Part 11

John Saunders, as we have already stated, was a remarkably mild, quiet young man; and he told a story--or rather a story was drawn out of him bit by bit, of which the following is the substance:--He resided with his mama at Clapham--was himself "brought up in the glass line," (and truly he seemed as _transparent_ as glass,) but was then out of business. On the afternoon preceding the night on which he met with Mr. Marchant and his wicked horse, his _mama_ sent him to her milliner's, at Kensington, to bring home a bonnet and feathers which she had sent there to be "done up." He went to Kensington--called upon a friend, who gave him some Scotch ale--went to the milliner, who put the bonnet and feathers in a large white band-box, and he was quietly returning home to Clapham with it, when he fell in with the gentleman, and his horse with a pebble in his foot: but he wished he never had fallen in with them; for he had been made very miserable by it. He offered his services to get the pebble out, and spoiled his umbrella; he undertook to hold the horse while the gentleman looked for a stone, and the Scotch ale, having got into his head, as he supposed, induced him to get on the horse's back--quite contrary to his intention. The horse ran away with him directly--directly contrary to the way he wished to go--he was hurried along, in a dreadful manner, he knew not whither, till the horse stopped at Brompton; and then he found that the large white band-box was worn almost to tatters by its excessive agitation on horseback, and that one of the feathers of his mother's bonnet was sadly broken. He then considered within himself that it would be impossible to find the gentleman to whom the horse belonged that night; and, having bought a new band-box for his mother's bonnet, he rode home to Clapham, put the horse in a butcher's stable, gave it some corn, had his own supper, and went to bed dreadfully tired. In the morning he got up early, wrote an advertisement about the horse, and was coming to town to put it in the papers, when he met the gentleman, who was very angry with him, and gave him into custody.

Mr. Marchant, in reply, said he was inclined to believe his story, but he thought it right he should be told authoritatively that he was not to play such pranks with impunity.

The magistrate, therefore, gave John Saunders a suitable admonition, and dismissed him.

'PON MY HONOUR IT'S TRUE.

A German mechanic having laid information at this office that a countryman of his, named Schultz, residing in Green Street, Leicester Square, was kept in a state of durance, in his own house, by an Englishwoman, who, he verily believed, had a design both upon his life and property, the magistrate sent some officers to bring the parties before him.

They accordingly proceeded to the house, but the English lady peremptorily refused them admission, and it was several hours before they were able to effect an entrance. At length, however, they brought the parties to the office in a hackney coach--for the lady was too magnificent to walk, and the poor old German was so afflicted with paralysis, that he was carried before the magistrate on the back of one of his countrymen.

He was indeed a miserable object--his limbs utterly useless--his eyes dull and unnaturally protruding--his beard unshaved--his hair matted with feathers--and his whole person disgustingly filthy.

The lady, on the contrary, was a fine bouncing woman, of rather handsome countenance, gaily dressed in a fashionable bonnet and plume, and her fat white fingers covered with glittering rings. Nevertheless she bodily professed that she _loved_ the poor emaciated, dirty, paralytic old man; and she affirmed that all her attentions to him were purely disinterested. He was exactly in the same state, she said, when she first became acquainted with him, five years ago--not worth a single sixpence, over head and ears in debt, half crazy, of filthy habits, lame, old, and impotent--and yet she _loved_ him--loved him for himself alone. ("Oh! who doth know the bent of woman's phantasy?" as Master Spenser saith.)

She delivered these _fibs_--for fibs they surely must be--in the short, quick, _staccato_ manner, perfectly at her ease, and alternately munching an orange and blowing her nose between every word. She had a solicitor, too, in attendance upon her--a little wee man, inclining to threescore, who evidently spent more in hair-powder than in soap; and to him she appealed at the close of every sentence she uttered--"'Pon my honour it's true!--there's my solicitor, ask him;" and the solicitor as regularly bowed his powdered little head in assent.

The wretched old German stated, that this lady came as a lodger to his house in the first instance, and took every opportunity of attending to him in his illness; till at length, finding she had ingratiated herself with him, she proposed to him to make her his wife. This he very ungallantly declined; and she contented herself with only passing for his wife, and assuming more than the privileges of one. She turned out his lodgers, and got creatures of her own in lieu of them. She forbade his friends and countrymen from coming near him. She pretended they only wanted to rob him, and prevailed on him to make his will, leaving all his property to her; and having accomplished this, she confined him in a little room, fed him scantily, and beat him whenever he remonstrated with her on her altered conduct. In conclusion, he expressed his thankfulness that he had been rescued from her tyranny, and implored the magistrate to protect him from her in future.

The magistrate said he could easily afford protection to his person, but he wished to protect his property also.

The solicitor here informed his worship, that the complainant had no property to protect--inasmuch as he had given the lady a bill of sale of all he possessed, in consideration of a hundred pounds she had lent him at different times.

This, the wretched old foreigner denied. He declared that she had never lent him but 13_l._, and even that she forced upon him; that he knew nothing of any bill of sale, and that she had taken away the lease of his house, and hid it.

A long desultory altercation ensued, and eventually this disinterested lady was ordered to find bail for repeatedly assaulting the object of her love; and not being prepared with any, she was delivered into the custody of the gaoler, whilst the old man was carried out of the office again on the back of his countryman.

BEER--NOT BODIES.

A poor hunchback'd little printer, whose dreary destinies have driven him to seek an asylum in St. Clement's workhouse, was brought before the magistrate, charged on suspicion of being a _resurrection man_.

His accusers, a couple of large-sized watchmen, told the following story; or rather, a story to the following effect:--In the dead of the night, "when churchyards yawn, and graves give up their dead," a man came to these watchmen and told them, he verily believed there were three resurrection men at work among the graves in the burial-ground adjoining St. Clement's workhouse--that identical burying-ground which contains all that is left in this world of the once merry Joe Miller. The watchmen, having received this intelligence, and trimmed their lanterns, went straightway to the burial-ground, and clambering over the iron railing, they searched the whole place, grave by grave, until at last they found--not three stout resurrection men, with pick-axes and spades; but one solitary being--the poor hunchbacked unfortunate little pauper printer above mentioned. He was sitting, all alone, on the top-mast round of a ladder; which ladder was reared against the window of a house bordering on the burial-ground; and in that window there was a dim glimmering light; and, therefore, the watchmen took the moping little man into custody, and had him away to the watch-house.--For they had heard that bodies had often been conveyed away from the burial-ground through the windows of that house, and so out at the front door in St. Clement's-lane, and away at once to the dissecting-rooms--Guy's Hospital, perchance, or the cadaverous halls of Blenheim-street. Bodies, now-a-days, as they said, fetched a big price, and who so likely to be tempted by a big price as a poor pennyless pauper; _ergo_, the little hunchback printer, being a poor pennyless pauper, and being at such a time of night in such a place, with a ladder reared against such a house, offering every facility for such a purpose, must, no doubt, be concerned in some such deadly doings. And, as a further proof, if any were wanting, one of the watchmen concluded his evidence in these remarkable words:--

"Your worships, I have no doubt in the world, that at _some future time_ bodies _have been taken_ through that very house!" Whereupon, Sir RICHARD observed, that the opinion would have had more weight, if the _tenses_ had been less confused. It afterwards appeared, however, that _future_ and _former_ were synonymous terms in this watchman's vocabulary, and so his opinion became intelligible.

Mr. Minshull now asked the pauper printer what he was doing in the burial-ground at that time of night; adding, "I am afraid, my friend, you were there with the intention of stealing dead bodies."

"Not a bit of 'em, your worship--not a bit of 'em," replied the printer--"Lord bless you, Sir!--it was _beer_, and not _bodies_, that I was looking for!" He then told his story; from which it appeared that the master of the workhouse had treated him and the other paupers with a modicum of beer on the preceding evening in honour of the season, for it was Christmas-eve; and this small taste stimulating their stomachs for more, little hunchback undertook to forage for some, after the master should be gone to bed. Accordingly, when the master was fast asleep, little hunchback crept down stairs with a subscription of tenpence in one hand, and "the workhouse can" in the other; and with the assistance of the lamplighter's ladder he got out of the yard into the burial-ground. He then pulled the ladder after him, and reared it against a house in which he saw a light; and, tapping gently at the window, it was opened by a gentleman in a white nightcap, to whom little hunchback said, "Beg pardon, Sir! but would you be kind enough to get us half-a-gallon of mild beer, in this 'ere can?" "The gentleman said he would, and welcome," continued he; "and God knows, I was sitting on the top of the ladder, waiting for it, and thinking of nothing in the world but the beer, when the watchmen came and took me."

The magistrate sent for the master of the workhouse, and the several persons implicated, and they confirming the poor printer's story, he was discharged; but Mr. Minshull admonished the master not to let the lamplighter's ladder be used in the same way again, even though he should be obliged to carry it into his own bed-chamber.

MOLLY LOWE.

The following very touching instance of the irresistible force of love was brought under the notice of the magistrate some time in the winter of the years 1823 and 1824.

There lives in the Strand--or there did live at the time above-mentioned--a very respectable young tradesman, whose name has nothing at all to do with this affair;--let it suffice, that he occupied a large and lofty house; and being a bachelor, he employed a housekeeper, whose name was Molly Lowe; and this Molly Lowe is the heroine of our story.

Molly Lowe, then, is a woman of staid and serious demeanour; plain in her person, neat in her dress, past forty, and a spinster. For these reasons, all and sundry, her young master placed implicit confidence in her, and gave up the entire management of his household affairs to her direction. In his opinion Molly Lowe was an immaculate matron, and full proof against every thing--except superfine souchong, with the least drop of brandy in the world in it. But this opinion of his was a very fallacious one,--neither man nor woman, be their age and uprightness what it may, can ever be proof against love. And so it turned out in this instance--

"For Love, the disturber of high and of low, Who shoots at the peasant as well as the beau,"

--let fly a sharp arrow at _Molly Lowe_; and her forty years' frost melted before the youthful charms of James Wright--a drum-boy in the First or Grenadier Regiment of Foot Guards, commanded by his Royal Highness the Duke of York!

The first notice her master received of this change in Molly Lowe's temperature he received in an anonymous letter, signed "Microscopicus;" which letter--after lamenting the multitude of sins that spring up everywhere like mushrooms--from the _button_ to the _broad black flap_, informed him that Molly Lowe had fallen in love with the little drummer aforesaid, and earnestly recommended him to nip her iniquity in the bud. "And you need not take my _ipse dixit_ in the matter at all," continued the letter of Mr. Microscopicus, "for if you will return home any evening unexpectedly, you will find _Molly_ and her _moppet_ junketing together on the contents of your larder."

The master had little faith in this epistle; for, as he said, the thing was so improbable; and he was half inclined to think that Mr. Microscopicus was either some meddling methodistical miscreant, or some discarded lover of Molly's youthful days. But well knowing that nothing is impossible, and that more unlikely matrons than Molly have been entangled in the toils of love, he put the epistle in his pocket, and determined to keep a sharp look-out on Molly's movements in future.

Several days passed without his discovering anything; and he was just beginning to feel satisfied that Mr. Microscopicus was what he had supposed him to be, when, one evening, his curiosity was strangely excited by Molly's absence from her ordinary occupations.--What could be the meaning of it? Every time she was called, she came down from her bed-room, instead of up from the kitchen; and every time, she seemed more and more cross at being "call'd about so." "What _can_ you be doing up stairs so much, Molly?" said her master. "Nothing," replied Molly. "Then what makes you go there so often?--What--have--you--got in your head, Molly?" "Lord bless me, nothing!" was Molly's invariable reply; and at every succeeding question she grew more waspish than before. But her master was not satisfied with this simple nothing--he felt quite sure there must be something wrong. So, calling his shopmen together, he ascended with them to Molly Lowe's bed-room; and there, to Molly Lowe's confusion, he found the identical drummer stowed away like Falstaff, in a buck-basket! There he lay--sword, cap, and belt, complete, coil'd up hilt to point, head to heel, in the bottom of the buck-basket, and covered over with a mountain of foul clothes!--"It was a miracle he escaped suffocation!" The buck-basket stood in a little closet, and they drew him forth from his----but "comparisons are _odorous_,"--it is enough, that they pulled him out, set him up on end, and shook him well; and that the master, turning to Molly Lowe, said "Molly! Molly! I never could have expected this!" "Bless _me_!" replied Molly Lowe--suffused with deep mahogany blushes, and bristling about like an angry turkey-cock--"Bless _me_! what a fuss there is about a bit of a boy!--He's my sister in law's own cousin, and I sent him up stairs because there were some ladies coming to look at the first floor; and where was the mighty harm of that?--And I'd have you to know, Sir, that you use me very ill, Sir!--and I won't bear it any longer, Sir! and"----And here she took out her handkerchief, held it to her eyes, and rushed out of the room in hysterics.

The enamoured drummer seemed quite dumbfounded by the catastrophe; he attempted no defence; and, as Molly's master was by no means satisfied with her matronly account of the matter, the poor youth--all reeking from his hot bed, was handed over to a constable who shut him up for the night in the cold and comfortless watch-house. Oh! what a miserable Molly must Molly Lowe have been that night!

In the morning the drummer was brought before the magistrate, to whom all these matters were related; and the constable added, that the drummer had confessed to him that he had often been to drink tea and sup with Molly Lowe; that she was over head-and-ears in love with him; that she had bought him a watch, with gold chain and seals, and had given him more than three pounds in money; and that she had assured him she was indeed his own cousin, by her sister-in-law's side, only seven times removed; but of that he knew nothing, having never heard of her till she met him one Sunday evening and asked him to come to tea.

His worship observed, that this was a very _ungallant_ confession--to say the least of it; and he then asked if Molly was in attendance.

Her master replied that she was not--as he meant to content himself with discharging her from his service. He was not aware that he had been actually robbed, either by her or her young admirer; but he had brought the youth before his worship, because he thought he deserved some punishment for his impudent intrusion.

The magistrate said, he thought Molly was the most deserving of punishment; but he asked the poor lad what he had to say to it.

He replied, that Mrs. Lowe asked him to come to see her, and he went; that she was very kind to him, and gave him tea and things up stairs; and that he was very glad when they came and pulled him out of the dirty clothes, for he had been under them more than two hours.

His worship ordered that notice of his situation should be sent to his regiment; and in the evening he was delivered into the custody of the _drum-corporal_, who attended to receive him. And thus ended the amour of Molly Lowe.

A WEARY BENEDICT.

Of all the miseries, or vices, which are daily brought to this office for relief or correction, there are none that give the magistrates more trouble than the miseries of matrimony--and the trouble is the more painful, inasmuch as, in nine cases out of ten, it never leads to any satisfactory result. Scarcely a day passes without some connubial _devilry_, or other, being submitted to their judgment either by man or woman--members of the married public of this metropolis; and in almost every case their prayer is, total separation--a comfort which a magistrate has it not in his power to bestow. It is only your wealthy couples who can shake off their fetters--the needy ones must wear them for life.

A weary Benedict of this latter class--a large middle-aged man, of lachrymose physiognomy, respectful demeanour, and decent attire, presented himself before the magistrate, one gloomy December morning, to request some relief from his wedded woes. He had waited more than two hours among the crowd at the lower end of the office, whilst the ordinary business was going on without manifesting the slightest impatience; and when the hurry and bustle was over, he sedately approached the table, and told the magistrate, in a confidential under-tone, that he wished to consult him on a subject of the utmost importance--

"Speak out, Sir!" said the magistrate, "I am ready to hear you."

"Your worship, I am a _married man_," began the applicant--compressing his lips to keep down a rebellious sigh, which thereupon forced its way through his nostrils--rushing-ly indignant at his attempt to confine it--"I am a _married man_, your worship!"

"Well, Sir, and what of that?" said his worship.--"So much the better for you, if you have a good wife."

"Ah, Sir!" ejaculated the poor man, "I have been married eighteen years--and eighteen years of unmixed misery they have been to me! I thought to have lived in paradise, as it were; but I could not have been more miserable if I had lived in--the _other_ place!"

He paused--sighed again--and then, taking out a ragged pocket handkerchief, he stood silently wiping his forehead until the magistrate roused him from his reverie by saying, "My good friend, I am very sorry for you, but what would you have _me_ do?"

"I don't know, Sir," he replied, despondingly, "but I was told I could get some relief by applying here."

"If you wish to get divorced, I cannot do that for you," rejoined his worship:--"we should have little time for any thing else, I fear, if we could divorce all the unhappy couples who apply to us!"

"I have no doubt of it," said the man--"no doubt in the world of it! But, your worship, I don't wish to put my wife away so as to disgrace her. I would allow her a comfortable maintenance, if she would only leave me in peace."

"That you must agree upon between yourselves," observed the magistrate--"I cannot assist you in the negotiation, nor can I interfere at all between you, unless she has committed some breach of the peace--Has she struck you? or are you afraid she should attempt to take away your life?"

"I don't know whether she means to take away my life, or not," replied he, "but she is eternally beating me whenever she is tipsy; and that is almost every day!"

"Then why do you let her drink?"

"Ah! your worship, it's fine talking! I have long discontinued keeping anything drinkable in the house, except water and milk, and what is the consequence?--Why that my head is continually covered with bumps and bruises; and my chairs, tables, linen, and looking glasses, are daily converted into _gin_!"

"My good friend," said his worship, somewhat impatient of the subject--"my good friend, I really cannot do anything for you. You married her 'for better or for worse, to have and to hold until death shall you part,' and you must bear your misfortune as well as you can. I repeat, I--can--do--nothing for you."

"Then I am a very miserable man!" ejaculated the poor fellow, and turning from the table he heaved another sigh, so piteous and profound, that the discharge did seem to stretch his care-stuffed breast almost to bursting.

THE GOLDSMITH AND THE TAILOR.

An elderly goldsmith of rather choleric temperament, though well to do in the world, was brought before the magistrate on a warrant, wherein he was charged with having perpetrated an assault and battery on the person of one Mr. John Carpue, a student in tailory, or "a tailor's apprentice," as the ancients used to say. And this was the manner of it:--