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]
[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.
THE GENTLEMAN AND HIS BOOTS.
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 _eclaircissement_ which would render his
worship's interference unnecessary. What was the nature of that
_eclaircissement_ 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."
BEAUTY AND THE BROOMSTICK.
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.
THE COCKNEY AND THE CAPTAIN.
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
circumstances.
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.
JEMMY SULLIVAN.
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
Sullivan!"
"And pray, where did you bring these clothes from, and to whom do they
belong?"
"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
Sullivan.
"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,
asked,--
"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,
Sir."
"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.
ONE OF THE FANCY.
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
Fancy."
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
Bow-street.
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
demand.