certain city in the West, fell desperately in love with Drusilla, a
wealthy damsel of that city; and the damsel returned his passion, though
her father forbade her so to do. Then her father, in his anger, had her
made a ward in Chancery, and the Lord Chancellor issued an injunction
prohibiting Horatio and Drusilla from becoming man and wife. Fathers, and
Lord Chancellors, have cruel hearts! and these youthful
lovers--instigated, no doubt, by that "giant dwarf, _Dan Cupid_," and,
moreover, not having the fear of the _Fleet_ before their eyes--eloped
from their native city, with the intention of uniting themselves in
defiance of the solemn injunction above-mentioned.
Now it appears that they contrived to elude the pursuit that was made
after them by the father of Miss Drusilla; and also by the officers of the
court, who were anxious to serve the enamoured Horatio with a copy of the
Lord Chancellor's injunction. In this predicament application was made to
Bishop--"_Indefatigable_ Bishop," as he is sometimes called--one of the
principal Bow-street officers, and he soon discovered their retreat. He
found them, by some means or other best known to himself, in
_Myrtle_-place, or Myrtle-grove, Hoxton. Perhaps it was the name of the
place that led him thither; for where could a pair of lovers take refuge
more appropriately than in a _myrtle-grove_?--
And "alas! that an _officer's_ cruel eye
Should e'er go thither
Such sweets to wither!"
--But so it was, he did go, and of course he spoiled every thing--indeed,
it would seem that he had no sooner made his appearance at the front door
of the house, than "_love_ flew out at the window"--the _lady's_ love at
least.
It was just about dusk, in the evening, when Bishop, armed with full
powers for the capture of the lady's person, proceeded in a hackney-coach
to the Myrtle Grove above mentioned, and alighting at a short distance
from the house in which he believed the lovers were concealed, he left his
coach in waiting, and walked in silence towards the house. Not the
slightest sound was heard from within, but he had no sooner lifted the
knocker, than the door was opened by a young lady fully equipped for
travelling--it was the fair fugitive, Drusilla herself! She was surrounded
by trunks and band-boxes, and bundles; and, as it afterwards appeared, she
was at that very moment waiting the return of her beloved Horatio, who was
gone to call a coach to convey them to some other place of refuge.
"Your name, I believe Miss, is _Drusilla_ ----, and you are lately arrived
from ---- ?" said Bishop, with his accustomed courtesy.
"O dear, no, Sir!" exclaimed the lady. "I am Miss Jenkinsop, the daughter
of the mistress of this house."
Bishop remarked that he had no doubt she was telling a _fib_, and desired
her to introduce him forthwith to her alleged mama. No; she could not do
this, as she was just going out; but if he would walk into the parlour,
her mama would come to him presently. Bishop was not to be _had_ in this
way; and so, taking the young lady by the hand, he led her into the
parlour, and, having rang the bell, the mistress of the house shortly
appeared, who disclaimed all relationship to the young lady, and declared
she knew no more of her than that she was the "strange young lady" who
came to her house with a "strange young gentleman" a day or two ago, and
hired her apartments for a week.
The cruel officer now told Drusilla his business, and she wept--for at
least a minute and a half; but she no longer denied that she was the
identical Drusilla who ran away from ---- with Horatio; and wiping away
her tears, she put her hankerchief in her _reticule_, declared she was
glad she was caught, and should be very happy to return to her friends, if
she was but "sure the _Lord Chancellor_ would do nothing to her."
Bishop told her he had no doubt she would be very kindly received, both by
the Lord Chancellor and her father; and offering her his hand, she tripped
lightly to the coach he had there in waiting for her. The luggage was
then put into the coach, and it was just about to drive off, when another
coach drove up, and out jumped Horatio. "Oh! Sir," exclaimed the landlady,
who was still standing at the door--"Oh! Sir, they have taken away the
lady!" "_Who!_--who has taken her?" demanded the astonished lover. "Why
_I_ have," replied Bishop, ordering the coachman to drive on;--crack went
the whip, and away went the horses with the coach behind them:--
"But who can paint Horatio as he stood,
Speechless and fix'd in all the death of woe!"
--He did not stand many seconds, however, but ran after the coach like a
greyhound, jumped up behind it, and peeping in at the window called
mournfully upon Drusilla. "Drusilla, my angel! where are you going?" His
angel sat snugly in the corner of the carriage, and made no reply; but
Bishop, looking out at the opposite window, said, "Come, come, young chap,
don't be rude; or I shall be under the necessity of taking _you_
somewhere--get down from the coach instantly, or I'll take you into
custody." Horatio took the hint and jumped down; but, like a true knight,
he continued to follow, even on foot, panting and puffing, till the coach
stopped in Bow-street; and then his _Drusilla_ having been deposited in a
place of safety, without seeing him--for he could not, with all his
fervour, keep up with the coach--he attempted a parley with Bishop, about
_his share of the luggage_, which had been carried off with the lady.
Bishop told him if he would call at the Public Office in Bow-street next
morning, he should have "what _belonged_ to him;" and with this promise he
departed apparently pretty comfortable. Bishop is a shrewd sort of a
subject--his object, in getting Horatio to call at the office, was to give
the Chancery Solicitors an opportunity of serving him with a copy of the
injunction; and he completely succeeded, for Horatio was punctual in
calling for "his share of the _luggage_." He was shown into a private
room; where, neither the copy of the injunction nor "his share of the
luggage" being ready, he amused himself with a volume of "Coke upon
Lyttleton"--instead of pacing the room with his arms folded across his
breast to keep his heart down. Indeed it was very evident that he
considered himself pretty comfortable under the circumstances. By-the-bye,
notwithstanding the desperate adventure he had undertaken, he seemed of a
very cool, phlegmatic temperament; and how Drusilla could have fallen so
deeply in love with him we cannot imagine; for, though he was nearly six
feet high, and had a pleasing obliquity of vision, his nose was embossed
with very angry-looking pustules, and his person was spare and
uncouth.--But--_de gustibus non est disputandum_.
A length, after he had pored over "Coke upon Lyttleton," and "the Statutes
at Large," for about an hour and a half, the Chancery Solicitor arrived
and served him with a copy of the injunction; and, had it been a tavern
bill of fare, he could not have taken it more comfortably. He opened it;
turned it about in different directions; looked at it both on the outside
and the inside, played leisurely with the red tape that bound it, and
then--thrust it into his coat pocket.
"I have sent for your proportion of the luggage, Sir, and it will be here
directly," said Bishop. Horatio gave a nod, as much as to say "thank ye,"
and then he looked out at the weather. In a minute or two his share of the
"_luggage_" arrived. It consisted of a little band-box, and some unwashed
shirts and cravats tied up in an old silk handkerchief. Horatio opened the
hand-box. There was a well-worn hat in it, two pairs of cotton stockings,
and three pairs of gloves--that, somehow or other, had lost the ends of
the fingers; and there was, moreover, a very nice pair of yellow morocco
slippers, nearly new. Horatio turned over these things some time,
seemingly in a sort of brown study; and at last, he remarked that there
was a piece of Irish cloth which he did not see amongst them. Bishop said
he understood the Irish cloth belonged to the lady. "No, Sir," said
Horatio, "it belongs to me. It was to make me some shirts. But it is of no
_great_ consequence--let her keep it!" As he said this, he sighed a
little; and Bishop--willing to console him for the loss of his love as
much as possible--sent for the piece of Irish cloth and delivered it to
him. Horatio tied it up in his bundle; put the bundle under his arm; and,
balancing the band-box on the palm of his hand, he stalked forth into the
street, with the Lord Chancellor's injunction sticking out of his hinder
pocket like the handle of a stewpan. Unfortunately for the picturesque,
however, as he was crossing the street, the wind, which was then rather
high, blew the band-box from his hand. Horatio attempted to catch it
before it fell to the ground; but, instead of doing so he struck it--up it
went in the air, off flew the lid, and the old hat, the stockings, the
fingerless gloves, and the yellow morocco slippers, were scattered on the
muddy pavement. Horatio--the luckless Horatio--gathered them up as
quickly as the wind, and the carts, and the coaches would permit; but,
whilst he was busied in getting them together, the _injunction_ dropped
from his pocket. At last he managed to cram them, injunction and all, into
the band-box; and, calling a coach, he set off for the White Horse Cellar,
with the intention, no doubt, of returning to the culling of simples at
home--for he was manifestly a young man who, like his namesake in the
play, could take Fortune's _buffets_ as thankfully as her _rewards_.
The lady, in the course of the day, was delivered to her friends in town;
and thus ended the loves of Horatio and Drusilla.
KITTY KAVANAGH.
There was a pretty, though homely Irish girl, named _Kitty Kavanagh_,
brought before the magistrate on a charge of having stolen a small piece
of coarse calico from a Mrs. Dermody.
Kitty Kavanagh is the daughter of a watchman; and she and her father lodge
in the same house as Mrs. Dermody. The piece of calico formed "the
_canopy_" of Mrs. Dermody's tester bed. One day lately, Mrs. Dermody
missed the canopy--it was taken away even whilst Mr. Dermody was in the
bed; and, in a day or two after, she found it on Kitty Kavanagh, in the
shape of an apron! Mrs. Dermody displayed this apron before his worship,
and told him she could swear to the hemming of it--"because it was very
_confident_ to be seen by any one."
Mr. Dermody offered his evidence; and, being sworn, he said, "Your
_wortchip_, it's true, every word of it, what Mrs. Dermody was after
telling you, for myself was fast asleep in the bed at that same time."
His worship now asked Kitty Kavanagh what she had to say to it; and she
replied, in the richest brogue that ever rolled through the red lips of an
Irishwoman--"It's herself and her husband comed home _bastely_ drunk, your
honour; and her husband _bate_ her, and _kilt_ her your honour; and your
honour sees Mrs. Dermody could not get to the bed by herself any how,
_bekase_ of the liquor that night, your honour; and Mr. Dermody lay down
in the bed by himself, your honour's honour, and Mrs. Dermody lay down in
the coort."
"But what has all this to do with the stolen linen?" asked his worship;
"what have you to say about the piece of linen?"
"Is it the bit o' linen your honour's _spaking_ about?" asked Kitty, with
infinite _naivete_--"Och! I found that same at the stair-foot when all the
bother was over!"
His worship shook his head, as much as to say he feared Kitty was adding
falsehood to theft.
Her father, the watchman, presented himself; and having expatiated upon
the excellent _carackter_ himself and his daughter had hitherto borne in
the world he next attacked the reputation of the Dermodys; which he said
was all that was "bad and _bastely_;" and then he called two witnesses,
who would tell his honour "all the rights of it."
His witnesses came forward; they were Patrick Doole and Michael Sullivan.
But all that _Misther_ Doole could prove was the drunkenness of the
Dermodys on the day of the robbery; and Mr. Sullivan had nothing to say to
it at all, only that Kitty Kavanagh was a nice young _cratur_, and her
father was just like her for all the world.
This was of course all nothing in the face of the fact so distinctly sworn
to, and the prisoner was committed for trial.--So the interesting Kitty
Kavanagh was sent to gaol, and perhaps lost her character for ever, for a
bit of old calico, not worth sixpence.
FRENCH AND ENGLISH MIXTURE.
Mons. Gaspard Jacques Hercule Flament, a French gentleman with one
eye--"_degraisseur extraordinaire_ to the British public;" was brought
before the magistrate to show cause why he should not be committed to
prison for neglecting to maintain his wife in that style of elegance and
comfort to which she was entitled--or rather, for neglecting her
maintenance altogether.
The lady, Mrs. Flament, was a pretty, little, black-eyed, sprightly
Englishwoman; who, "by some odd whim or other," as she said, fell in love
with, and married Mr. Flament, about six years ago. But they never could
agree very well; and after five years of connubial misery, they determined
to separate--Mr. Flament undertaking to allow her a separate maintenance
of ten shillings a-week; with which she was very well content, as she had
"a good comfortable mother to fly to." Mr. Flament, however, was not a man
of his word; for, though he paid the ten shillings a-week pretty regularly
at the outset of their separation, he afterwards reduced it to seven, and
latterly to three. This, she humbly submitted to the magistrate, was an
income upon which no lady could exist; and, as Mr. Flament was the very
best _scourer_ at that moment out of Paris, she did hope his worship would
compel him to make her a more suitable allowance.
Mr. Flament could speak no English, and so he was attended by a "professor
of languages" in a military cloak; and this professor took great pains to
convince the magistrate that Mr. Flament was a very poor man, and that
Mrs. Flament was a very naughty woman. "She has robbed her husband three
times," said the professor,--"shut him up in _de prisonne_ vonce, and made
_seex_, seven hondred _grands faux pas_!--Monsieur Flament had better
broke de best of his two leg, dan marry such hussey! hussey! as madame his
vife!"
Mrs. Flament was about to recriminate, but the magistrate prevented her,
by observing that, whatever faults she might have, she was the defendant's
wife; and by the laws of this country, he was bound to support her. The
only question, therefore, was, what sum should be fixed upon; and he
thought _seven_ shillings a-week would be an equitable allowance.
The professor said Mr. Flament would sooner quit the country than pay any
such sum.
"Will he?" said the magistrate, "but I will take care he does not; for
unless something is agreed upon before he leaves this office, I will
commit him to prison; and then we shall see how he will manage to leave
the country."
The professor asked ten thousand pardons for offending his worship; and
begged to observe that madame could earn seventeen shillings a-week for
herself, by her own hands.
Madame replied, that it was _hat binding_ to which the professor alluded;
but she was sorry to say, she was not so far _accomplished_ in it at
present, as to be able to earn half that money.
After some further conversation, it was agreed that _six_ shillings a-week
should be the stipulated allowance; but then the parish must be
indemnified.
The professor said there was not the least danger that Mons. Flament would
run away--
"Then why did you threaten that he would?" asked the magistrate.
"I did not mean, Sare, that he should leave the country--the England,"
replied the professor, "only this town, Sare--that he should go
out--into--the country, is all what I mean."
The magistrate observed, that it was not the custom in this country to say
one thing and mean another--
"Vera true--your worship," replied the smiling professor with a low
bow--"but John Bull say many things he does not mean, for all that."
His worship smiled also, and did not take the trouble of refuting the
slander; and the matter ended in the professor and another friend of Mons.
Flament becoming sureties to the parish on his behalf.
UNREQUITED LOVE.
Mr. Peter Twig--a venerable, rosy-gilled Greenwich pensioner, was charged
with having created a great riot and disturbance in and about the attic
residence of Mrs. Margaret Muggins; and with having threatened to beat the
said Margaret Muggins to a mummy, under pretence of being _in love_ with
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." He succeeded in getting into
the house, and he succeeded in getting into the good graces of Mrs.
Muggins. He told her of the battles in which he had fought--all on the
roaring sea: he spoke to her of land perils, and water perils; of fire,
and smoke, and grape-shot, and the miseries of six-water grog; and he
expatiated on the splinter that knocked off a piece of his nose; and Mrs.
Muggins was moved. "She loved him for the dangers he had seen, and he
loved her"--because, as he said, he couldn't help it. So they eloped
together from the workhouse, and took shelter in a three-pair back,[25]
and there they fostered their venerable loves with gin and jugg'd
jemmies[26] for three entire weeks. But, before the end of the fourth
week, Peter's pension-money, and Mrs. Muggins's love, were all exhausted,
and in spite of his tears and entreaties she left him, and went to reside
with her married daughter. Poor Peter was inconsolable. He tried to drown
his sorrows in max-upon-tick,[27] but it would not do; for his credit was
little, and his sorrows were large, and at length he resolved to move Mrs.
Muggins to pity him by casting himself at her _foot_. But Mrs. Muggins had
a heart as hard as any rock, and she would not see him; and he laid
himself down at the threshold of her apartment, and wished the door at the
devil! So he--
"Built him a willow cabin at her gate,
And called upon his love within the house--
Making the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out--Meg Muggins!"
And all this gave great offence, not only to Mrs. Muggins and her
daughter, but to all the gossips of the neighbourhood; and they insisted
upon his bundling himself off, and he would not. Then they attempted to
bundle him off themselves, and then he flew into a great rage, and swore
he would beat Mrs. Muggins to a mummy and mollify her heart with his
_fistes_, since he could not soften it with sighs; and then they gave him
into custody of a constable for fear he should do so.
These things having been detailed to the magistrate by the daughter and
neighbours of Mrs. Muggins--for Mrs. Muggins herself was too much alarmed
to appear--his worship asked the forlorn old swain what he had to say to
it.
"Your honour," replied Peter, "I have been desperately ill-used. She--she
knows she has ill-used me: and yet I can't forget she, for the life of me!
When a man's in love, your honour, it's of no use talking to him! They may
punch me and knock me about, but they can't knock the love out of me; and
your honour may send me to quod, but quod won't cure me. What is it I
would not do for _she_?--(_Mrs. Muggins_, he would have said, but Mrs.
Muggins stuck in his--gizzard). What is it I wouldn't do for she? And yet
you see how she uses me. Your honour, I've served my king and country many
a long year, and have seen hard service in all parts of the world, and
have seen many places took by storm, and it's desperate hard to be used a
_thisns_ after all!"
His worship admitted that it was very hard; but as it was evident the lady
was determined not to yield, it behoved him to raise the siege and go into
quiet quarters, for he certainly would not be allowed to take _her_ by
_storm_.
Peter declared he had no intention of taking her by storm; and said if she
would only write him an answer to the letter he had _shoved_ under her
door, he would try to be content.
His accusers undertook that the letter should be answered--if it could be
found; and eventually Peter was discharged, with an admonition to cease
from pestering Mrs. Muggins, on pain of imprisonment.
A DUN AT SUPPER TIME.
Mr. John Dunn appeared upon a warrant to answer the complaint of Mrs.
Amelia Groutage.
Mrs. Amelia Groutage is an elderly lady of some sixteen stone or
thereabout, and short in proportion--or, more properly speaking, out of
proportion; for it is a doubt whether her breadth is not nearly equal to
her height. We are thus particular in her admeasurement, because it
materially influenced the decision on her complaint.
She deposed, that upon her going to Mr. Dunn's house to demand payment of
some money he owed her, he took her _round the waist_ with _one_ arm,
whilst he gave her a violent blow on her shoulder with the other, and then
turned her out of door.
The magistrate expressed some doubt whether so small a man as Mr. Dunn
could encircle her waist with _one_ arm; but she assured him it was the
fact; and so Mr. Dunn was called upon for his defence.
Mr. Dunn had such a multitude of words at his command, and used them so
lavishly, that we cannot pretend to give his defence _verbatim_; but we
gathered, that he and Mrs. Groutage lived within seven or eight doors of
each other, and that the account between them is a disputed balance.
Nevertheless, they had lived upon good neighbourly terms with each other
up to last Tuesday night. On that night, Mr. Dunn had a little supper
party at his house, to which Mrs. Groutage was invited, and she came among
the rest. After supper, Mrs. Groutage "got very _glumpish_;" and nobody
could imagine what ailed her, till at last she was rude enough to ask Mr.
Dunn when he meant to pay her what he owed her; and threatened that if he
did not pay her that very moment, she would summon him to Court next
morning. The company were, of course, quite shocked at this sort of
conversation; and Mr. Dunn, determined not to have the harmony of the
evening destroyed in this manner, went quietly behind the angry and
ill-bred Mrs. Groutage, threw _both_ his arms round her waist, fairly
carried her out of the house, and set her down at her own door! This was
the only violence he offered to her; and any injury she had received was
entirely owing to her own kicking and plunging, and clinging to the
door-posts as he carried her along.
[Illustration: A DUN AT SUPPER TIME.]
This statement was confirmed by a host of witnesses, and Mrs. Groutage was
_nonsuited_.
THE CANTAB AND THE TURKS.
A pair of venerably-bearded Turks, in the full costume of the East,
appeared before the magistrate, attended by one of the porters belonging
to the Home Secretary of State's Office, who informed his worship, that
one of the under secretaries had desired they should be conducted before
him; they having some complaint to make against a member of the University
of Cambridge.
Neither of the Asiatics could speak a syllable of English, but they were
accompanied by a man who offered himself as their interpreter, and who
also called himself a Turk--though he was an exact personification of an
English stage-coachman,--a sturdy, curly-headed, red-faced,
knowing-looking fellow, in topp'd boots, bird's-eye _fogle_, and poodle
_benjamin_.
To this man one of the strangers talked for nearly a quarter of an hour,
with astonishing volubility, and most redundant gesticulation; and, having
concluded, the man delivered the following narrative--partly in English,
partly in French, partly in Arabic, and partly in a dialect of his own,
composed of all the others:--