Part 10

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.

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:--

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

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

JOHN BROWN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

JOHN SAUNDERS ON HORSEBACK: A NARRATIVE;

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 white band-box banging about from side to side _like mad_, as he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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