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 beingin lovewith her.
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." Hesucceeded 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]butit 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 herfoot. 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 airCry 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 hisfistes, 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 it.
"Your honour," replied Peter, "I have been desperatelyill-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 forshe?—(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 athisnsafter 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 takeherbystorm.
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 hadshovedunder her door, he would try to be content.
His accusers undertook that the letter should be answered—if it could be found; and eventually Peterwas 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 herround the waistwithonearm, 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 withonearm; 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 hiscommand, and used them so lavishly, that we cannot pretend to give his defenceverbatim; 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 veryglumpish;" 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, threwbothhis 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.
This statement was confirmed by a host of witnesses, and Mrs. Groutage wasnonsuited.
A DUN AT SUPPER TIME.
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-eyefogle, and poodlebenjamin.
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 inEnglish, 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 meetthem 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 verydearto 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 simpleMussulmenescorting 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, andwaited day after day for the arrival of "the college-man;" but to theirastonishmenthe 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, becauseMrs. 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 ofhis 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'llbastethe 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,tenof 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 opendoor 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 themissis." "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 themissisis 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 hisbrawny 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 aturkey-cock;" and so, quietly grasping John Brown by the arm, he "walkedhim 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 herepaired 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 Saunders!
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 whiteband-box banging about from side to sidelike 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 wide—
"Stop thief! stop thief!—a highwayman!"Not one of them was mute;And all and each that passed that wayDid join in the pursuit.And still, as fast as he drew near,'Twas wonderful to viewHow in a trice the turnpike menTheir 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 wentbobbing 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!—Inplainterms, 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 thedooce, almost, for taking him so far from home; and that he was come to town for the sole purpose ofadvertising in thenoosepapersfor 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 byaccident," 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 astransparentas glass,) but was then out of business. On the afternoon preceding the night on which he met with Mr. Marchant and his wicked horse, hismamasent 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 bonnetand 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, andwas 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 toomagnificent 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 shelovedthe 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 shelovedhim—loved him for himself alone. ("Oh! who doth know the bent of woman's phantasy?" as Master Spenser saith.)
She delivered thesefibs—for fibs they surely must be—in the short, quick,staccatomanner, 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 13l., 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'sworkhouse, was brought before the magistrate, charged on suspicion of being aresurrection 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 heardthat 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 atsome future timebodieshave been takenthrough that very house!" Whereupon, SirRichardobserved, that the opinion would have had more weight, if thetenseshad been less confused. It afterwards appeared, however, thatfutureandformerwere 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 wasbeer, and notbodies, 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 wassitting 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 story.
Molly Lowe, then, is a woman of staid and serious demeanour; plain in her person, neat in her dress, pastforty, 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 atMolly 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 thebuttonto thebroad black flap, informed him that Molly Lowe had fallen in love with the little drummer aforesaid, andearnestly recommended him to nip her iniquity in the bud. "And you need not take myipse dixitin the matter at all," continued the letter of Mr. Microscopicus, "for if you will return home any evening unexpectedly, you will findMollyand hermoppetjunketing 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.
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." "Whatcanyou 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 areodorous,"—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!" "Blessme!" replied Molly Lowe—suffused with deep mahogany blushes, and bristling about like an angry turkey-cock—"Blessme! what a fuss there is about abit 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 wasindeed 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 veryungallantconfession—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 thedrum-corporal, whoattended 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 connubialdevilry, 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-agedman, 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 amarried 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 amarried 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—theotherplace!"
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 havemedo?"
"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 peace."
"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 mylife, 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 intogin!"
"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 withhaving 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 otherpreserveswould do if kept open too long; and therefore the professor sent one of his junior students to the goldsmith, requesting it might be closed—inplainterms, 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 hisseniorstudent, 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 youngbuckramiterudely 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,Whopicks a pocketwhen he shouldengross!"
—was charged with having taken unto himself property to which he had no right or title whatever—to wit, abarrister'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 theshade 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—awig! LikeFilchin the opera—he dipp'd for afogleand prigg'd awig! 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 anyordinarypocket-property, Bob would have bolted with itinstanter. "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 thedown-est cut, but who called himself "aBrummyjumout-rider," was brought before the magistrate one snowy morning, charged with havingborrowed, with intent tosteal, 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 Field-Marshal.
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 SidneyCove, 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 drinkinggalore—"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 themorning larkin a catch;" and old Father Time, with his companion old Winter, in thelily-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 Wilkinsthen 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 "thehighdearof such a thing was cursedlow;" the ladies voted Mr. William Wilkins a bore; and Mr. William Wilkins walked away,cleaned outand completelyfinished. 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 committedhim 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 ofAutolycus—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. PhelimO'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 thedunkies."
"Thedunkies! 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'shouse, 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 ofit, and his worship might have a six months'carrakterof 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 forgettingout ofthat! and long life to your honour forlettingme out ofthis!"