Museum-street, together with a little _night-walker_ were charged by an
Irish watchman with kicking up a great big row and clatter, at
Charing-cross, at half-past twelve o'clock in the morning; and, what was
still worse, with laughing _at_, and using bad words _to_ the said
watchman, when he very civilly told them to "be off of his bate;" and
"moreover and above, with _inching_ it _backert_ in the teeth of him."
"And pray what is '_inching_ it _backert_?'" asked his worship.
"Fait, your honour, an' this it is"--replied honest Mahoney, shuffling his
feet backwards, inch by inch.
His worship observed, that he had never heard the verb "_inching_" used
before, and therefore he had asked for an explanation. "I suppose you
conjugate it '_I inch--thou inchest--he inches_,' don't you, Mr. Mahoney?"
"Your honour knows the rights of every thing," replied Mr. Mahoney; and
the case proceeded.
It appeared that the two lads had obtained leave of their master to go
home for clean linen, and had taken that opportunity of taking a
twelvepenny peep at the wonders of Astley's Amphitheatre; and that, in
their return to their master's house, they were _picked_ up by the little
_night-walker_; that she, being known to Mr. Mahoney as "a noisy
customer," he told her to go off and leave the lads alone; whereupon she
_trated_ Mr. Mahoney with some abuse, and the lads taking her part, they
were all three carried to the watch-house.
The worthy magistrate read them an excellent lesson on the impropriety of
their conduct, and prevailed upon their master to forgive them. This done,
they were discharged; and the lady was sent to Bridewell--she being well
known as most depraved and disorderly.
MR. HUMPHREY BRUMMEL AND TERENCE O'CONNOR.
Mr. Humphrey Brummel, a tall, gaunt old gentleman, of pedagogue-ish
exterior, with each particular hair standing on end, like quills upon the
fretful porcupine, was charged by Mr. Terence O'Connor, a Covent-garden
watchman, with having been _extramely_ disorderly under the _pehazies_
(piazzas) during the night.
The magistrate inquired as to the nature of his disorderliness, and Mr.
Terence O'Connor explained it to be--"_spaching_ to the lads, and
_frullishing_ his stick about like a merry Andrew." It also appeared that
he continued these eccentricities from midnight till four in the morning,
"_clane_ contrary to all sorts of _dacency_;" and therefore Mr. Terence
O'Connor lodged him in the watch-house.
Mr. Humphrey Brummel in his defence said, he took shelter under the Piazza
from the inclemency of the weather: and it was very possible that, whilst
there, he might have endeavoured to cheer the loneliness of the hour by an
audible repetition of some appropriate passages from the poets. But he was
totally unconscious of offence, and he solemnly declared that instead of
"_spaching_ to the lads," he stationed himself in a door-way far apart
from every living soul; and had not Mr. Terence O'Connor been so over
officious, he should have gone quietly to his bed, and his worship would
not have been put to the pain of listening to such a frivolous charge.
"An' please your worship," exclaimed Mr. Terence O'Connor, "he says he's
got a _nact_ of _Parlyment_ in his pocket, what'll lay me by the heels,
an' I hope your worship will make him _prove his words_!"
"I will do my best," replied his worship, smiling, and at the same time
asking Mr. Brummel what Act of Parliament he alluded to.
"Lord love you, sir," replied the tall old man, "I never alluded to any
Act of Parliament; but I did threaten to report him to your worship for
sleeping on his post."
"Is it true, O'Connor, that you really do sleep whilst on duty?" asked his
worship.
"_Ounly_ that time I got no sleep in the day," replied the night guardian,
blushing as intensely as a fresh-washed Munster potato.
"You are both fool and knave, Mr. O'Connor," observed his worship--"a
_knave_ for sleeping when you are paid to keep awake, and a _fool_ for
wantonly bringing this complaint against yourself."
Mr. Humphrey Brummel was then discharged without a fee; and Mr. Terence
O'Connor was dismissed with an assurance that his _watching_ should be
_watched_ in future, and that he should be suspended if caught napping.
CUPID IN CHAMBERS.
A pretty little aquiline-faced, "gazelle-eyed" damsel, was brought in by
one of the St. Clement Danes' constables, charged with creating a riot in
the chambers of Mr. Snuggs, of Clement's Inn.
Master Constable knew nothing of the alleged riot, save and except what
Mr. Snuggs had told him; and so he was ordered to stand aside; but Mr.
Snuggs himself told a long and lamentable story of the sufferings he had
endured from the fair prisoner. He had originally engaged her as a servant
to attend to the domestic department at his chambers; but she took
advantage of his _partiality_ for her services, and made the chambers too
hot to hold him, as it were;--she disturbed his studies by her loquacity;
she lived intemperately; she set him at defiance; she got her relations to
help her to persecute him; and, if he only attempted to remonstrate with
her, she raised the whole neighbourhood about his ears! He concluded by
expressing a hope that his worship would put a stop to her doings.
The magistrate thought there must be something very strange in all this;
for what man of any spirit would suffer the serenity of his chambers and
his mind to be so disturbed by a little gipsy of an Abigail, "when he
himself might his _quietus_ make with a bare _warning_." He therefore put
a question, or two, to Mr. Snuggs, touching the "partiality" he had spoken
of.
Mr. Snuggs replied afar off--somewhat approaching to the obscure; but not
so the fair troubler of his peace and his chambers. She gave his worship
to understand, in good round terms, that she was the veritable _mamma_ of
sundry _little Snuggses_; and that Mr. Snuggs was neither more nor less
than a gay deceiver. She denied that she had ever "kicked up a row" in his
chambers--she had merely told him of his faults and his failings; and she
hoped his worship would not think of separating her from her children.
The magistrate immediately dismissed the charge; the damsel smiled
triumphantly; and Mr. Snuggs, like a tall elderly gentleman as he was,
stalked out of the office, sighing--as who should say, "The Gods are just,
and of our pleasant vices make instruments to scourge us!"
FLORENCE O'SHAUGHNESSY.
This was a proceeding wherein one Mrs. Florence O'Shaughnessy sought
"_purtection behint_ the law _agen_ the thumpings of her _oun_ lawful
husband," Mr. Phelim O'Shaughnessy, of the parish of St. Giles, labourer.
Phelim O'Shaughnessy was a clean-made, curly-pated, good-tempered little
fellow, in a new flannel jacket, white apron, and duck trousers. His wife,
Florence, was about his own size, no whit behind him in cleanliness, very
pretty, and she had a voice--plaintive as a turtledove's.
"--An' plase your honour," said she, "this is Phelim O'Shaughnessy, the
husband to myself, that was when he married me; and is--barring the
_bating_ he gave me yesterday, just for nothing at all, your honour, that
I knows of--_ounly_ that he listens to bad folks, the neighbours of us;
and bad folks they are sure enough, your honour, for that same; and your
honour'll be plased just to do me the kindness to make them _hould_ their
_pace_ and not be after taking away the senses of my _oun_ husband from
me, to make him look upon me like a stranger, your honour--for what would
I be then?"
Poor Florence would have gone on murmuring forth her little griefs in this
manner by the hour together, if his worship would have listened to her.
But the office was crowded with business, and he reminded her that the
warrant she had sued for, charged her husband with having beat her; and
she must confine herself to making good that charge, if she wished to have
him punished for so doing.
"Your honour," said Florence, with a low courtesy, "it isn't myself that
would hurt a hair of the head of him; _ounly_ that your honour would hear
the rights of it, and tell Phelim he shouldn't be after _bating_ me for
the likes of them. And here he is to the fore, your honour, for that
same."
The magistrate found it would be vain to think of hearing "the rights of
it" from Florence; and therefore he asked Phelim what he had to say to it.
Now Phelim was a man of few words. He had listened calmly to all Florence
had been saying, and it was not till the magistrate had twice put the
question to him, that he left off smoothing his dusty hat, and then,
looking steadfastly in his worship's face, he replied, "Och! it's all
about the threepence ha'penny, your honour. It was Saturday night when I
gave her every farthing of the wages I earned that week--and so I does
every Saturday night, come when it may, your honour--and when I ax'd her
on Monday morning to give me threepence ha'penny, to get me a pint of beer
and the little loaf, _bekase_ I was going to a long job in the city, and
didn't know what time I'd be back to my _oun_ place, she wouldn't give it
me any how, your honour; and sure I did give her a clout or two."
"But you would not do so again, I am sure, Phelim," observed his worship.
"You should remember that she is your wife, whom you have vowed to protect
and cherish; and besides, you know it is disgraceful in any man to strike
a woman--especially in an _Irishman_. You must give me your solemn
promise, Phelim, that you will not strike her again."
"Sure I'd be a _baste_ if I _whopp'd_ her again, your honour," replied
Phelim, "when I just thought of a _skame_ to do without it.--It's _ounly_
keeping the threepence ha'penny in my _oun_ pocket, your honour, and I'll
have no occasion to _bate_ it out of her at all."
The bystanders laughed at this _skame_ of Phelim's, and even the
magistrate smiled, as he good-humouredly told Florence, that, though he
believed her to be an excellent wife, he thought that she was a little too
hard in refusing her husband such a trifle as threepence half-penny when
he was going to work so far from home.
Florence smiled also; but there was a thoughtful sadness in her smile;
and, when the laughter had subsided, she told his worship, that it was not
the "_coppers_," nor the bit of a "_bating_" Phelim had given her, that
she cared about. He had _harkened_ to bad tales about her, she said, and
had sworn never to be good to her till she said "two words" to him.
His worship asked her if her husband supposed she was untrue to him.
She replied that he did, and implored the magistrate to let her swear to
her fidelity!
His worship told her he was sure there was no need of any such
ceremony--"Phelim," said he, "has too much good sense to listen to any
idle stories about you."
Still, however, poor Florence would not be pacified; and snatching the
Gospels from the table, she pressed the sacred volume fervidly to her
lips, and then raising her eyes, she exclaimed--"So help me God! that,
barring Phelim and myself, I don't know man from woman."
All this while Phelim stood hanging down his head, and fumbling at the
buckle of his hat in the simplest manner imaginable. "For shame, Phelim!"
said the magistrate, as Florence made an end of her oath--"For shame,
Phelim!--How can you stand there and see the distress of such a wife,
without coming forward and assuring her of your confidence?--Give her your
hand, man, and comfort her as she deserves."
Phelim stretched forth his hand--Florence grasped it almost convulsively,
and raising it to her lips, all chapped and sun-burnt as it was, she
kissed it--they looked each other in the face for a moment--burst into
tears, and hastily left the office arm-in-arm.
CORINTHIANISM.
Mr. Christopher Clutterbuck and Mr. Dionysius Dobbs were charged with
having created a great uproar and disturbance in the lobbies of Drury-lane
Theatre on the previous evening, and with having grievously assaulted
certain peace-officers, who attempted to quell the said disturbance, by
taking the said Christopher Clutterbuck and Dionysius Dobbs into custody.
These gentlemen were _Corinthians_--that is to say, in the fashion of the
time, gentlemen who were "_up_, _down_, and _fly_ to every thing."
They were brought from Covent Garden watch-house, together with a gang of
young thieves, disorderly cobblers, drunken prostitutes, houseless
vagabonds, and other off-scourings of society; and a very respectable
appearance they made.--Christopher Clutterbuck, a long, sturdy,
burly-boned, short-visaged, curly-headed, whiskerless subject, with a hat
of that cut called a _kiddy shallow_, and an enormous pair of bull's-eye
spectacles; and Dionysius Dobbs, a lean, lack-beardical, long-faced,
sunken-cheeked, hollow-eyed, cossack-waisted concern, with a very
gentlemanly imperfection of vision, and a silver eye-glass to correspond.
And there they were, for nearly an hour before the arrival of the
magistrate, crammed among the tagrag-and-bobtail in the common waiting
room, or _sweating_-room, as it is sometimes more properly called.--Mr.
Kit Clutterbuck, strutting to and fro, with arms a-kimbo, as vigorous as a
turkey-cock; and Dionysius Dobbs, lolling upon one of the forms, lifting
his eye-glass from time to time, and gasping like an expiring magpie;
whilst the torn and bemudded _toggery_ of each of them, all tacked
together with pins, gave ample proof of their love of "_Life_."
The magistrates having taken their seats, the demolished Corinthians were
ushered into their presence, and a charge, of which the following is the
substance, was exhibited against them.
Between the third and fourth acts of the play--which happened very
appropriately to be _Wild Oats_--they were swaggering about the lobbies,
insulting every body that came in their way; the "big one"--that is to
say, Mr. Kit Clutterbuck--offering to _mill_ "any body in the world," and
repeatedly exclaiming--"Oh! that a man of my own powers would come athwart
me!" and the "thin one" (that's Mr. Dionysius Dobbs) lisping
responsively--"That's your sort! Go it, Kitty my _covy_!" Nobody taking
the challenge, _Kitty my covy_, in the overflowing of his Corinthianism,
seized his friend, the delicate Mr. Dionysius Dobbs, and dashing him
against the wall of the lobby, shattered one of the lamps with his empty
_knowledge-box_. Dionysius Dobbs took the concussion in good part; but Mr.
Spring, the box book-keeper, who happened to witness the feat, was not so
well pleased, and sent for Bond, the officer, to remove them. Bond
prevailed upon them to be a little more quiet; and the loss of the lamp
was overlooked. But in a quarter of an hour after, he found them taking
indelicate liberties with the wretched women in the saloons, sparring,
bellowing, and capering, like a pair of drunken _ourang-outangs_, as he
said, to the great danger of the mirrors, and the scandal of the _saloon
itself_. He again attempted to remonstrate with them; but all he could get
from them was a challenge to fight, from _Kitty my covy_; and therefore he
called for the assistance of his brother officers, determined to remove
them entirely from the theatre. A posse of other officers came to his
assistance; and then began what the Corinthians called a _prime
spree_--viz., Billingsgate bellowings, black eyes, broken coxcombs, and
rending of garments; Kitty Clutterbuck swinging his arms about like the
sails of a windmill; Dionysius Dobbs shrieking and clinging to the
balustrades like a monkey in hysterics; and the officers dragging at their
collars in front, and twisting at their tails behind; and in this fashion
they were, by degrees, _worked_ out of the theatre into the street. And
then, as they had been so very obstreperous and Corinthianish, the
officers determined to deposit them in the disorderly depot 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
_Corinthianism_.
A DEBT OF HONOUR.
This was a proceeding, by warrant, for an assault and battery, arising out
of the non-settlement of a debt of honour.
Mr. Elias Simmons, the complainant, is of the children of Israel; a fat,
round man, of a pleasant countenance, and addicted to luxuriating in brown
stout and a pipe, in the little back parlour at the Cannon Tavern--a
comfortable public-house, somewhere in Knightsbridge. The defendant, Mr.
Jacques Breton, is a native of Switzerland; tall, gaunt, and elderly, with
a nice sense of honour, "sudden and quick in quarrel," and, withal, in the
practice of sometimes taking a half-gill of old sherry in a goblet of pure
spring water, at the Cannon Tavern aforesaid. He appeared before the
magistrate with a large black silk handkerchief bound round his head, so
as to cover one of his eyes.
On the day named in the warrant, it being between four and five o'clock in
the afternoon, Mr. Elias Simmons was in the little back parlour at the
tavern aforesaid, luxuriating as aforesaid, and several other gentlemen,
then and there assembled, were luxuriating in like manner, when the door
opened, and in stalked Mr. Jacques Breton; who, having seated himself,
rang the bell and ordered his sherry and water as usual. Now it so
happened that Mr. Jacques Breton was indebted to Mr. Elias Simmons in the
sum of two shillings and sixpence; and, moreover, the said debt had been
standing almost time immemorial, so that Mr. Elias Simmons was weary of
waiting for it; and, as it was a "_debt of honour_," he began to entertain
doubts that Mr. Jacques Breton meant to avail himself of that
circumstance, and _forget_ to pay it. He did not presume to say that such
was the case, but he entertained that opinion; and the moment he saw Mr.
Jacques Breton enter the room, he determined in his own mind to put it to
the proof. Howbeit, knowing Mr. Jacques Breton's constitutional
irascibility, and unwilling to wound his feelings before the English
gentlemen present, he addressed him in French, viz.,
"_Monsieur--voulez-vous--donner moi--mon leetel demiecu, monsieur?_" To
which civil interrogation--put with all the good humour in the world--Mr.
Jacques Breton instantly replied, "_Ahah! sacre! vat? you want to 'front
me!_"--and seizing a heavy _cue_ from a bagatelle board on the table, he
grasped it in both hands, and, before the company could interfere, he gave
Mr. Elias Simmons a "thundering _thwack_" on the bare head, which shivered
his tobacco-pipe into a thousand pieces, and laid him prostrate among the
spittoons!
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! _Voila, monsieur!_ see my eye! _Voila!_"
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.
CHEAP DINING.
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.