, on the contrary, was a fine bouncing woman, of rather handsome
countenance, gaily dressed in a fashionable bonnet and plume, and her fat
white fingers covered with glittering rings. Nevertheless she bodily
professed that she _loved_ the poor emaciated, dirty, paralytic old man;
and she affirmed that all her attentions to him were purely disinterested.
He was exactly in the same state, she said, when she first became
acquainted with him, five years ago--not worth a single sixpence, over
head and ears in debt, half crazy, of filthy habits, lame, old, and
impotent--and yet she _loved_ him--loved him for himself alone. ("Oh! who
doth know the bent of woman's phantasy?" as Master Spenser saith.)

She delivered these _fibs_--for fibs they surely must be--in the short,
quick, _staccato_ manner, perfectly at her ease, and alternately munching
an orange and blowing her nose between every word. She had a solicitor,
too, in attendance upon her--a little wee man, inclining to threescore,
who evidently spent more in hair-powder than in soap; and to him she
appealed at the close of every sentence she uttered--"'Pon my honour it's
true!--there's my solicitor, ask him;" and the solicitor as regularly
bowed his powdered little head in assent.

The wretched old German stated, that this lady came as a lodger to his
house in the first instance, and took every opportunity of attending to
him in his illness; till at length, finding she had ingratiated herself
with him, she proposed to him to make her his wife. This he very
ungallantly declined; and she contented herself with only passing for his
wife, and assuming more than the privileges of one. She turned out his
lodgers, and got creatures of her own in lieu of them. She forbade his
friends and countrymen from coming near him. She pretended they only
wanted to rob him, and prevailed on him to make his will, leaving all his
property to her; and having accomplished this, she confined him in a
little room, fed him scantily, and beat him whenever he remonstrated with
her on her altered conduct. In conclusion, he expressed his thankfulness
that he had been rescued from her tyranny, and implored the magistrate to
protect him from her in future.

The magistrate said he could easily afford protection to his person, but
he wished to protect his property also.

The solicitor here informed his worship, that the complainant had no
property to protect--inasmuch as he had given the lady a bill of sale of
all he possessed, in consideration of a hundred pounds she had lent him at
different times.

This, the wretched old foreigner denied. He declared that she had never
lent him but 13_l._, and even that she forced upon him; that he knew
nothing of any bill of sale, and that she had taken away the lease of his
house, and hid it.

A long desultory altercation ensued, and eventually this disinterested
lady was ordered to find bail for repeatedly assaulting the object of her
love; and not being prepared with any, she was delivered into the custody
of the gaoler, whilst the old man was carried out of the office again on
the back of his countryman.


A poor hunchback'd little printer, whose dreary destinies have driven him
to seek an asylum in St. Clement's workhouse, was brought before the
magistrate, charged on suspicion of being a _resurrection man_.

His accusers, a couple of large-sized watchmen, told the following story;
or rather, a story to the following effect:--In the dead of the night,
"when churchyards yawn, and graves give up their dead," a man came to
these watchmen and told them, he verily believed there were three
resurrection men at work among the graves in the burial-ground adjoining
St. Clement's workhouse--that identical burying-ground which contains all
that is left in this world of the once merry Joe Miller. The watchmen,
having received this intelligence, and trimmed their lanterns, went
straightway to the burial-ground, and clambering over the iron railing,
they searched the whole place, grave by grave, until at last they
found--not three stout resurrection men, with pick-axes and spades; but
one solitary being--the poor hunchbacked unfortunate little pauper printer
above mentioned. He was sitting, all alone, on the top-mast round of a
ladder; which ladder was reared against the window of a house bordering on
the burial-ground; and in that window there was a dim glimmering light;
and, therefore, the watchmen took the moping little man into custody, and
had him away to the watch-house.--For they had heard that bodies had
often been conveyed away from the burial-ground through the windows of
that house, and so out at the front door in St. Clement's-lane, and away
at once to the dissecting-rooms--Guy's Hospital, perchance, or the
cadaverous halls of Blenheim-street. Bodies, now-a-days, as they said,
fetched a big price, and who so likely to be tempted by a big price as a
poor pennyless pauper; _ergo_, the little hunchback printer, being a poor
pennyless pauper, and being at such a time of night in such a place, with
a ladder reared against such a house, offering every facility for such a
purpose, must, no doubt, be concerned in some such deadly doings. And, as
a further proof, if any were wanting, one of the watchmen concluded his
evidence in these remarkable words:--

"Your worships, I have no doubt in the world, that at _some future time_
bodies _have been taken_ through that very house!" Whereupon, Sir RICHARD
observed, that the opinion would have had more weight, if the _tenses_ had
been less confused. It afterwards appeared, however, that _future_ and
_former_ were synonymous terms in this watchman's vocabulary, and so his
opinion became intelligible.

Mr. Minshull now asked the pauper printer what he was doing in the
burial-ground at that time of night; adding, "I am afraid, my friend, you
were there with the intention of stealing dead bodies."

"Not a bit of 'em, your worship--not a bit of 'em," replied the
printer--"Lord bless you, Sir!--it was _beer_, and not _bodies_, that I
was looking for!" He then told his story; from which it appeared that the
master of the workhouse had treated him and the other paupers with a
modicum of beer on the preceding evening in honour of the season, for it
was Christmas-eve; and this small taste stimulating their stomachs for
more, little hunchback undertook to forage for some, after the master
should be gone to bed. Accordingly, when the master was fast asleep,
little hunchback crept down stairs with a subscription of tenpence in one
hand, and "the workhouse can" in the other; and with the assistance of the
lamplighter's ladder he got out of the yard into the burial-ground. He
then pulled the ladder after him, and reared it against a house in which
he saw a light; and, tapping gently at the window, it was opened by a
gentleman in a white nightcap, to whom little hunchback said, "Beg pardon,
Sir! but would you be kind enough to get us half-a-gallon of mild beer, in
this 'ere can?" "The gentleman said he would, and welcome," continued he;
"and God knows, I was sitting on the top of the ladder, waiting for it,
and thinking of nothing in the world but the beer, when the watchmen came
and took me."

The magistrate sent for the master of the workhouse, and the several
persons implicated, and they confirming the poor printer's story, he was
discharged; but Mr. Minshull admonished the master not to let the
lamplighter's ladder be used in the same way again, even though he should
be obliged to carry it into his own bed-chamber.


The following very touching instance of the irresistible force of love was
brought under the notice of the magistrate some time in the winter of the
years 1823 and 1824.

There lives in the Strand--or there did live at the time
above-mentioned--a very respectable young tradesman, whose name has
nothing at all to do with this affair;--let it suffice, that he occupied a
large and lofty house; and being a bachelor, he employed a housekeeper,
whose name was Molly Lowe; and this Molly Lowe is the heroine of our

Molly Lowe, then, is a woman of staid and serious demeanour; plain in her
person, neat in her dress, past forty, and a spinster. For these reasons,
all and sundry, her young master placed implicit confidence in her, and
gave up the entire management of his household affairs to her direction.
In his opinion Molly Lowe was an immaculate matron, and full proof against
every thing--except superfine souchong, with the least drop of brandy in
the world in it. But this opinion of his was a very fallacious
one,--neither man nor woman, be their age and uprightness what it may, can
ever be proof against love. And so it turned out in this instance--

  "For Love, the disturber of high and of low,
  Who shoots at the peasant as well as the beau,"

--let fly a sharp arrow at _Molly Lowe_; and her forty years' frost melted
before the youthful charms of James Wright--a drum-boy in the First or
Grenadier Regiment of Foot Guards, commanded by his Royal Highness the
Duke of York!

The first notice her master received of this change in Molly Lowe's
temperature he received in an anonymous letter, signed "Microscopicus;"
which letter--after lamenting the multitude of sins that spring up
everywhere like mushrooms--from the _button_ to the _broad black flap_,
informed him that Molly Lowe had fallen in love with the little drummer
aforesaid, and earnestly recommended him to nip her iniquity in the bud.
"And you need not take my _ipse dixit_ in the matter at all," continued
the letter of Mr. Microscopicus, "for if you will return home any evening
unexpectedly, you will find _Molly_ and her _moppet_ junketing together on
the contents of your larder."

The master had little faith in this epistle; for, as he said, the thing
was so improbable; and he was half inclined to think that Mr.
Microscopicus was either some meddling methodistical miscreant, or some
discarded lover of Molly's youthful days. But well knowing that nothing is
impossible, and that more unlikely matrons than Molly have been entangled
in the toils of love, he put the epistle in his pocket, and determined to
keep a sharp look-out on Molly's movements in future.

[Illustration: MOLLY LOWE.]

Several days passed without his discovering anything; and he was just
beginning to feel satisfied that Mr. Microscopicus was what he had
supposed him to be, when, one evening, his curiosity was strangely excited
by Molly's absence from her ordinary occupations.--What could be the
meaning of it? Every time she was called, she came down from her bed-room,
instead of up from the kitchen; and every time, she seemed more and more
cross at being "call'd about so." "What _can_ you be doing up stairs so
much, Molly?" said her master. "Nothing," replied Molly. "Then what makes
you go there so often?--What--have--you--got in your head, Molly?" "Lord
bless me, nothing!" was Molly's invariable reply; and at every succeeding
question she grew more waspish than before. But her master was not
satisfied with this simple nothing--he felt quite sure there must be
something wrong. So, calling his shopmen together, he ascended with them
to Molly Lowe's bed-room; and there, to Molly Lowe's confusion, he found
the identical drummer stowed away like Falstaff, in a buck-basket! There
he lay--sword, cap, and belt, complete, coil'd up hilt to point, head to
heel, in the bottom of the buck-basket, and covered over with a mountain
of foul clothes!--"It was a miracle he escaped suffocation!" The
buck-basket stood in a little closet, and they drew him forth from
his----but "comparisons are _odorous_,"--it is enough, that they pulled
him out, set him up on end, and shook him well; and that the master,
turning to Molly Lowe, said "Molly! Molly! I never could have expected
this!" "Bless _me_!" replied Molly Lowe--suffused with deep mahogany
blushes, and bristling about like an angry turkey-cock--"Bless _me_! what
a fuss there is about a bit of a boy!--He's my sister in law's own
cousin, and I sent him up stairs because there were some ladies coming to
look at the first floor; and where was the mighty harm of that?--And I'd
have you to know, Sir, that you use me very ill, Sir!--and I won't bear it
any longer, Sir! and"----And here she took out her handkerchief, held it
to her eyes, and rushed out of the room in hysterics.

The enamoured drummer seemed quite dumbfounded by the catastrophe; he
attempted no defence; and, as Molly's master was by no means satisfied
with her matronly account of the matter, the poor youth--all reeking from
his hot bed, was handed over to a constable who shut him up for the night
in the cold and comfortless watch-house. Oh! what a miserable Molly must
Molly Lowe have been that night!

In the morning the drummer was brought before the magistrate, to whom all
these matters were related; and the constable added, that the drummer had
confessed to him that he had often been to drink tea and sup with Molly
Lowe; that she was over head-and-ears in love with him; that she had
bought him a watch, with gold chain and seals, and had given him more than
three pounds in money; and that she had assured him she was indeed his
own cousin, by her sister-in-law's side, only seven times removed; but of
that he knew nothing, having never heard of her till she met him one
Sunday evening and asked him to come to tea.

His worship observed, that this was a very _ungallant_ confession--to say
the least of it; and he then asked if Molly was in attendance.

Her master replied that she was not--as he meant to content himself with
discharging her from his service. He was not aware that he had been
actually robbed, either by her or her young admirer; but he had brought
the youth before his worship, because he thought he deserved some
punishment for his impudent intrusion.

The magistrate said, he thought Molly was the most deserving of
punishment; but he asked the poor lad what he had to say to it.

He replied, that Mrs. Lowe asked him to come to see her, and he went; that
she was very kind to him, and gave him tea and things up stairs; and that
he was very glad when they came and pulled him out of the dirty clothes,
for he had been under them more than two hours.

His worship ordered that notice of his situation should be sent to his
regiment; and in the evening he was delivered into the custody of the
_drum-corporal_, who attended to receive him. And thus ended the amour of
Molly Lowe.



Of all the miseries, or vices, which are daily brought to this office for
relief or correction, there are none that give the magistrates more
trouble than the miseries of matrimony--and the trouble is the more
painful, inasmuch as, in nine cases out of ten, it never leads to any
satisfactory result. Scarcely a day passes without some connubial
_devilry_, or other, being submitted to their judgment either by man or
woman--members of the married public of this metropolis; and in almost
every case their prayer is, total separation--a comfort which a magistrate
has it not in his power to bestow. It is only your wealthy couples who can
shake off their fetters--the needy ones must wear them for life.

A weary Benedict of this latter class--a large middle-aged man, of
lachrymose physiognomy, respectful demeanour, and decent attire, presented
himself before the magistrate, one gloomy December morning, to request
some relief from his wedded woes. He had waited more than two hours among
the crowd at the lower end of the office, whilst the ordinary business was
going on without manifesting the slightest impatience; and when the hurry
and bustle was over, he sedately approached the table, and told the
magistrate, in a confidential under-tone, that he wished to consult him on
a subject of the utmost importance--

"Speak out, Sir!" said the magistrate, "I am ready to hear you."

"Your worship, I am a _married man_," began the applicant--compressing his
lips to keep down a rebellious sigh, which thereupon forced its way
through his nostrils--rushing-ly indignant at his attempt to confine
it--"I am a _married man_, your worship!"

"Well, Sir, and what of that?" said his worship.--"So much the better for
you, if you have a good wife."

"Ah, Sir!" ejaculated the poor man, "I have been married eighteen
years--and eighteen years of unmixed misery they have been to me! I
thought to have lived in paradise, as it were; but I could not have been
more miserable if I had lived in--the _other_ place!"

He paused--sighed again--and then, taking out a ragged pocket
handkerchief, he stood silently wiping his forehead until the magistrate
roused him from his reverie by saying, "My good friend, I am very sorry
for you, but what would you have _me_ do?"

"I don't know, Sir," he replied, despondingly, "but I was told I could get
some relief by applying here."

"If you wish to get divorced, I cannot do that for you," rejoined his
worship:--"we should have little time for any thing else, I fear, if we
could divorce all the unhappy couples who apply to us!"

"I have no doubt of it," said the man--"no doubt in the world of it! But,
your worship, I don't wish to put my wife away so as to disgrace her. I
would allow her a comfortable maintenance, if she would only leave me in

"That you must agree upon between yourselves," observed the magistrate--"I
cannot assist you in the negotiation, nor can I interfere at all between
you, unless she has committed some breach of the peace--Has she struck
you? or are you afraid she should attempt to take away your life?"

"I don't know whether she means to take away my life, or not," replied
he, "but she is eternally beating me whenever she is tipsy; and that is
almost every day!"

"Then why do you let her drink?"

"Ah! your worship, it's fine talking! I have long discontinued keeping
anything drinkable in the house, except water and milk, and what is the
consequence?--Why that my head is continually covered with bumps and
bruises; and my chairs, tables, linen, and looking glasses, are daily
converted into _gin_!"

"My good friend," said his worship, somewhat impatient of the subject--"my
good friend, I really cannot do anything for you. You married her 'for
better or for worse, to have and to hold until death shall you part,' and
you must bear your misfortune as well as you can. I repeat,
I--can--do--nothing for you."

"Then I am a very miserable man!" ejaculated the poor fellow, and turning
from the table he heaved another sigh, so piteous and profound, that the
discharge did seem to stretch his care-stuffed breast almost to bursting.


An elderly goldsmith of rather choleric temperament, though well to do in
the world, was brought before the magistrate on a warrant, wherein he was
charged with having perpetrated an assault and battery on the person of
one Mr. John Carpue, a student in tailory, or "a tailor's apprentice," as
the ancients used to say. And this was the manner of it:--

The goldsmith was indebted to a celebrated professor of tailory in the
vicinity of Bond-street, for sundry exquisitely-cut garments, furnished to
him as per order. This account had been kept open so long, that latterly,
it had become "somewhat musty"--just as a jar of any other _preserves_
would do if kept open too long; and therefore the professor sent one of
his junior students to the goldsmith, requesting it might be closed--in
_plain_ terms, he wished to have the "tippery" for his "toggery." The
goldsmith took the request angrily; and instead of sending the junior
student back with the money in his pocket, he sent him back with "a flea
in his ear." The professor thought this conduct extremely rude and
ungoldsmithlike; and after two or three days' cogitation he sent his
_senior_ student, Mr. John Carpue, with a more peremptory message. The
senior student went, saw the goldsmith, delivered the professor's message,
and paused for a reply. The goldsmith lowered angrily upon him, as he had
done upon the other, and ejaculated something about "confounded coxcombs."
The tailor "saw his anger rise--his glowing cheeks and ardent eyes," but,
instead of succumbing to his choler, he stood his ground firmly; and
boldly repeated his message with a few aggravatory flourishes of his own;
whereupon, the goldsmith, not having the fear of the Quarter Sessions
before his eyes, seized the tailor-student by his cutting-arm, and ejected
him from the room; at the same time endeavouring to shut the door upon
him. "I ar'n't to be bundled off without the money in this manner,"
exclaimed the student. "If you don't go along, I'll break your neck
downstairs!" exclaimed the goldsmith. The tailor contumaciously set his
back against the door to prevent its closing; the goldsmith tried with all
his might to close it; the tailor squeaked out his anger; the goldsmith
grunted out his indignation; the door creaked and strained between them;
and in all probability it would have been forced off its hinges, and,
perhaps, totally spoiled for ever, if the goldsmith had not, with great
presence of mind, popped his fist through the opening, right into the
tailor's masticatory apparatus. The tailor fell; the door was closed; the
goldsmith returned quietly to his seat; and then the tailor--having
gathered himself up, and shrieked a parting malediction through the
key-hole--went back to Bond-street, quite discomfited.

This was the assault and battery complained of; and the goldsmith, in his
defence, said the tailor refused to leave his house when he told him, and
upon his attempting to show him the door, the young _buckramite_ rudely
seized him by the collar; which rudeness he returned of course.

The magistrate held the assault justifiable under such circumstances, and
so the poor "student in tailory" was non-_suited_.


One Bob Jenkinson, the son of an honest law-writer--

  "A youth condemn'd his father's soul to cross,
  Who _picks a pocket_ when he should _engross_!"

--was charged with having taken unto himself property to which he had no
right or title whatever--to wit, a _barrister's wig_.

It appeared by the evidence, that Bob Jenkinson--hopeful Bob, his friends
call him; was prowling about Temple Bar in the dead of the night, seeking
something for his "pickers and stealers" to do. Presently he was aware of
a solitary gentleman approaching the Bar from the city side; and instantly
concealed himself in the shade of the archway, he determined to try his
luck upon him. The gentleman, so approaching, was a barrister, residing in
the Pump-court of the Temple; and he came slowly, and soberly on--wrapped
(probably) in professional meditations, little thinking danger was so near
him. As he passed through the archway, Bob Jenkinson popp'd from his
hiding-place, crept softly after him on tip-toe, slided his hand smoothly
into his right-hand coat-pocket, and drew forth--a _wig_! Like _Filch_ in
the opera--he dipp'd for a _fogle_ and prigg'd a _wig_! It was not a
forensic wig, but a scratch wig, _à la Titus_--one that any closely
cropped gentleman might carry in his pocket to clap on occasionally, when
sitting in a theatre, or any other place where currents of cold air
prevail. Small as it was, however, the barrister felt it depart. He put
his hand to his pocket and found it wigless; and there, close by his side,
stood Bob Jenkinson with the wig in his hand--wig-struck, as it were; for
had the prize been a bandana, or a snuff-box, or any _ordinary_
pocket-property, Bob would have bolted with it _instanter_. "What do you
mean by that--you scoundrel?" said the barrister. Bob dropped the wig; the
barrister took it up; and having re-pocketed it he deliberately gave
unlucky Bob in charge to the watch.

Robert had not a word to say in his defence, and the magistrate committed
him for trial.


One Mr. Peter Muttlebury, a personage with the exterior of a hackney
coachman, of the _down_-est cut, but who called himself "a _Brummyjum_
out-rider," was brought before the magistrate one snowy morning, charged
with having _borrowed_, with intent to _steal_, an eight guinea inlaid
gold and silver snuff-box, with its contents, viz., almost half an ounce
of high-dried Irish, from a Mr. William Wilkins--a very small gentleman in
a very large cloak, worn military-wise--after the present highly
picturesque fashion, which makes a man-milliner look as magnificent as a

It appears that Mr. William Wilkins, having been out on Friday
night--spending his evening, as it is called--repaired at five o'clock in
the morning to Rowbotham's "_final finish_," in James-street,
Covent-garden, just by way of finishing himself. He found the saloons full
of good company. There were assembled the Marquis of Paramatta, Viscount
Toongab, the celebrated Lord Mops, from Cheapside, Sir Francis
Fogleshifter, Sir Sidney Cove, Mr. Gluckman the bass singer, Mr. Phelim
O'Toole the strong-backed Knight of the Knot, and Mrs. Judith M'Craw,
Dunstable Charlotte, Peg Protheroe, Kitty Parenthesis, Sally Succinct, and
many other fair nymphs of the piazza. There was singing and drinking
_galore_--"We are the lads," and hot elder wine, and coffee of the best,
went merrily round; Mr. Gluckman, and Dunstable Charlotte, and my Lord
Mops, "roused the _morning lark_ in a catch;" and old Father Time, with
his companion old Winter, in the _lily-white benjamin_,[28] were held in
utter scorn by every body. Mr. William Wilkins enjoyed the fun vastly; in
token whereof he handed round his high-dried Irish to the ladies and
gentlemen liberally; and then sat himself down to half a pint of smoking
hot elder-wine among a select company of ladies in one of the side
saloons. Presently came the "Brummyjum outrider" to him, with a low bow,
and a "Mr. Gluckman, will be obliged to you, Sir, for another pinch of
your high-dried." "With infinite pleasure," replied Mr. William Wilkins,
handing over his eight guinea snuff-box to the Brummyjum out-rider. Mr.
William Wilkins then finished his smoking hot elder, and repaired to the
general company again--not doubting but his snuff-box was safe with Mr.
Gluckman; but, to his utter astonishment, neither Mr. Gluckman, nor my
Lord Mops, nor the Marquis, nor the Viscount, nor any of the ladies, knew
any thing about it. Mr. Gluckman declared he had never sent for it; nobody
knew the "Brummyjum outrider," nor could he be found; Mr. William Wilkins
said it was uncommon improper, and every body ought to be searched; my
Lord Mops said "the _highdear_ of such a thing was cursed _low_;" the
ladies voted Mr. William Wilkins a bore; and Mr. William Wilkins walked
away, _cleaned out_ and completely _finished_. He wandered to this office,
and communicated his woes to the patrol in waiting; and in two or three
hours thereafter they succeeded in apprehending the "Brummyjum outrider,"
but no snuff-box could they find upon him.

The Brummyjum outrider, in his defence before the magistrate, persisted in
saying that Mr. Gluckman asked him to borrow the box, and having borrowed
it, he delivered it to Mr. Gluckman; and what became of it afterwards he
knew not.

The magistrate said he had little doubt but he obtained possession of it
with a felonious intent, and committed him for further examination, in
order that Mr. Gluckman might come forward to explain, or deny, the part
it was alleged he had taken in the transaction; but eventually the matter
was arranged among themselves without any impeachment of Mr. Gluckman's
character, and the "Brummyjum outrider" was discharged.


Mr. Phelim O'Callaghan appeared before the magistrate to show cause why he
should not be charged with having stolen Mr. Pat Crawley's mule.

Mr. Pat Crawley, according to his own account, was "a Scotchman, born of
Irish parents in the Saut-market o'Glasgow." They, dying, left him a
pedlar's pack and a brown donkey; and, ever since, he has followed the
profession of _Autolycus_--a frequenter of fairs, wakes, and wassellings,
and a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. Latterly he has travelled in
this manner from the Salt-market in Glasgow quite down to Penzance in
Cornwall; gather gear as he went, and increasing his worldly goods at
every village by the way. At Penzance he sold his donkey and bought a
mule; and, travelling on towards London, he arrived at the house of Mr.
Phelim O'Callaghan, in Buckeridge-street, St. Giles's. Now Mr. Phelim
O'Callaghan being his seventh cousin by the mother's side, he thought he
and his mule would be perfectly safe under his roof; and the more
especially as Mr. Phelim O'Callaghan expressed great joy at the sight of
him. So Mr. Pat Crawley put his mule in Mr. Phelim O'Callaghan's little
stable at the back of his place--rubbed it down; supped it up; and then
went out to enjoy himself with a mutchkin o' whiskey at the Change-house
fornent the corner. At the Change-house he found the ingle bleezing
finely, and the whiskey o' the best, and the gude wife unco sonsie, and so
many of his mother's cousins came in to see him, that mutchkin followed
after mutchkin till they reemed in his noddle a bit; and at the last o't
he gang'd to his bed, at Mr. Phelim O'Callaghan's, with a black eye and an
empty purse--having lost seven good gowden sovereigns he didna ken how! In
the morning he got up at break o' day, thinking to saddle his mule and
gang his ways fra the town; but the mule was gone, and no one ken'd where!

The magistrate condoled with him on his loss, and recommended him to be
more careful of his property in future; and then asked Mr. Phelim
O'Callaghan what had become of the mule?

"Yer honour's axing me about the mule," replied Mr. Phelim O'Callaghan,
"an I knows nothing about her at all--barrin Pat Crawley put her in the
stable himself along with the _dunkies_."

"The _dunkies_! what do you mean by dunkies?" asked his worship.

"Them are little bits o' things--little bits o' mules--dunkies, your
honour, as carries the cabbages and purraters about; and I told him, says
I, Pat Crawley, says I, de'il a bit of a lock there is to it--that's the
door, your honour: an Pat, says I, buy your own lock, says I, or her'll be
off may be; and he woudn't, your honour, and so she was--"

"Was what?"

"_Off_, your honour, sure enough--that's the mule, your honour, bad luck
to her!"

One of the patrole said he had been called in by Mr. Pat Crawley, upon the
discovery of his loss, and he had examined Mr. O'Callaghan's premises in
consequence; and as there was no other way from the stable but through Mr.
O'Callaghan's _house_, he was of opinion that the mule could not have been
taken away without Mr. O'Callaghan's connivance.

Mr. O'Callaghan declared he knew nothing whatever of it, and his worship
might have a six months' _carrakter_ of him any day in the week.

His worship, however, told Mr. O'Callaghan that he must either find the
mule or remain in custody; and he left the office under the surveillance
of the officer and Mr. Pat Crawley himself. They adjourned to a
neighbouring public house, whence Mr. O'Callaghan despatched a messenger
of his own to St. Giles's, and in two hours after the mule was brought
down to the office and safely re-delivered to Mr. Pat Crawley--and
thereupon Mr. Phelim O'Callaghan was discharged; upon which he
exclaimed--"Bad luck to the mule for _getting_ out of _that_! and long
life to your honour for _letting_ me out of _this_!"


This was a matter of assault, battery, riot, and false imprisonment,
between Theodosius Todd, Esq. and Mr. John Cutmore. Mr. Theodosius Todd is
a gentleman, it is said, of considerable property; rather diminutive in
stature, and very fond of cold boiled ham. Mr. John Cutmore is a vender of
cold boiled ham, and many other good things, at a large house near Temple
Bar--a house well known to many a kitchenless bachelor. Mr. Theodosius
Todd having complained to the magistrate that he had been violently
assaulted by Mr. John Cutmore, the magistrate granted his warrant to bring
Mr. Cutmore before him, when Mr. Cutmore pleaded _justifiable collaring_,
and thereupon issue was joined.

It appeared by the evidence for the prosecution, that on a certain day
named, Mr. Todd sent his servant boy, from his chambers in the Temple, to
the shop of Mr. Cutmore, for a quarter of a pound of cold boiled
ham--fully intending to take the said ham for a lunch in the form of a
sandwich, between slices of bread, or bread and butter, as the case might
be. He, moreover, instructed his servant boy to bring ham of the very best
quality, and he made no stipulation whatever with regard to price. In due
time the boy returned with a quarter of a pound of ham; but it was by no
means of such quality, or complexion, as Mr. Todd had anticipated; and he
therefore sent it back again, with a request, either that it should be
exchanged for some of a better quality, or the money returned forthwith.
In answer to this very reasonable request, Mr. Cutmore sent word that Mr.
Todd did not know good ham when he saw it, and he should neither exchange
it nor return the money. Mr. Todd sent the boy a second time, and a second
time Mr. Cutmore returned the same contumacious answer. By this time the
ham began to exude copiously through the smoky fly-spotted bit of paper in
which it was wrapped, and Mr. Todd felt very much annoyed at the
predicament in which he found himself--as any man naturally would do under
the circumstances. There was lunch-time sliding rapidly away unsatisfied;
and there was the ham melting away as rapidly; and there was the boy with
his time wasted, and the yellow unctuous juices of the ham dripping from
between his fingers; and there was money uselessly expended; and there was
the unprovoked contumely of the ham-monger to be endured--forming
altogether such a concatenation of provocatives as is rarely to be met
with. And in this light Mr. Todd viewed the matter. So he wrapped up the
greasy cause of all these miseries in a clean half-sheet of foolscap, and
slipping it carefully into the breast pocket of his surtout, he set out
for the ham-shop, determined to seek redress by stratagem, since it was
not to be had otherwise, and at the same time procure something fit for a
lunch, without incurring further expense. With this determination he went
into the shop, where, it seems, he was quite unknown, and pointing to a
beautiful and nicely-corned buttock of beef which stood on the counter,
he quietly desired Mr. Cutmore to cut him a quarter of a pound of it in
nice thin slices for a sandwich. Mr. Cutmore did as he was desired--he cut
the beef in delicate slices, fit for the mouth of a princess, and wrapping
them up in a clean piece of paper, he laid them down before Mr. Todd,
rubbed his hands, and waited smilingly for the money.

"Thank you, Sir," said the wily Mr. Todd, coolly thrusting the packet of
cold beef into his breast pocket, and at the same time throwing the
sweating packet of ham upon the counter,--"thank you, Sir! and there is
your nasty _dab_ of ham in exchange for it!" And having so said, he
stalked out of the shop, buttoning up his coat (to keep his beef safe),
and exulting in the success of his stratagem. Mr. Cutmore stood aghast for
a moment; and then, all hot as his own mustard, he sprung over the
counter, rushed into the street--with the powder flying from his hair at
every step, and his snow-white apron streaming in the wind--caught Mr.
Todd just as he was popping through Temple-bar, seized him by the collar,
and, without uttering a word, began dragging him back towards his shop,
and at every step giving him a shake, just as a thorough-bred terrier
shakes a half-expiring rat when it feebly resists his violence. The
scuffle soon created a crowd, and some took one side, some the other; but
the cook was too much for the Templar--he pulled him by main force into
his shop, and kept him shut up in his larder till he paid the uttermost

This was the case for the prosecution.

Mr. Cutmore, in his defence, began by expatiating on the superior
excellence of his ham in general, and on the slices sent to the
complainant in particular. He had the honour, he said, of serving many
gentlemen in the Temple exclusively with ham; and it was a well-known
fact, that there were no better judges in existence. Mr. Todd's servant
brought him word that the ham was _mighty_ (mite-y), and he returned him
for answer, that he did not know what he meant by the word. The fact was,
that the ham was as good as ever was cut, and Mr. Todd knew nothing about
the article. He was ready to admit that Mr. Todd's statement was generally
correct, but he conceived he was justified in treating him as he had done,
inasmuch as he had carried off his beef without paying for it; and as to
the ham pretended to be given in exchange for it, whether the said ham was
good or bad, there was nothing to prove to him that it was bought at his

The magistrate thought Mr. Todd's _ruse de boeuf_ a very derogatory
proceeding for a Templar; but as Mr. Cutmore had perhaps used more
violence than was absolutely necessary in seeking redress, he recommended
them to retire, and compromise their differences without further expense
and exposure.

Mr. Todd expressed his readiness to treat; but the angry cook refused his
overtures with indignation, and the matter ended in his being bound in his
own recognizance for his appearance at the Sessions, to answer any
complaint that might be preferred against him.


A linen-draper was brought before the magistrate charged with having
assaulted an Israelitish damsel--one Miss Rebecca Myers.

The fair Rebecca (fair for one of her nation, though evidently not much
addicted to the use of soap) stated with many tears, and a faltering
voice, that she went into the defendant's shop to purchase some trifling
articles; and because she objected to the price of some of them, he
knocked her down with a roll of calico! When she said "knocked her down,"
she meant he gave her such a blow as _would_ have knocked her down if she
had not stood firm; and not content with this, he jumped over the
counter, and putting his great paws on her shoulders, he shook her till
her head seemed ready to drop off at the top joint, and her brains were
addled for an hour after.

The magistrate expressed his surprise that a _linendraper_ should treat a
lady so boisterously; and asked him what he had to say for himself.

The linendraper--who, by the bye, had nothing at all linen-draperish in
his appearance, but on the contrary had an aspect remarkably stern and
solemn--replied, by stating many little vexations which he had suffered
from Miss Rebecca--such, for instance, as ordering him to cut off a
quantity of calico, and then refusing to have it--"haggling" customers, of
her sort, were more trouble than a little; and enough to ruffle any man's
temper; but as to what she had said about the knocking her down, and _all
that_, it was a mere tissue of falsehoods. The very head and front of his
offending, was "_frisking_" the calico at her, and threatening to send for
a constable when she became abusive--"for abusive she was"--said he--"very
abusive, though she looks so demure now."

The magistrate said he did not understand the word _frisking_ as applied
in this case, and ordered the ungallant linendraper to find bail for his
appearance at the sessions.


A sturdy, squalid little fellow, calling himself Timothy Blunt, was
brought before the magistrate under the following circumstances:--

The landlord of a public-house in the neighbourhood of Temple Bar, deposed
that the prisoner, Timothy Blunt, came into his house that morning, as he
was busy serving his customers, and staring in his face for about a
minute, addressed him with a--"I say, Mister!--I werrily believes as that
ere's a _counterband bandanny_ as you've got round your neck--and as I'm a
_necksizeman_, I shall seize it!"--And he instantly did so--to the utter
dismay of mine host. "Show me your authority!" cried the almost strangled
landlord; but he cried in vain--Timothy Blunt scorned to parley; and
tearing off the bandanna, he was walking away with it in triumph, when
mine host bethought himself "that it was a rummish sort of a _go_;" and,
by the assistance of his customers, gave Timothy Blunt in charge to a

Timothy Blunt, in his defence, assured their worships that he was "a real
_bony fidy_ excise officer; and that things were gotten to sich a pitch
throughout the nation in the smuggling of _bandannies_, that he and his
brother _off'sirs_ had strict orders to seize them wheresoever they
lighted upon them--whether in pocket or on neck."

"Let me see your authority," said the magistrate.

"I knows of no law to obleege me to show it," said the sententious
Timothy.--"I seizes the bandannies for the king and his _revenny_, and if
I'm wrong, why let the king look to it. Besides, that ere authority cost
me a matter of five pounds nineteen shillings; and I should be a fool to
put it in _jipperdy_ by showing it to every man what asks for it!"

The magistrate immediately committed him to take his trial for _stealing_
the bandanna; but nevertheless he marched off to gaol upon excellent terms
with himself.


Henry Newberry, a lad, only thirteen years old, and _Edward Chidley_, aged
seventeen, were full committed for trial, charged with stealing a silver
tea-pot from the house of a gentleman, in Grosvenor Place. There was
nothing extraordinary in the circumstances of the robbery.--Young Newberry
was observed to go down into the area of the house, whilst his companion
kept watch, and they were caught endeavouring to conceal the tea-pot under
some rubbish in the Five-fields, Chelsea; but the case was made
peculiarly interesting by the unsophisticated distress of Newberry's

The poor old man, who it seems had been a soldier, and was at this time a
journeyman paviour, refused at first to believe that his son had committed
the crime imputed to him, and was very clamorous against the witnesses;
but as their evidence proceeded, he himself appeared to become gradually
convinced. He listened with intense anxiety to the various details; and
when they were finished, he fixed his eyes in silence, for a second or
two, upon his son, and turning to the magistrate, with his eyes swimming
in tears, he exclaimed--

"I have carried him many a score miles on my knapsack, your honour!"


There was something so deeply pathetic in the tone with which this fond
reminiscence was uttered by the old soldier, that every person present,
even the very gaoler himself, was affected by it. "I have carried him many
score miles on my knapsack, your honour," repeated the poor fellow, whilst
he brushed away the tears from his cheek with his rough unwashed hand,
"but it's all over now!--He has _done_--and--so have I!"

The magistrate asked him something of his story. He said he had formerly
driven a stage-coach, in the north of Ireland, and had a small share in
the proprietorship of the coach. In this time of his prosperity he married
a young woman with a little property, but he failed in business, and,
after enduring many troubles, he enlisted as a private soldier in the
18th, or Royal Irish Regiment of Foot, and went on foreign service, taking
with him his wife and four children--Henry (the prisoner) being his second
son, and his "darling pride." At the end of nine years he was discharged,
in this country, without a pension, or a friend in the world; and coming
to London, he, with some trouble, got employed as a paviour, by "the
gentlemen who manage the streets at Mary-la-bonne." "Two years ago, your
honour," he continued, "my poor wife was wearied out with the world, and
she deceased from me, and I was left alone with the children; and every
night after I had done work I washed their faces, and put them to bed,
and washed their little bits o'things, and hanged them o' the line to dry,
myself--for I'd no money, your honour, and so I could not have a
housekeeper to do for them, you know. But, your honour, I was as happy as
I well could be, considering my wife was deceased from me, till some bad
people came to live at the back of us; and they were always striving to
get Henry amongst them, and I was terribly afraid something bad would come
of it, as it was but poorly I could do for him; and so I'd made up my mind
to take all my children to Ireland.--If he had only held up another week,
your honour, we should have gone, and he would have been saved. But

[Illustration: A DISTRESSED FATHER.]

Here the poor man looked at his boy again, and wept; and when the
magistrate endeavoured to console him by observing that his son would sail
for Botany Bay, and probably do well there; he replied somewhat
impatiently,--"Aye, it's fine talking, your worship; I pray to the great
God he may never sail any where, unless he sails with _me_ to Ireland?"
and then, after a moment's thought, he asked, in the humblest tone
imaginable, "Doesn't your honour think a little bit of a petition might
help him?"

The magistrate replied, it possibly might; and added, "If you attend his
trial at the Old Bailey, and plead for him as eloquently in word and
action as you have done here, I think it would help him still more."

"Aye, but then _you_ won't be there, I suppose, will you?" asked the poor
fellow, with that familiarity which is in some degree sanctioned by
extreme distress; and when his worship replied that he certainly should
not be present, he immediately rejoined, "Then--what's the use of it!
There will be nobody there who knows _me_; and what _strangers_ will
listen to a poor old broken-hearted fellow, who can't speak for crying?"

The prisoners were now removed from the bar to be conducted to prison, and
his son, who had wept incessantly all the time, called wildly to him,
"Father! Father!" as if he expected that his father could snatch him out
of the iron grasp of the law. But the old man remained rivetted, as it
were, to the spot on which he stood with his eyes fixed on the lad until
the door had closed upon him; and then putting on his hat, unconscious
where he was, and crushing it down over his brows, he began wandering
round the room in a state of stupor. The officers in waiting reminded him
that he should not wear his hat in the presence of the magistrate, and he
instantly removed it; but he still seemed lost to every thing around him,
and, though one or two gentlemen present put money into his bands, he
heeded it not, but slowly sauntered out of the office, apparently reckless
of every thing[29].


Mr. Daniel Sullivan, of Tottenham-court-road, green-grocer, fruiterer,
coal and potato-merchant, salt fish and Irish pork-monger, was brought
before the magistrate on a peace-warrant issued at the suit of his wife,
Mrs. Mary Sullivan.

Mrs. Sullivan is an Englishwoman, who, according to her own account,
married Mr. Sullivan for love, and has been "blessed with many children by
him." But nevertheless, she appeared before the magistrate with her face
all scratched and bruised, from the eyes downward to the very tip of her
chin; all which scratches and bruises, she said, were the handiwork of her

The unfortunate Mary, it appeared, married Mr. Sullivan about seven years
ago; at which time he was as polite a young Irishman as ever handled a
potato on this side Channel;--he had every thing snug and comfortable
about him, and his purse and his person taken together were quite
_ondeniable_. She, herself, was a young woman genteelly brought
up--abounding in friends, and acquaintance, and silk gowns; with three
good bonnets always in use, and black velvet shoes to correspond; welcome
wherever she went, whether to dinner, tea, or supper, and made much of by
everybody. St. Giles's bells rang merrily at their wedding; a fine fat leg
of mutton and capers, plenty of pickled salmon, three ample dishes of salt
fish and potatoes, with pies, pudding, and porter of the best, were set
forth for the bridal supper; all the most considerablest families in
Dyott-street and Church-lane were invited, and everything promised a world
of happiness--and, for five whole years, they were happy. She loved--as
Lord Byron would say, "She lov'd and was belov'd; she ador'd and she was
worshipped;" but Mr. Sullivan was too much like the hero of his Lordship's
tale--his affections could not "hold the bent;" and the sixth year had
scarcely commenced when poor Mary discovered that she had "outlived his
liking." From that time to the present he had treated her continually with
the greatest cruelty; and, at last, when by this means he had reduced her
from a comely young person to a mere handful of a poor creature, he beat
her, and turned her out of doors!

This was Mrs. Sullivan's story; and she told it with such pathos, that all
who heard it pitied her--except her husband.

It was now Mr. Sullivan's turn to speak. Whilst his wife was speaking, he
had stood with his back towards her, his arms folded across his breast to
keep down his choler, biting his lips, and staring at the blank wall; but,
the moment she ceased, he abruptly turned round and, curiously enough,
asked the magistrate whether _Misthress_ Sullivan had done _spaking_?

"She has," replied his worship; "but suppose you ask her whether she has
anything more to say."

"I sholl, Sir!" exclaimed the angry Mr. Sullivan.--"Misthress Sullivan,
had you any more of it to say?"

Mrs. Sullivan raised her eyes to the ceiling, clasped her hands together,
and was silent.

"Very well, then," continued he--"will I get lave to spake, your honour?"

His honour nodded permission, and Mr. Sullivan immediately began a
defence, to which it is impossible to do justice; so exuberantly did he
suit the action to the word, and the word to the action. "Och! your
honour, there is something the matter with me!" he began; at the same time
putting two of his fingers perpendicularly over his forehead to intimate
that Mrs. Sullivan had played him false. He then went into a long story
about a "_Misther Burke_" who lodged in his house, and had taken the
liberty of assisting him in his conjugal duties, "without any lave from
_him_ at all." It was one night in _partickler_, he said, that he himself
went to bed betimes in the little back parlour, quite entirely sick with
the head-ache. _Misther_ Burke was out from home; and when the shop was
shut up, Mrs. Sullivan went out too: but he didn't much care for that,
_ounly_ he thought she might as well have staid at home, and so he
couldn't go to sleep for thinking of it. "Well, at one o'clock in the
morning," he continued, lowering his voice into a sort of loud whisper;
"at one o'clock in the morning, Misther Burke lets himself in with the key
that he had, and goes up to bed--and I thought nothing at all; but
presently I hears something come, tap, tap, tap, at the street door. The
minute after, down comes Misther Burke, and opens the door, and sure it
was Mary--Misthress Sullivan that _is_, more's the pity--and devil a bit
she came to see after me in the little back parlour at all, but upstairs
she goes after Misther Burke.--'Och!' says I, 'but there's something the
mather with me this night!'--and I got up with the night-cap o' th' head
o' me, and went into the shop to see for a knife, but I couldn't get one
by no manes. So I creeps upstairs, step by step, step by step, (here Mr.
Sullivan walked on tip-toe all across the office, to show the magistrate
how quietly he went up the stairs,) and when I gets to the top, I sees
'em--by the _gash_ (gas) coming through the chink in the windy-curtains--I
sees 'em; and 'Och! Misthress Sullivan!' says he; and 'Och! Misther
Burke!' says she--and 'Och botheration!' says I to myself, 'and what will
I do now?'" We cannot follow Mr. Sullivan any further in the _detail_ of
his melancholy affair; it is sufficient that he saw enough to convince him
that he was dishonoured; that by some accident or other, he disturbed the
guilty pair, whereupon Mrs. Sullivan crept under Mr. Burke's bed, to hide
herself; that Mr. Sullivan rushed into the room and dragged her from under
the bed, by her "wicked leg;" and that he felt about the round table in
the corner, where Mr. Burke kept his bread and cheese, in the hope of
finding a _knife_.

"And what would you have done with it if you had found it?" asked his

"Is it what I would have done with it, your honour asks?" exclaimed Mr.
Sullivan, almost choked with rage--"Is it what I would have done with
it!--ounly that I'd have _dagged_ it into the heart of 'em at that same
time!" As he said this, he threw himself into an attitude of wild
desperation, and made a tremendous lunge, as if in the very act of

To make short of a long story, he did not find the knife, Mr. Burke
barricadoed himself in his room, and Mr. Sullivan turned his wife out of

The magistrate ordered him to find bail to keep the peace towards his wife
and all the king's subjects, and told him if his wife was indeed what he
had represented her to be, he must seek some less violent mode of
separation than the _knife_.


Henry Walters, a tailor, was brought up from St. Martin's watch-house, to
answer the complaint of Mr. Thomas Thompson, who is a tailor too--that is
to say, they are two tailors; Mr. Thompson, the master, and Mr. Walters,
the man--or, to speak more proverbially, the _servant_.

Mr. Walters lodges on Mr. Thomas Thompson's premises, near
Leicester-square, and at two o'clock in the morning, Mr. Thomas Thompson,
being then fast asleep in bed with his wife, was awoke by some person on
his side of the bed, leaning over him, and saying--"Be quiet;--can't you?"
At the same moment Mrs. Thompson screamed, and said, "Tom Thompson,
there's a strange man in the room!"--"What the devil do you want here?"
exclaimed Mr. Tom Thompson--valorously jumping out of bed, and seizing the
strange man by the collar. To which the strange man replied, by giving Mr.
Tom Thompson a thump on the eye, and unseaming his shirt from top to
bottom! This was strange treatment in one's own bed-room! But Mr. Tom
Thompson kept his hold, Mrs. Thompson alarmed the lodgers, the lodgers
called the watch, the watch came (with as much speed as they could,) and
when they held their lanterns to the strange man's face--who should it be
but this identical Mr. Walters! He had not "a word to throw at a dog," as
one of the witnesses shrewdly remarked; and therefore he was at once
consigned to the care of the watchman, who _bundled_ him away to the
watch-house. Mr. Tom Thompson added, that his wife was so much alarmed at
the circumstance, she was quite unable to attend this examination; but
that she had told him she was awoke by some one squeezing her hand
tenderly, and saying, as aforesaid, "Be quiet--can't you?"

Mr. Walters was now called upon for his defence. But first it may be as
well to say something of his person. He was young--say five-and-twenty;
short in stature; by no means _fat_; parenthesis-legged; brush-cropped;
nutmeg complexion; unvaccinated; scarlet-trimmed eyes; an Ashantee nose;
and a mouth capacious enough to admit the biggest Battersea cabbage that
ever was boiled--

  "A combination and a form indeed,
  Where _everything_ did seem to set its seal,
  To give the world _assurance_ of a tailor!"

We have been thus particular in describing the person of Mr. Walters, in
order to show that he had no business whatever to be meddling with Mrs.
Thompson, or with any other lady.

And now for his defence:--"Please your worship, Sir," said he, "I have
lodged in Mr. Thomas Thompson's house just one month next _Toosday_
week--I _think_ it's _Toosday_; but howsomever, that's neither here nor
there. I'm a young man from the country, your worship; a tailor _by
trade_; and so is Mr. Thomas Thompson--only he's a _master_, and I'm a
_man_! (His worship smiled.) Last night, your worship, Sir, I met a _foo_
friends, and when I went home I had a great deal of trouble to open the
street door--("No doubt of it," observed his worship)--and somehow or
other, when I got in, instead of getting into my own room, I got into the
yard: it's a sort of timber-yard: and there I was, poking about among the
timber, please your worship--I'm sure for a good long hour, and I couldn't
find my road out of it for the life of me!--and at last I found myself in
Mr. Thomas Thompson's bed-room; but I'll be hanged if ever I touched his
wife, or struck him; and I'll give you my honour that I did not go there

His worship had no faith in the _honour_ of Mr. Walters, and he was
ordered to find bail for the assault, in default whereof he was handed
over to the gaoler.


James Green, alias _Jemmy Green_, a short, squat, spherical-phizzed,
poodle-pated, seedy subject--between a buck and a bumpkin, said to be the
identical hero of the Moncriefian, Adelphian, Tom and Jerry-extinguishing,
nondescript gallimaufry, yclep'd "_Jemmy Green_ in France;" and Launcelot
Snodgrass, were brought up from the almost bottomless pit of St. Clement's
watch-house, charged with sundry midnight disorders in an alamode
beef-house; and also with an outrageous assault upon Edmund Speering,
Esq., of New Inn, and divers other persons--subjects of our Sovereign Lord
the King.

It appeared by the evidence of the said Edmund Speering, Esq., that as he
was passing through Clare-court, between one and two o'clock in the
morning, he heard a great row and uproar in Thomas's alamode
beef-shop--the shrill voices of women in distress, and the hoarse clamour
of numerous throats masculine. Hearing this, he looked towards the said
shop, and saw through the beef-besteamed windows and the salads three or
four men, and as many women, in personal conflict with each other; and,
like a true knight, he rushed into the midst of the affray, demanding of
the distressed damsels whether or not they wished to be rid of their
unmanly opponents? They answered in a joint and corporate voice--"Oh! yes,
we do!" Whereupon the said Edmund seized one fellow by the nape of the
neck, and another by the waistband of his breeches, and with pith and
power propelled them from the premises. This accomplished, he turned to
seize the others; when _Jemmy Green_, who appeared to be the most violent
among them, seized the said Edmund by the collar, and strenuously
endeavoured to floor him; but it would not do--Jemmy Green was out-done
both in length and strength, and was compelled to give way before the
superior pith of his adversary; and just as Jemmy was flung headlong from
the door, Launcelot Gobbo--we beg his pardon, Launcelot Snodgrass, struck
the conquering Edmund a blow on the back of his head with an umbrella, and
laid him horizontally on the floor. But Edmund rebounded to the
perpendicular in an instant, and was preparing to renew the combat, when
the watch came up, and Jemmy and Launcelot were both carried off to the
watch-house as contemners of the public peace.

The magistrate asked how this disgraceful uproar began.

The landlady, and her barmaid, and Nicholas the waiter, all gave evidence
on that part of the subject; and it appeared, by their account, that Jemmy
Green, Launcelot Snodgrass, and two other gentlemen, came in late, and
full of gin, and ate alamode beef in such quantities, that at length the
spicery of the beef, the gin, and the beer, concocting together, produced
a fume which got the better of what little sense they carried about them,
and made them all agog for what "the Fancy" calls a "_spree_." In this
state they rushed into the privacy of the bar, upset the salads, insulted
the mistress, milled the waiter, and demolished the barmaid's head gear.
It was at this juncture the above-mentioned Edmund came to their relief;
and the barmaid swore positively that Launcelot not only knocked down the
said Edmund with his umbrella as aforesaid, but that he also "knocked her
down up a-top of him," and how she got off again she did not know.

The accused were called upon for their defence; and Jemmy Green made the
first essay; but, unfortunately for him, the fumes of the commingled gin
and hot-spiced beef had not entirely evaporated--his brain seemed clogged
with beefy vapour, notwithstanding the unctuous dews which distilled
copiously from his forehead, and he found it impossible to make any
defence at all. So he was ordered to find bail for his appearance at the
Sessions, and he waddled out of the office under the superintendence of
the turnkey.

Launcelot then addressed himself to speak; and to the astonishment of all
the witnesses, he smilingly denied--firstly, that he had ever been in the
house at all; and secondly, that he ever in the whole course of his life
carried an umbrella--_ergo_, he could neither have been there, nor could
he have knocked the said Edmund down with an umbrella, as falsely alleged
by Mary Mulready, the barmaid. He admitted having witnessed the affair
from the court; and that, though prudence "bade him budge, he budged
not"--like his prototype, honest _Gobbo_, he scorned running with his
heels, and so he remained looking on, till he was seized by a watchman and
conveyed to durance.

In proof of this, he called a gentleman, his friend, who was present with
him; and this gentleman said, "every word, what Mr. Launcelot Snodgrass
speaks, is true as possible."

But this worthy witness, unluckily for Launcelot, admitted that he himself
was very drunk at the time, and also that he had an umbrella in his hand;
and the magistrate--being of opinion that Launcelot might have _borrowed_
this umbrella for the purpose of knocking down the aforesaid Edmund
Speering, believed all that the witnesses had said, and ordered Master
Launcelot to find bail also. Whereupon he was handed over to the turnkey,
who instantly locked him up with his friend Jemmy Green.


Mr. Nathan Nathan, a slender, shapely, shewily-clad Israelite--"a tall
fellow of his hands," but having only "a younger brother's having in that
ancient Jewish indispensable--a beard;" thereby seeming to signify that he
was, as yet, scarcely arrived at years of discretion, was brought up among
a squad[30] of disorderly Christians from Covent-garden watch-house, and
charged with having created a disturbance in Drury-lane theatre on the
preceding night; and also with having assaulted Jemmy Lennam--time out of
mind, Old Drury's little-wigg'd, big, old watchman.

It appeared by the testimony of the aforesaid Jemmy Lennam, that after the
performances were over, "and the company had well nigh all departed
dacently to their beds," this Mr. Nathan Nathan came into the hall,
"brim-full of the cratur, and _coming the gentleman_ over the folks,
according to the present blackguard fashion;" that is to say, by
manifesting a supreme contempt for the _genteel_, insulting the women and
making as much noise as he could, just to show that he considered himself
quite _at home_ anywhere and everywhere. So much for generalities, as
Jemmy Lennam said; and then for particularities, he pretended to be
_mighty swate_ upon every modest woman that came out, obstructed the free
passage of the company, mocked the servants when they called the coaches,
put the said servants upon a wrong scent, and out-roared the loudest
link-boys in bellowing "coach _on_-hired!" Jemmy Lennam bore all this with
a not-very-easily-suppressed indignation; and at last, when he could bear
it no longer, he "just took a civil twist of the young gentleman's
cravat," and handed him over to some of the patrol; but as he was doing
this, he received "two hard strokes on the right cheek-bone from the fist
of him."

This was the substance of Jemmy Lennam's charge, and the patrol bore him
out in it as far as they were concerned in the matter.

Mr. Nathan Nathan, in his defence, declared upon his honour, that Jemmy
Lennam was the first aggressor--by refusing to let him wait in the hall
for "the party of ladies and gentlemen to whom he _belonged_!" and by
calling him "a Jew pickpocket!" and he appealed to the "gentlemen of the
patrol," whether he did not place himself under their protection from
Jemmy Lennam's _wiolence_.

"The gentlemen of the patrol" said they heard a great noise in the hall,
and going to see what it was about, they found Jemmy Lennam's fist locked
in Mr. Nathan Nathan's collar, and Mr. Nathan Nathan's fist working away
at Jemmy Lennam's face--and that was all they had to say in the business.

So Mr. Nathan Nathan was ordered to find bail, and a pair of
Holywell-street vendors of seedy[31] apparel became his sureties.


Mrs. Winifred Welldone, widow, of Monmouth-street, Seven Dials, was
charged with having assaulted Mrs. Mary Wolf of the same place, spinster.

Mrs. Wolf, as her name would seem to signify, is bony and gaunt, and
grim--a lady of most voracious aspect, and much more like an assault_er_
than an assault_ee_. But the proverb saith--"judge not by outward
appearances--they too often prove deceitful;" and they did so in this
case; for Mrs. Welldone was so overdone with fat--so round, so soft, so
puffy, and so short withal, that nobody would have supposed her capable of
bruising even a pound of butter; and yet she contrived to give Mrs. Wolf a
black eye! How she had reached so high as the eye of Mrs. Wolf, was matter
of wonder to everybody; for she was by no means well made for jumping, and
Mrs. Wolf was nearly double her height.

It appeared by the evidence adduced on both sides, that Mrs. Welldone
occupies a house in Monmouth-street--that far-famed street which is
sometimes, though _maliciously_, yclep'd "_Rag_-fair." Here she carries on
a thriving trade in the "_translating_ line,"--that is to say, she employs
sundry ingenious craftsmen in translating _old shoes_ into new ones--an
art that will be dignified to all posterity, as being that art by which
the patriot PRESTON procured _bub_ and _grub_[32] for his family. These
shoes, thus translated, or "revivified," Mrs. Welldone sells at a small
profit to those persons, and they are not a few, whose destinies forbid
them to purchase their shoes of the shoe-_maker_. Beneath the shop, or
parlour, in which she carries on this trade, she has two
cellars--_under-ground apartments_ she calls them, and perhaps it is the
_genteeler_ term; and it was these two cellars, or under-ground
apartments, that brought her in contact with Mrs. Wolf. Mrs. Wolf is of a
profession nearly allied to _translating_, only she operates upon gowns,
and petticoats, and "_chemises_," instead of _shoes_.--As Robert Burns
would say,

  "----She--wi' her needle and her shears,
  Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new."

Now it so happened that Mrs. Wolf was in want of a place in which to vend
the garments she thus redeems from the jaws of the paper mill; and
wandering along Monmouth-street, in search of some such place, she saw the
under-ground apartments of Mrs. Welldone. They were to let, she liked them
vastly, and she became Mrs. Welldone's tenant--with an express stipulation
between them that Mrs. Welldone should stick to her _shoes_, and Mrs. Wolf
to her _shifts_, &c.; so that neither of them might at all interfere with
the trade of the other. Mrs. Wolf took possession of the under-ground
apartments that same evening; but it would appear that she had more of the
fox in her composition than the wolf, for she was no sooner safely housed,
or _cellar'd_, than she broke the agreement, by making a grand display of
translated shoes all around the sill of her cellar window. "Is this well
done, Mrs. Wolf?" cried the astonished Mrs. Welldone--"if you don't take
them away this moment, I'll kick them all down upon your false head!" Mrs.
Wolf looked up from her subterranean abode, and grinned defiance--like the
wolf that General Putnam pulled out of the cavern by his tail whilst the
people pulled the General out by his hind leg. Mrs. Welldone repeated her
threat of kicking down the shoes, and Mrs. Wolf grinned again, and told
her she would _ramshackle_[33] her if she did. Then Mrs. Welldone, not
having the fear of _ramshackleing_ before her eyes, swept the shoes into
the cellar-hole upon the false head of Mrs. Wolf, and Mrs. Wolf emerged
from her cavern amidst the cloud of flying shoes, "her soul in arms and
eager for the 'fray." Mrs. Welldone gave back when she saw her, and it was
well she did; for Mrs. Wolf came on like a tigress, as all the witnesses
averred, and they thought it a miracle (_à-la-Hohenlohe_) that she was not
torn to bits at the first rush. Mrs. Welldone, however, was not the woman
to _back out_ of anything--she concentrated her powers--her eyes flashed
like diamonds in dough, Mrs. Wolf closed upon her, they wrestled together
like Death and the Dumpling, and when they were dragged apart by the
bystanders, Mrs. Wolf's right eye was in mourning.

This was all the witnesses could say about the matter, and the magistrate
told Mrs. Welldone, she had done ill in committing the first assault.

"I admit it, your worship," said Mrs. Welldone, "but it was enough to make
any woman mad to have the bread taken out of one's mouth by _stratygim_ in
that manner. _Howsever_, I don't know that I should have minded _that_ so
much if she had not _undersold_ me."

"Sold _under_ you, you mean," said his worship--"If you sold in the
parlour, and she sold in the cellar, she sold under you, of course."

"Aye, _coarse_ enough, your worship, and a coarse piece of goods she
is--look at her which way you will," rejoined Mrs. Welldone. Well versed
as Mrs. Welldone was in mending the _understandings_ of others, she
herself, had not understanding enough to take this pun.

His worship decided that they had both been much to blame; and he ordered
the warrant to be suspended _in terrorem_ over Mrs. Welldone, and
recommended Mrs. Wolf to seek other cellars as soon as possible.


Miss Susanna Smith, a very pretty young woman, attired in the newest
fashion, was brought before the magistrate, on an assault warrant issued
at the suit of one Mr. O'Flinn, a tall, well-dressed, sprightly native of
the Emerald Isle, who had complained to his worship that he had been
grievously assaulted by the said Susanna.

Mr. William O'Flinn, it seems, had a friend, who is the especial
_protector_ of the fair defendant. He went the other night, to deliver a
letter to this friend, at the house in which Susanna resides. His friend
was not at home, but he saw Susanna, and she--totally laying aside the
delicacy of her sex, "and all the rest of it"--gave him one of the most
scurvy receptions imaginable; viz., he was standing in the hall, inquiring
at the landlady for his friend, when suddenly the parlour door opened, and
out rushed Susanna with the velocity of a nine-pounder--"And pray what
would you be after wanting with that gentleman?"--she asked, at the same
time attempting to snatch the letter from Mr. O'Flinn's hand. "It isn't
yourself that the letter is for at all, my jewel," replied Mr. O'Flinn,
slipping the letter into his pocket--"and as for what I want with that
gentleman, you have no right to be asking me the question." "'Faith, we'll
see that," said the lady, and instantly placed her fair back against the
front door, evidently with the intention of cutting off Mr. O'Flinn's
retreat. Well, what was to be done now? It was growing late, and as Mr.
O'Flinn very justly observed, if he was detained there he could not go
elsewhere. So, after trying what remonstrance would do, and finding it had
no effect whatever, he took hold of the fair hand of the lady and
endeavoured to remove her from the door by a little gentle force; but, to
his utter astonishment, she instantly disengaged her hand, and in the
twinkling of an eye, as it were, he received two or three sound boxes on
either ear, and a kick on the abdomen, which for some moments materially
interfered with his faculty of breathing. Astonished that a lady should
_kick_, but nothing daunted, he again advanced to the attack, or,
Corinthianly speaking, to the _scratch_, taking care, this time, to
advance in an attitude of defence--_à-la-Spring_. His caution was
useless, however, for the lady broke through his guard in an instant,
boxed his ears again soundly, or rather _soundingly_, and planted another
kick on his _bowel-case_, with her dexterous little foot, in the self-same
spot as before! This was an extremely awkward bit of business, and Mr.
O'Flinn felt it so. He could not, consistently with his character as a
gentleman, and an Irish gentleman in particular, use greater violence to a
lady; and he might have gone on, as before, till he had not an ear left
for her to box, or a pair of trowsers for her to kick. He, therefore,
declined coming to the _scratch_ again; and contented himself with calling
upon the comely landlady of the dwelling, who all this while had been
quietly holding the candle for them. He peremptorily told her commodious
landladyship, that unless he was instantly suffered to go about his
business, he would consider himself as detained by her connivance, and
have his action against her for false imprisonment accordingly. This
produced the desired effect--the landlady interfered, a parley ensued, and
at last Mr. O'Flinn was liberated.

In support of this statement Mr. O'Flinn called the landlady aforesaid.

The landlady (an immense personage) declared she saw neither kicks nor
slaps. Miss Susanna certainly put her back against the door to prevent Mr.
O'Flinn from going, until she knew what he wanted with her _friend_; and a
sort of scuffle took place in consequence; and that was all she knew about

Here Mr. O'Flinn lifted up his bands and eyes in astonishment; for, as he
said, the landlady held the candle to them all the while, and could not
avoid seeing every bit of it.

The magistrate now asked Miss Susanna what _she_ had to say to it?

The poor girl told a sad tale. She first burst into tears, and for some
seconds was unable to speak. She then spoke of her former respectable and
happy situation in life before she became what she now is--a
kept-mistress. "But," said she, "Mr. ---- has promised to marry me, and I
trust in heaven he will!" Here she wept again, and was proceeding to make
some further general remarks, when the magistrate desired her to confine
herself to the charge of having assaulted Mr. O'Flinn.

She then admitted having prevented Mr. O'Flinn's departure from the house,
and said she was induced to do so, because she verily believed he came
with the intention of injuring her in the opinion of the only friend she
had in the world--Mr. ----, her _protector_. As to the kicking, &c., she
denied it; though not very positively.

She was ordered to find bail for her appearance at the Sessions, and Mr.
O'Flinn said he should certainly prosecute her; but the magistrate told
him he thought it would be better to let such an affair pass over without
further notice.


Mr. Jonas Tunks, a young gentleman in a jacket of divers colours,
well-patched canvas trowsers, no stockings, and shoes curiously contrived
to let in the fresh air at the toes, was brought before the sitting
magistrate, charged, under the Stat. 1 Geo. IV., with wilfully and
maliciously damaging the property of Mrs. Deborah Clutterbuck--the comely
landlady of a public-house in the purlieus of St. Giles's proper.

It appeared by the evidence of Mr. Jonathan Dobbs, an operative
veterinarian (_vulgo_, a journeyman farrier), that Mr. Jonas Tunks, who is
a wandering melodist (_vulgo_, a ballad-singer) by profession, went into
the public-house in question, where Mr. Jonathan Dobbs, and several other
gentlemen, were taking a _déjeûner à-la-fourchette_ of sheep's-head and
pickled cabbage. He entered the room singing, at the very top of his
voice, the favourite _aria_, "Oh, Judy! my darling!" and one of the
gentlemen politely desiring him to shut his potato-trap, and not make such
a noise, he seized a pint of _heavy_ and drank it off to the gentleman's
better manners. The gentleman to whom the _heavy_ belonged, now swore that
Mr. Jonas Tunks should _post the blunt_ for it--that is to say, he should
pay for it. But Mr. Jonas Tunks would do no such thing--"Base is the slave
that pays!" he exclaimed; and immediately called for "a quartern of gin of
three outs," with which he offered to treat--or as a Corinthian would
say,--to "_sluice the ivories_" of the gentlemen present. The gentlemen,
however, would not accept his treat, and "Turn out the blackguard!" was
the universal cry; but Mr. Jonas Tunks was awake to the "_spree_," and
before his enemies could say "Jack Robinson," he capsized three pots of
_heavy_, scattered the pickled cabbage upon the floor, and very nearly
_bolted_ with the better half of a sheep's face! But, unfortunately, just
as he was clearing the threshold of the door, he received the well-shod
foot of the veterinarian in the rear, about seven inches and a half
below the waistband of his trowsers, and the concussion sent him half
across the street, without once touching the pavement! The veterinarian
and his friends, nothing doubting but Jonas was done with, laughed aloud,
and returned into the house; but Jonas was not the man to walk off quietly
under this dishonourable visitation of tanned calfskin, and before their
shout of laughter was over, he had dashed six panes of glass to pieces in
the front window of the house--or, to use a very expressive Eganism he had
_milled the glaze_ gloriously! He was immediately overpowered with
numbers, and handed over to the strong grasp of the Police.

[Illustration: JONAS TUNKS.]

The magistrate having heard the complaint (for the valiant Jonas scorned
to say a word in defence) immediately sentenced him, under the statute
above-mentioned, to pay the value of the glass he had broken--viz.
twenty-five shillings; and in default of so doing, he was consigned to
three months' imprisonment in Bridewell.

Now really this was a very ill-natured prosecution against Mr. Jonas
Tunks; for, after all, what was his offence but a trifling matter of
"_back slum_" Corinthianism?--as the great chronicler of _Life in London_
would phrase it--a mere trifling ebullition of vitality--a slight
manifestation of those lively principles which constitute a true
"Corinthian," whether in Dyott-street or Pall mall.


There was a damsel--one Miss Hannah Maria Juliana Shum, charged by the
books of Covent Garden watch-house, with having robbed a young gentleman
of a golden sovereign. The young gentleman made such a pathetic appeal
against the publication of his name--being, as he said, "a young man just
verging into the affairs of the world," that we shall content ourselves
(and our readers also, we hope) with saying, he was simply a young
gentleman of little person--and that little made the most of, _secundum
artem_; that is to say, the boot-maker had lengthened him at one end, and
the hair-dresser at the other; whilst his tailor had done all, that
padding could do, to increase his bulk longitudinally.

The damsel--Miss Hannah Maria Juliana Shum, was not the purest damsel in
existence perhaps--certainly not the purest in attire; and her face,
pretty as it was, would have been all the prettier for a commodity of soap
and water. But in describing the persons of this rather ill-matched pair,
we shall forget their adventures. They were thus then:--

The young gentleman left his home on the preceding night with the
intention of going to the play, but in his way thither he met Miss Hannah
Maria Juliana Shum. And she looked at him from under her black arched
eye-brow with such a look as he could in no wise resist. Now, since he
could not resist, he should have turned his back and fled; but instead of
flying he stood still, and asked her how she did. She replied, that she
should be very well if she was not so very cold; and sighing deeply, she
added, "Oh! what a delightful thing is a glass of nice hot
brandy-and-water on such a piercing night as this!" Here was a direct
appeal to the young gentleman's generosity, and gallantry, and all that
sort of thing, and everything in the world almost; and he could no more
resist the appeal than he could the sparkling of her jet-black eye. So he
gave her his arm and his heart together, and looking round, he saw the
words "Fine Cognac Brandy, neat as imported," staring him full in the face
from the windows of a tavern, most opportunely opposite. What was to be
said for it? Nothing at all. In his opinion the brandy-and-water was
inevitable, and they went into the tavern and drank a glass; and so
delightful did they find it, that they had another, and another, and
another. But still, as Miss Hannah Maria Juliana Shum poetically

  "The sweetness that pleasure has in it,
  Is always so slow to come forth,"

--that they had another glass or two to help it to come forth faster, and
it did--to such a degree, that the young gentleman took up the song and

  "As onward we journey, how pleasant,
    To pause, and inhabit awhile
  These few _gassy_ spots, like the present,
    That 'mid the dull wilderness smile[34]!"

By-and-by two other ladies, friends of Miss Hannah Maria Juliana Shum's,
dropped in, and the gentleman insisting upon it, they also had some
glasses of hot brandy-and-water, which they also found very delightful. In
short, they were all so jocund, that at length the gentleman made up his
mind to make a night of it:--"But first," said he, "I should like just to
step home and tell them not to sit up for me."--"Tell the devil!"
exclaimed Miss Hannah Maria Juliana Shum--"that's all a _hum_; for if you
goes away you'll not come back again." The gentleman was shocked; but his
love was not shaken, and he pledged his honour that he would return.
"_Honour_ is all my eye," said the gentle Juliana Shum?"--pledge your
_honour_ indeed!--will you pledge a _sovereign_?"--"I will!" said the
gentleman; and he did--for, as we have already stated, he was a _young_
gentleman. The ladies waited his return because they were not remarkably
well able to go, in consequence of the cogniac. How they amused themselves
during his absence did not appear, but when the gentleman returned, he
very _naturally_ expected the return of his sovereign; and the ladies very
_naturally_ knew nothing about it; whereupon the young gentleman's love
exploded, with a bounce; and his love being all gone, he was ungallant
enough to send his once-loved Miss Hannah Maria Juliana Shum, all
brandy-begone as she was, to the watch-house.

During the night, however, he repented himself of his cruelty; and he now
told the magistrate that he did not wish to prosecute her. "I am a young
man," said he, "just verging into the affairs of the world; and a business
of this kind has such an ugly look with it, that I shall be much obliged
to you, Sir, if you will let the lady go, and I am sure she is very
welcome to keep my sovereign."

The gentle Juliana, seeing matters in this comfortable train, ventured to
tender the gentleman his sovereign again, which he as tenderly refused;
and then the magistrate dismissed them both with a rather untender


Mr. Timothy Clancey, landlord of the Robin Hood public-house in Holborn,
appeared before Thomas Halls, Esq., to answer the complaint of Mrs.
Penelope Roebuck; a fine, bouncing, well-dressed dame, fat, fair, and
forty. She had her left eye in deep mourning; and he had as many black
patches on his face as the renowned Munchausen.

"May it please your worship," said Mrs. Penelope Roebuck, wiping her
comely cheeks and bruised eye with a lavender-scented cambric
handkerchief--"May it please your worship, I am Mrs. Roebuck, the wife of
Mr. Roebuck, of Somers Town; and yesterday I walked all the way from
Chelsea, which very much fatigued me, as your worship may suppose; and
being fatigued, I went into Mr. Clancey's, for I had always understood Mr.
Clancey to be a mighty nice sort of a man. 'And pray, Mr. Clancey,' said
I, 'would you have the goodness to make me sixpenn'orth of brandy and
water, warm, with a little sugar in it?' 'No, _mem_,' said he, 'it is not
in my power to make sixpenn'orth of brandy and water--the _dooties_ are so
high; but you may have eightpenn'orth. 'Very well,' says I, 'it's quite
_himmyterul_; make me eightpenn'orth.' With that, your worship, he made me
a very nice glass of brandy and water, and I sat myself down to take it by
little and little; for I'm not a person _what's_ given to take my liquor
by lumps; but I had scarcely wetted my lips, when he took a very improper
liberty--such a liberty, your worship, as I suffers no man to take with
me, be he whomsoever he may; and, 'Mr. Clancey,' says I, 'I shouldn't have
thought of it from such a _fellur_ as you.' I might have said something
else, your worship, but that's neither here nor there; Mr. Clancey,
without saying another word, good, bad, nor indifferent, _had the
goodness_ to come out of his bar, and, turning my two hands behind my
back, he _conducted_ me out of the house, and _had the goodness_ to fling
me down on the hard pavement!--by which _purlite_ behaviour my eye was
blacked, as you see, and my dress, worth at least five pounds, completely

Mr. Timothy Clancey, mine host of the Robin Hood, in his defence, said,
Mrs. Roebuck, whilst drinking her brandy and water, abused his wife so
grossly, that he firmly, but civilly, desired her to leave the house; but
he had no sooner done so, than she flung the goblet, she was drinking
from, in his face. The goblet struck him full on the nose, by which it was
shivered to pieces, and his nose and face sadly cut. In proof of these
premises, he produced the broken goblet, and pointed to the black silk
patches, which almost covered his countenance. "I then, and not till
then," said he, "laid hands upon Mrs. Roebuck, and thrust her out of my
house--and that, I assure your worship, was the only _liberty_ I took with

Mrs. Roebuck did not attempt to rebut this statement, and the warrant was


This was a proceeding _in limine_, by which the plaintiff sought
reparation for violence done to his religious scruples and bodily health,
by the act of the defendant; inasmuch as he, the plaintiff, being a _Jew_,
the defendant, on Wednesday, the twelfth of that present December, at
eleven o'clock in the forenoon, in the parish of St. Paul, Covent Garden,
did, with malice afore-thought, knock him down with a _pig's head_,
contrary to the statute, and against the peace of our Sovereign Lord the
King, his crown and dignity.

Both plaintiff and defendant pleaded each for himself; no counsel being
retained on either side.

Ephraim Ephraim deposed, that he was by profession an orange merchant,
carrying on his business in Covent-garden Market; that the defendant,
Richard Stewart, was a dealer in pork and poultry in the said Market; and
that he, the said Richard Stewart, on the day and hour above stated, did
thrust a "_pig's face_" against his cheek with such violence, as to throw
him backwards into a chest of oranges, whereby he sustained great damage
both in mind, body, and merchandise. Plaintiff stated, moreover, that he
had previously, and on sundry occasions, forewarned the said Richard that
it was contrary to the tenets of his religion to come in contact with
pork; and yet, nevertheless, the said Richard did frequently, and from
time to time, obtrude pork upon his attention, by holding it up aloft in
the market, and calling to him--"Ephraim! will you have a mouthful?" All
this, he humbly submitted, betokened great malice and wickedness in the
said Richard, and he therefore besought the magistrate to interpose the
protection of the law in his behalf.

The magistrate observed, that he was astonished a person of Mr. Stewart's
appearance and respectability should be guilty of such conduct; and having
explained to him that the law afforded equal protection to the professors
of every religion, he called upon him for his defence.

[Illustration: PIG WIT.]

"May it please your worship," said Mr. Richard Stewart--an elderly,
well-fed man, of a jolly and pleasant countenance--"May it please your
worship, I keeps a stand in Covent-garden Market, and have done so any
time these ten years; and Mr. Ephraim's stand is next to mine. Now, your
worship, on Wednesday morning I'd a hamper o' pork up out o'
Hertfordshire; and so I opened the hamper; and, at the top on it, lay a
nice head; off of as sweet a pig as ever suck'd; and I takes the head, and
holds it up; and, says I, 'Here's a bootiful head!' says I. 'Did ever any
body see such a handsome un?'--And sure enough, your worship, it was the
most bootiful as ever was; and would have done anybody's heart good to see
it--it was cut so clean off the quarter (drawing his finger slowly and
scientifically across the brawn of his own neck,) and was so short i' the
snout, and as white as a sheet it was, your worship; quite remarkable
handsome. And so I said, says I, 'Look here! Did ever anybody see sich a
picture?' holding it up just in this manner. With that, 'Ah!' says Mr.
Ephraim, says he, 'now my dream's out--I dreamt last night that I saw two
pigs' heads together, and there they are!'--meaning my head and the pig's
head, your worship. Well, I took no notice o' that, but I goes me gently
behind Mr. Ephraim, and slides the pig's head by the side of his head,
claps my own o' the other side--all a-row--with the pig's i' the middle,
your worship; and says I to the folks, says I, 'Now, who'll say which is
the honestest face of the three?' With that, your worship, all the folks
fell a laughing, and I goes myself quietly back again to my stall. But
poor Ephraim fell in such a passion!--Lord! Lord! it were a moral to see
what a pucker he were in!--he danced, and he capered, and he rubbed his
whiskers--though I verily believe the pig's head never touched him--and he
jumped and fidgeted about all as one as if he was mad, till at last he
tumbled into the orange-chest, your worship, of his own accord, as it
were; and that's the long and short of it, your worship, as my neighbours
here can specify."

His worship having listened attentively to these conflicting statements,
decided that the defendant had acted indecently in insulting the
religious feelings of the plaintiff; though, at the same time, the affair
was hardly worth carrying to the sessions, and therefore he would
recommend the plaintiff to be satisfied with an apology.

The defendant expressed the greatest willingness to apologise--"For," says
he, leaning over the table, and sinking his voice to a whisper, "I asked
another Jew what could make Mr. Ephraim in such a passion, and he told me,
your worship, that if you get a rale Jew and rub him with a bit o' pork,
it's the greatest crime as ever was."

Plaintiff and defendant then retired, and the matter was compromised.



Edward Leonard was charged with having assaulted Mary, the wife of Thomas

This was a watch-house charge, and appeared to have originated thus:--Mr.
Leonard lodges in the house of Mr. Reid, and like most of his countrymen
of the like class, he is given to imbibing more beer than his brains will
bear. This seems to have been the case with him on Saturday night, for he
came home at a most unseasonable hour, and because Mr. Reid would not get
up and light a candle for him, he most unconscionably threatened to
fracture his skull, break his back, and put his nose out of joint. Now Mr.
Reid is a quiet, harmless, little man, and, being at that time warm and
comfortable in his bed, he thought it best to lie still and take no
notice. But Mrs. Reid--knowing Ted Leonard's furious propensities, and
fearing he would really attempt to do some one or other of those things he
had mentioned--got up to remonstrate with him; and in so doing she was
rudely pushed about by Ted Leonard, who talked of the liberties he ought
to be allowed as a lodger. The d----l a bit he cared for the whole house
put together, he said; and, if it was not for the trouble of it, he would
make every man and woman in the place fly out of the top of the chimney!
And still he kept calling upon poor Mr. Reid to get up and have his nose
put out of joint; and he made such a tremendous hubbub, not only in the
house, but in the whole neighbourhood, that at last, by common consent, he
was sent off to the watch-house.

The poor woman was either so unwell, or so much agitated, whilst she was
telling this story, that the magistrate ordered her a chair, and Mr. Reid
himself was pale as death with fear! but nevertheless they both said they
had no wish to proceed in the business--all they wanted was to be allowed
to sleep more quietly in future.

As for Teddy Leonard himself, he seemed perfectly at his ease, though he
was in wretched case for so high-spirited a person! His principal garment
had doubtless done good service to at least a dozen proprietors in
succession, his inexpressibles (drab _slacks_) were napless,
grease-spotted, and ventilated at the knees; and he had only one shoe--but
then he had plenty of black eyes, and his large small-pox-indented cheeks
were very handsomely overlaid with a fret-work of scratches.

When Mr. and Mrs. Reid had said all that they had to say, he never
attempted to reply; but stood lounging against the bar, sucking his teeth
and twirling his hat, until the magistrate called upon him for his
defence, and thereupon ensued the following colloquy:--

"What have you to say to all this, Mr. Leonard?"

"Humph, I don't know! they've served me pretty tidy going along, I think,
punching at me with their shilaleghs as they would at a woolsack!"

"Perhaps you did not go along quietly?"

"No, 'faith, I wasn't likely, for I was thinking of going to bed at that
time; and there's no fun in being pulled away to a watch-house when a
man's thinking of going to bed."

"What are you? what is your trade?"

"My trade?--why I'm a tailor--the more's my luck!"

"Please your worship," said one of the watchmen--seemingly quite surprised
at finding he had had so much trouble with a _tailor_--"please your
worship, as we were taking him to the watch-house, he took up his fist and
knocked me down like a bullock!"

"Are you the man that poked your stick in my eye?" said Teddy
Leonard--turning very leisurely to the speaker--"When a watchman had hold
of the two sides of me, each of 'em fast and sure; there was he jumping
before me, and poking his stick at me like a cock sparrow. Och! but I wish
I know'd you when I see'd you this morning!"

"Well, you know him now," said the magistrate.

"Know him!" replied Teddy Leonard--"not I faith, for it's a disgrace to be
after knowing such a consarn; and by the same token, your worship, he, or
some of the rest of 'em, pocketed my shoe that night--and I hav'n't got it
since, but another."

"But how came you to alarm these honest people in the way you have done?"
said the magistrate--"have you a wife of your own?"

"No, indeed--nor like to have; for I'm quite alone, and comfortable."

"Well, then," said his worship, "we must endeavour to make you let other
folks be as comfortable as yourself, by calling upon you to find
securities for your keeping the peace in future."

"Very good, your worship--that's all very right--and I dare say I'll keep
the peace longer nor the peace keeps me," replied comfortable Teddy; and
so saying he followed the jailer to his uncomfortable apartments.


Among the watch-house rubbish brought before the magistrate one morning,
were three of that description of _bipeds_ commonly called "_Lobby
Loungers_," or "Box-Lobby-loungers," or "Half-and-half swells;" that is to
say, half sharp and half flat--half a bottle and half price, half bully
and half boor--in plain terms, idle young men, with empty heads and full
stomachs; who, in all the magnificence of a full pint of cape, strut into
a theatre at half price, and manifest their gentility by swaggering from
box to box, pinching the strumpets, d----g the box-keepers, and annoying
the sensible part of the audience as much as they dare.

Our three prisoners strutted into the box department at the English
Opera-house, on the preceding night, at half price, and _half seas
over_--whether with cape, black strap, or blue ruin, did not appear. Two
of them were _particularly half seas over_, viz.--Mr. Bob Briggs, and Mr.
Simeon Buck;--the other, Mr. Frederic William Diggles, was but so so. They
first addressed themselves to the dress circle, when Mr. Bob Briggs, a
slight-made, half-grown, flaxen-haired youth, instead of waiting for the
box-keeper to open the door of the box in which he wished to make his
_début_, set about kicking it with all his might. What gentleman of spirit
would waste his breath in bawling for a box-keeper, when his own foot,
well applied to the door, must inevitably compel the "spooneys" within to
open it?--And so it turned out; some of the quiet ones within, hearing
such a magnificent thundering, did open it; and Mr. Bob Briggs was just
setting himself to make his _entrée_, room or no room, when one of the
box-keepers came up and assured him the box was full, at the same time
endeavouring to close the door again. "What d'ye mean by that, ye
_rascal_!" cried Mr. Bob Briggs, "is that the way to treat a _gentleman_?"
"Sir," said the box-keeper, "I mean no offence, and if you will walk this
way I will endeavour to find you a seat upstairs." "Up stairs be d----d!"
retorted Mr. Bob Briggs, "I shall go in here, come what come may, as old
what's his name says; so come along, Sim Buck!--_Hiccup._" They instantly
tried to force themselves into the box; the box-keeper and the company
tried to keep them out; the constable was called; and, with some ado, he
prevailed upon them to relinquish their attempt upon that particular box.
But Mr. Constable had scarcely let them go, when the hubbub was renewed;
and turning back, he found they had got the box-keeper up in a corner, and
were trying, as he said, "to squeeze their money out of him;"--for they
had made up their minds to stick to the dress circle, and since there was
no room for them in the dress circle, they insisted upon having their
half-crowns back again--"_so fork out the blunt_, you little rascal!"
There was a great row; the entrance to the lobby was blocked up; the
constable again interfered: Mr. Simeon Buck collared the constable; the
constable collared Mr. Simeon Buck; Mr. Frederic W. Diggles caught hold of
Mr. Simeon Buck's coat tail, and tried to pull him away from the
constable; the constable only held him the faster, determined to send him
to the watch-house; and there was poor Mr. Simeon Buck, see-sawing
backwards and forwards, with the constable pulling away at his neck, and
Mr. Frederic W. Diggles at his tail, for nearly ten minutes; whilst Mr.
Bobby popped about the lobby like a pea upon a tobacco-pipe; squeaking for
help, and wishing all contumacious constables, and "blackguard
box-keepers," at the very _diable_! At length the constable prevailed, and
Mr. Simeon Buck, half-strangled, and sadly damaged in his cravattery, was
led away to the watch-house, followed by Mr. Bob Briggs, and Mr. Frederic
W. Diggles; and there all three were safely stowed away for the night.

When brought before the magistrate, they defended themselves
vigorously--alleging that there was plenty of room in the box they sought
to enter, and that they had done nothing worthy of the misery that had
been inflicted on them.

The magistrate told them he could see plainly how their case stood. They
were young men of great respectability, he had no doubt; but on the night
in question they had taken a little too much wine; and the wine had made
them a little too presuming; and the presumption had excited them to
disorderly conduct; a riot had ensued, assaults had been committed, and by
a very natural consequence, they passed the remainder of the night in the

Messrs. Simeon Buck and Bob Briggs were then ordered to find bail for the
general riot; and Mr. Frederic W. Diggles, for assaulting the constable in
the execution of his duty.


Mrs. O'Reilly, wife of Laurence O'Reilly, "coal and potaty merchant, handy
by _Clear_ market," charged Mr. Ralph Hogan, a comely young man, of
five-and-twenty, with attempting to make her a false woman to her own
lawful married husband!

"And please your magistrate," said Mrs. O'Reilly, "Misther Hogan is a
lodger of ours, and a civilish sort of a jantleman in gineral, and
turncock to the New River Company"--

"Faith that I am, Misthress O'Reilly," responded Mr. Hogan, "any time
these three years--come a fortnight after last St. Patrick's-day!"

"Very good, Misther Hogan; and ye see I wouldn't be telling a lie for the
matter--why should I?" rejoined Mrs. O'Reilly very complacently;--and
then, turning to the magistrate, she proceeded--"And plase your
magistrate, Misther Hogan is a nice civilish sort of a young jantleman as
a body would wish to be spaking to--ounly that time he couldna withstand
_timptation_; and that was last Sathurday, after tay, when my husband
wasn't in the place, and the childer were abed, and I was ironing their
best bits of frocks for the Sunday, plase your magistrate. And Misther
Hogan sat down by the fire mighty quiet--'And what do I owe you, Misthress
O'Reilly,' says he--'for the rint?' says he. 'Just one week of it, Misther
Hogan,' say I, 'for you're a nice man, and always true for the rint, and I
likes to have you for a lodger overmuch.' Och! bad luck to me for saying
that! for Mr. Hogan couldna stand the kind word at all, but must be
flinging out his coortships at me--against both the law and the
gospel--saving your magistrate's presence. 'And what would ye be after,
Misther Hogan?' says I--'Don't you know I'm the mother of my husband's
childer any time these thirteen long years--and himself coming in every
minute may be, Misther Hogan!' says I. 'Gad's blood! Misthress O'Reilly,'
says he, 'to the devil I will pitch him, for myself can't do without ye
any longer at all!' and down on his knees he went to me at that time,
mighty queer; and up he gathers himself again, and comed at me; and I
tried to smooth him down with the hot-iron, but he wouldn't be quiet by no
manes for me; and a noise comed to the door, and I squaled, and the
neighbours comed trembling into the place, and there was an end
on't--plase your magistrate."

Whilst Mrs. O'Reilly was telling her story, Mr. Hogan stood carefully
wiping his hat; and when she had done, the magistrate asked him what he
had to say for himself; at the same time telling him he thought he had
behaved very grossly.

"Devil burn me! your worchip," replied Mr. Hogan--"but I'm just fit to
split for spaking! Och! woman, woman! what is there half?----but my
_honour's_ consarned, your worchip, and I won't--I won't say nothing, come
what will!"

The gallant Turncock persisted in this generous forbearance, and he was
held to bail to answer for the loving assault at the ensuing Sessions.



[1] This was before the passing of the _New Vagrant Act_--

  "When free to follow nature was the mode,
  And tyrant _tread-mills_ had not shackled man."

[2] A tailor, when asked what he is, never replies simply, "I am a
_tailor_;" but, "I am a tailor, by _trade_"--thereby seeming to signify
that he is not a _tailor_ by _nature_.

[3] An _ultra_-napped driving, or box coat.

[4] _Toggery_, from the Roman _toga_.

[5] _Gumption_, strength, either bodily or mental.

[6] _Peel_, to strip, to disrobe.

[7] _Done_, caught, beat.

[8] A dram, a drop of _max_.

[9] _Spouted_--Pawned. The business of the pawnbrokers has so much
increased in London of late years, that they find it necessary to have
extensive ware-rooms at the top of the house; and in order to save the
trouble of running up and down stairs, they have invented a spout of
communication between the ware-rooms and the shop. So that, whenever an
unfortunate takes his unmentionables, or any other article to pledge, the
pawnbroker places them at the bottom of the spout, and "by some cantrip
slight" or other, up the spout they go slap into the ware-rooms in an
instant, where they remain until the day of redemption, and then, up goes
the duplicate ticket, and down comes the unmentionables again.

[10] _The Waits_--Those wandering minstrels, who, on the approach of
Christmas, nightly serenade the sleeping public by license of the king's
sergeant trumpeter.

[11] _Bread-basket_, _dumpling depot_, _victualling office_, _&c._, are
terms given by the "Fancy" to the digestive organ.

[12] Gin.--_Deady_ is, or was, a celebrated distiller of that lively

[13] _Charley_--Corinthianish for _Watchman_.

[14] _Canisters_--Corinthianish for _Heads_.

[15] _Riddled it_--made it full of holes, like a riddle.

[16] _Bilk_, from the Gothic _Bilaican_, to cheat, to defraud.

[17] What a pity it is that the poor gentleman never thought of cutting
his boots away with a knife! But _nemo mortalium, &c._

[18] Something which may be drank in a short time, and yet have a lengthy

[19] A _dodger_ is ginshop-ish for a _dram_.

[20] "This is a _sessionable_ assault; that is to say, an assault worthy
of trial at Quarter Sessions."--_Country Justice._

[21] _Kennedy_--St. Giles's for the _poker_, from a man of that name being
killed by a poker, or a man of that name killing another with that

[22] Query _inured_.

[23] _Gal_--cockney for _girl_.

[24] _Heavy wet_--Porter;--because, the more a man drinks of it, the
heavier he becomes.

[25] A back room on the third floor.

[26] A _jemmy_ is a sheep's head--a favourite dish with those who can get
no other. For _jugg'd_, see Dr. Kitchiner on "jugg'd hare," &c.

[27] _Max-upon-tick_--pronounced, maxapóntic--a very gentleman-like term,
invented by certain learned tailors, signifying _scored gin_--or _gin upon
credit--max_ being cockneyish for gin, and _tick_ being synonymous with
credit, all the world over.


  "Bleak winter wears a _coat_ of snow."
                    _Recit._--Mr. Gluckman.

  "A _lily-white benjamin_--is it not so?"
                    _Air_--Lord Mops.

[29] These lads were tried at the Old Bailey, and being found guilty, they
were sentenced to seven years' transportation,--which sentence was
afterwards commuted to five years' imprisonment in the Millbank

[30] _Squad_--diminutive of _squadron_; applied generally to little
parties, of little sense--as, an awkward squad, a blackguard squad, a
squandering squad, &c.

[31] _Seedy_--a highly fashionable term, applied chiefly to dress. Thus
when a man's coat begins to manifest symptoms of worn-out-ishness, he is
said to look _seedy_--run to seed, and ready for _cutting_; and whenever
this is the case, all his acquaintance cut him as fast as they can, until
he is quite cut down and done with. Holywell-street is a famous mart for
these ripe garments.

[32] _Bub_ and _Grub_--drink and victual--

  --"And we'll broach a tub,
  Of humming bub,
  With lots of hot and chilly grub,
  To welcome you home with a rub a dub dub."
                                        _Old Song._

[33] _Ramshackle_--corrupted from _ramshatter_, to shatter as with a
battering ram.

[34] A resplendent _gas-light_ was just then shedding its radiance over
the happy pair.

*** End of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Mornings at Bow Street - A Selection of the Most Humorous and Entertaining Reports - which Have Appeared in the 'Morning Herald'" ***

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