Part 12

The goldsmith was indebted to a celebrated professor of tailory in the vicinity of Bond-street, for sundry exquisitely-cut garments, furnished to him as per order. This account had been kept open so long, that latterly, it had become "somewhat musty"--just as a jar of any other _preserves_ would do if kept open too long; and therefore the professor sent one of his junior students to the goldsmith, requesting it might be closed--in _plain_ terms, he wished to have the "tippery" for his "toggery." The goldsmith took the request angrily; and instead of sending the junior student back with the money in his pocket, he sent him back with "a flea in his ear." The professor thought this conduct extremely rude and ungoldsmithlike; and after two or three days' cogitation he sent his _senior_ student, Mr. John Carpue, with a more peremptory message. The senior student went, saw the goldsmith, delivered the professor's message, and paused for a reply. The goldsmith lowered angrily upon him, as he had done upon the other, and ejaculated something about "confounded coxcombs." The tailor "saw his anger rise--his glowing cheeks and ardent eyes," but, instead of succumbing to his choler, he stood his ground firmly; and boldly repeated his message with a few aggravatory flourishes of his own; whereupon, the goldsmith, not having the fear of the Quarter Sessions before his eyes, seized the tailor-student by his cutting-arm, and ejected him from the room; at the same time endeavouring to shut the door upon him. "I ar'n't to be bundled off without the money in this manner," exclaimed the student. "If you don't go along, I'll break your neck downstairs!" exclaimed the goldsmith. The tailor contumaciously set his back against the door to prevent its closing; the goldsmith tried with all his might to close it; the tailor squeaked out his anger; the goldsmith grunted out his indignation; the door creaked and strained between them; and in all probability it would have been forced off its hinges, and, perhaps, totally spoiled for ever, if the goldsmith had not, with great presence of mind, popped his fist through the opening, right into the tailor's masticatory apparatus. The tailor fell; the door was closed; the goldsmith returned quietly to his seat; and then the tailor--having gathered himself up, and shrieked a parting malediction through the key-hole--went back to Bond-street, quite discomfited.

This was the assault and battery complained of; and the goldsmith, in his defence, said the tailor refused to leave his house when he told him, and upon his attempting to show him the door, the young _buckramite_ rudely seized him by the collar; which rudeness he returned of course.

The magistrate held the assault justifiable under such circumstances, and so the poor "student in tailory" was non-_suited_.

THE RAPE OF THE WIG.

One Bob Jenkinson, the son of an honest law-writer--

"A youth condemn'd his father's soul to cross, Who _picks a pocket_ when he should _engross_!"

--was charged with having taken unto himself property to which he had no right or title whatever--to wit, a _barrister's wig_.

It appeared by the evidence, that Bob Jenkinson--hopeful Bob, his friends call him; was prowling about Temple Bar in the dead of the night, seeking something for his "pickers and stealers" to do. Presently he was aware of a solitary gentleman approaching the Bar from the city side; and instantly concealed himself in the shade of the archway, he determined to try his luck upon him. The gentleman, so approaching, was a barrister, residing in the Pump-court of the Temple; and he came slowly, and soberly on--wrapped (probably) in professional meditations, little thinking danger was so near him. As he passed through the archway, Bob Jenkinson popp'd from his hiding-place, crept softly after him on tip-toe, slided his hand smoothly into his right-hand coat-pocket, and drew forth--a _wig_! Like _Filch_ in the opera--he dipp'd for a _fogle_ and prigg'd a _wig_! It was not a forensic wig, but a scratch wig, _a la Titus_--one that any closely cropped gentleman might carry in his pocket to clap on occasionally, when sitting in a theatre, or any other place where currents of cold air prevail. Small as it was, however, the barrister felt it depart. He put his hand to his pocket and found it wigless; and there, close by his side, stood Bob Jenkinson with the wig in his hand--wig-struck, as it were; for had the prize been a bandana, or a snuff-box, or any _ordinary_ pocket-property, Bob would have bolted with it _instanter_. "What do you mean by that--you scoundrel?" said the barrister. Bob dropped the wig; the barrister took it up; and having re-pocketed it he deliberately gave unlucky Bob in charge to the watch.

Robert had not a word to say in his defence, and the magistrate committed him for trial.

A BRUMMYJUM OUTRIDER.

One Mr. Peter Muttlebury, a personage with the exterior of a hackney coachman, of the _down_-est cut, but who called himself "a _Brummyjum_ out-rider," was brought before the magistrate one snowy morning, charged with having _borrowed_, with intent to _steal_, an eight guinea inlaid gold and silver snuff-box, with its contents, viz., almost half an ounce of high-dried Irish, from a Mr. William Wilkins--a very small gentleman in a very large cloak, worn military-wise--after the present highly picturesque fashion, which makes a man-milliner look as magnificent as a Field-Marshal.

It appears that Mr. William Wilkins, having been out on Friday night--spending his evening, as it is called--repaired at five o'clock in the morning to Rowbotham's "_final finish_," in James-street, Covent-garden, just by way of finishing himself. He found the saloons full of good company. There were assembled the Marquis of Paramatta, Viscount Toongab, the celebrated Lord Mops, from Cheapside, Sir Francis Fogleshifter, Sir Sidney Cove, Mr. Gluckman the bass singer, Mr. Phelim O'Toole the strong-backed Knight of the Knot, and Mrs. Judith M'Craw, Dunstable Charlotte, Peg Protheroe, Kitty Parenthesis, Sally Succinct, and many other fair nymphs of the piazza. There was singing and drinking _galore_--"We are the lads," and hot elder wine, and coffee of the best, went merrily round; Mr. Gluckman, and Dunstable Charlotte, and my Lord Mops, "roused the _morning lark_ in a catch;" and old Father Time, with his companion old Winter, in the _lily-white benjamin_,[28] were held in utter scorn by every body. Mr. William Wilkins enjoyed the fun vastly; in token whereof he handed round his high-dried Irish to the ladies and gentlemen liberally; and then sat himself down to half a pint of smoking hot elder-wine among a select company of ladies in one of the side saloons. Presently came the "Brummyjum outrider" to him, with a low bow, and a "Mr. Gluckman, will be obliged to you, Sir, for another pinch of your high-dried." "With infinite pleasure," replied Mr. William Wilkins, handing over his eight guinea snuff-box to the Brummyjum out-rider. Mr. William Wilkins then finished his smoking hot elder, and repaired to the general company again--not doubting but his snuff-box was safe with Mr. Gluckman; but, to his utter astonishment, neither Mr. Gluckman, nor my Lord Mops, nor the Marquis, nor the Viscount, nor any of the ladies, knew any thing about it. Mr. Gluckman declared he had never sent for it; nobody knew the "Brummyjum outrider," nor could he be found; Mr. William Wilkins said it was uncommon improper, and every body ought to be searched; my Lord Mops said "the _highdear_ of such a thing was cursed _low_;" the ladies voted Mr. William Wilkins a bore; and Mr. William Wilkins walked away, _cleaned out_ and completely _finished_. He wandered to this office, and communicated his woes to the patrol in waiting; and in two or three hours thereafter they succeeded in apprehending the "Brummyjum outrider," but no snuff-box could they find upon him.

The Brummyjum outrider, in his defence before the magistrate, persisted in saying that Mr. Gluckman asked him to borrow the box, and having borrowed it, he delivered it to Mr. Gluckman; and what became of it afterwards he knew not.

The magistrate said he had little doubt but he obtained possession of it with a felonious intent, and committed him for further examination, in order that Mr. Gluckman might come forward to explain, or deny, the part it was alleged he had taken in the transaction; but eventually the matter was arranged among themselves without any impeachment of Mr. Gluckman's character, and the "Brummyjum outrider" was discharged.

PAT CRAWLEY'S MULE.

Mr. Phelim O'Callaghan appeared before the magistrate to show cause why he should not be charged with having stolen Mr. Pat Crawley's mule.

Mr. Pat Crawley, according to his own account, was "a Scotchman, born of Irish parents in the Saut-market o'Glasgow." They, dying, left him a pedlar's pack and a brown donkey; and, ever since, he has followed the profession of _Autolycus_--a frequenter of fairs, wakes, and wassellings, and a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. Latterly he has travelled in this manner from the Salt-market in Glasgow quite down to Penzance in Cornwall; gather gear as he went, and increasing his worldly goods at every village by the way. At Penzance he sold his donkey and bought a mule; and, travelling on towards London, he arrived at the house of Mr. Phelim O'Callaghan, in Buckeridge-street, St. Giles's. Now Mr. Phelim O'Callaghan being his seventh cousin by the mother's side, he thought he and his mule would be perfectly safe under his roof; and the more especially as Mr. Phelim O'Callaghan expressed great joy at the sight of him. So Mr. Pat Crawley put his mule in Mr. Phelim O'Callaghan's little stable at the back of his place--rubbed it down; supped it up; and then went out to enjoy himself with a mutchkin o' whiskey at the Change-house fornent the corner. At the Change-house he found the ingle bleezing finely, and the whiskey o' the best, and the gude wife unco sonsie, and so many of his mother's cousins came in to see him, that mutchkin followed after mutchkin till they reemed in his noddle a bit; and at the last o't he gang'd to his bed, at Mr. Phelim O'Callaghan's, with a black eye and an empty purse--having lost seven good gowden sovereigns he didna ken how! In the morning he got up at break o' day, thinking to saddle his mule and gang his ways fra the town; but the mule was gone, and no one ken'd where!

The magistrate condoled with him on his loss, and recommended him to be more careful of his property in future; and then asked Mr. Phelim O'Callaghan what had become of the mule?

"Yer honour's axing me about the mule," replied Mr. Phelim O'Callaghan, "an I knows nothing about her at all--barrin Pat Crawley put her in the stable himself along with the _dunkies_."

"The _dunkies_! what do you mean by dunkies?" asked his worship.

"Them are little bits o' things--little bits o' mules--dunkies, your honour, as carries the cabbages and purraters about; and I told him, says I, Pat Crawley, says I, de'il a bit of a lock there is to it--that's the door, your honour: an Pat, says I, buy your own lock, says I, or her'll be off may be; and he woudn't, your honour, and so she was--"

"Was what?"

"_Off_, your honour, sure enough--that's the mule, your honour, bad luck to her!"

One of the patrole said he had been called in by Mr. Pat Crawley, upon the discovery of his loss, and he had examined Mr. O'Callaghan's premises in consequence; and as there was no other way from the stable but through Mr. O'Callaghan's _house_, he was of opinion that the mule could not have been taken away without Mr. O'Callaghan's connivance.

Mr. O'Callaghan declared he knew nothing whatever of it, and his worship might have a six months' _carrakter_ of him any day in the week.

His worship, however, told Mr. O'Callaghan that he must either find the mule or remain in custody; and he left the office under the surveillance of the officer and Mr. Pat Crawley himself. They adjourned to a neighbouring public house, whence Mr. O'Callaghan despatched a messenger of his own to St. Giles's, and in two hours after the mule was brought down to the office and safely re-delivered to Mr. Pat Crawley--and thereupon Mr. Phelim O'Callaghan was discharged; upon which he exclaimed--"Bad luck to the mule for _getting_ out of _that_! and long life to your honour for _letting_ me out of _this_!"

THE TEMPLAR AND THE COOK.

This was a matter of assault, battery, riot, and false imprisonment, between Theodosius Todd, Esq. and Mr. John Cutmore. Mr. Theodosius Todd is a gentleman, it is said, of considerable property; rather diminutive in stature, and very fond of cold boiled ham. Mr. John Cutmore is a vender of cold boiled ham, and many other good things, at a large house near Temple Bar--a house well known to many a kitchenless bachelor. Mr. Theodosius Todd having complained to the magistrate that he had been violently assaulted by Mr. John Cutmore, the magistrate granted his warrant to bring Mr. Cutmore before him, when Mr. Cutmore pleaded _justifiable collaring_, and thereupon issue was joined.

It appeared by the evidence for the prosecution, that on a certain day named, Mr. Todd sent his servant boy, from his chambers in the Temple, to the shop of Mr. Cutmore, for a quarter of a pound of cold boiled ham--fully intending to take the said ham for a lunch in the form of a sandwich, between slices of bread, or bread and butter, as the case might be. He, moreover, instructed his servant boy to bring ham of the very best quality, and he made no stipulation whatever with regard to price. In due time the boy returned with a quarter of a pound of ham; but it was by no means of such quality, or complexion, as Mr. Todd had anticipated; and he therefore sent it back again, with a request, either that it should be exchanged for some of a better quality, or the money returned forthwith. In answer to this very reasonable request, Mr. Cutmore sent word that Mr. Todd did not know good ham when he saw it, and he should neither exchange it nor return the money. Mr. Todd sent the boy a second time, and a second time Mr. Cutmore returned the same contumacious answer. By this time the ham began to exude copiously through the smoky fly-spotted bit of paper in which it was wrapped, and Mr. Todd felt very much annoyed at the predicament in which he found himself--as any man naturally would do under the circumstances. There was lunch-time sliding rapidly away unsatisfied; and there was the ham melting away as rapidly; and there was the boy with his time wasted, and the yellow unctuous juices of the ham dripping from between his fingers; and there was money uselessly expended; and there was the unprovoked contumely of the ham-monger to be endured--forming altogether such a concatenation of provocatives as is rarely to be met with. And in this light Mr. Todd viewed the matter. So he wrapped up the greasy cause of all these miseries in a clean half-sheet of foolscap, and slipping it carefully into the breast pocket of his surtout, he set out for the ham-shop, determined to seek redress by stratagem, since it was not to be had otherwise, and at the same time procure something fit for a lunch, without incurring further expense. With this determination he went into the shop, where, it seems, he was quite unknown, and pointing to a beautiful and nicely-corned buttock of beef which stood on the counter, he quietly desired Mr. Cutmore to cut him a quarter of a pound of it in nice thin slices for a sandwich. Mr. Cutmore did as he was desired--he cut the beef in delicate slices, fit for the mouth of a princess, and wrapping them up in a clean piece of paper, he laid them down before Mr. Todd, rubbed his hands, and waited smilingly for the money.

"Thank you, Sir," said the wily Mr. Todd, coolly thrusting the packet of cold beef into his breast pocket, and at the same time throwing the sweating packet of ham upon the counter,--"thank you, Sir! and there is your nasty _dab_ of ham in exchange for it!" And having so said, he stalked out of the shop, buttoning up his coat (to keep his beef safe), and exulting in the success of his stratagem. Mr. Cutmore stood aghast for a moment; and then, all hot as his own mustard, he sprung over the counter, rushed into the street--with the powder flying from his hair at every step, and his snow-white apron streaming in the wind--caught Mr. Todd just as he was popping through Temple-bar, seized him by the collar, and, without uttering a word, began dragging him back towards his shop, and at every step giving him a shake, just as a thorough-bred terrier shakes a half-expiring rat when it feebly resists his violence. The scuffle soon created a crowd, and some took one side, some the other; but the cook was too much for the Templar--he pulled him by main force into his shop, and kept him shut up in his larder till he paid the uttermost farthing!

This was the case for the prosecution.

Mr. Cutmore, in his defence, began by expatiating on the superior excellence of his ham in general, and on the slices sent to the complainant in particular. He had the honour, he said, of serving many gentlemen in the Temple exclusively with ham; and it was a well-known fact, that there were no better judges in existence. Mr. Todd's servant brought him word that the ham was _mighty_ (mite-y), and he returned him for answer, that he did not know what he meant by the word. The fact was, that the ham was as good as ever was cut, and Mr. Todd knew nothing about the article. He was ready to admit that Mr. Todd's statement was generally correct, but he conceived he was justified in treating him as he had done, inasmuch as he had carried off his beef without paying for it; and as to the ham pretended to be given in exchange for it, whether the said ham was good or bad, there was nothing to prove to him that it was bought at his shop.

The magistrate thought Mr. Todd's _ruse de boeuf_ a very derogatory proceeding for a Templar; but as Mr. Cutmore had perhaps used more violence than was absolutely necessary in seeking redress, he recommended them to retire, and compromise their differences without further expense and exposure.

Mr. Todd expressed his readiness to treat; but the angry cook refused his overtures with indignation, and the matter ended in his being bound in his own recognizance for his appearance at the Sessions, to answer any complaint that might be preferred against him.

A HAGGLING CUSTOMER.

A linen-draper was brought before the magistrate charged with having assaulted an Israelitish damsel--one Miss Rebecca Myers.

The fair Rebecca (fair for one of her nation, though evidently not much addicted to the use of soap) stated with many tears, and a faltering voice, that she went into the defendant's shop to purchase some trifling articles; and because she objected to the price of some of them, he knocked her down with a roll of calico! When she said "knocked her down," she meant he gave her such a blow as _would_ have knocked her down if she had not stood firm; and not content with this, he jumped over the counter, and putting his great paws on her shoulders, he shook her till her head seemed ready to drop off at the top joint, and her brains were addled for an hour after.

The magistrate expressed his surprise that a _linendraper_ should treat a lady so boisterously; and asked him what he had to say for himself.

The linendraper--who, by the bye, had nothing at all linen-draperish in his appearance, but on the contrary had an aspect remarkably stern and solemn--replied, by stating many little vexations which he had suffered from Miss Rebecca--such, for instance, as ordering him to cut off a quantity of calico, and then refusing to have it--"haggling" customers, of her sort, were more trouble than a little; and enough to ruffle any man's temper; but as to what she had said about the knocking her down, and _all that_, it was a mere tissue of falsehoods. The very head and front of his offending, was "_frisking_" the calico at her, and threatening to send for a constable when she became abusive--"for abusive she was"--said he--"very abusive, though she looks so demure now."

The magistrate said he did not understand the word _frisking_ as applied in this case, and ordered the ungallant linendraper to find bail for his appearance at the sessions.

STEALING EX-OFFICIO.

A sturdy, squalid little fellow, calling himself Timothy Blunt, was brought before the magistrate under the following circumstances:--

The landlord of a public-house in the neighbourhood of Temple Bar, deposed that the prisoner, Timothy Blunt, came into his house that morning, as he was busy serving his customers, and staring in his face for about a minute, addressed him with a--"I say, Mister!--I werrily believes as that ere's a _counterband bandanny_ as you've got round your neck--and as I'm a _necksizeman_, I shall seize it!"--And he instantly did so--to the utter dismay of mine host. "Show me your authority!" cried the almost strangled landlord; but he cried in vain--Timothy Blunt scorned to parley; and tearing off the bandanna, he was walking away with it in triumph, when mine host bethought himself "that it was a rummish sort of a _go_;" and, by the assistance of his customers, gave Timothy Blunt in charge to a constable.

Timothy Blunt, in his defence, assured their worships that he was "a real _bony fidy_ excise officer; and that things were gotten to sich a pitch throughout the nation in the smuggling of _bandannies_, that he and his brother _off'sirs_ had strict orders to seize them wheresoever they lighted upon them--whether in pocket or on neck."

"Let me see your authority," said the magistrate.

"I knows of no law to obleege me to show it," said the sententious Timothy.--"I seizes the bandannies for the king and his _revenny_, and if I'm wrong, why let the king look to it. Besides, that ere authority cost me a matter of five pounds nineteen shillings; and I should be a fool to put it in _jipperdy_ by showing it to every man what asks for it!"

The magistrate immediately committed him to take his trial for _stealing_ the bandanna; but nevertheless he marched off to gaol upon excellent terms with himself.

A DISTRESSED FATHER.

Henry Newberry, a lad, only thirteen years old, and _Edward Chidley_, aged seventeen, were full committed for trial, charged with stealing a silver tea-pot from the house of a gentleman, in Grosvenor Place. There was nothing extraordinary in the circumstances of the robbery.--Young Newberry was observed to go down into the area of the house, whilst his companion kept watch, and they were caught endeavouring to conceal the tea-pot under some rubbish in the Five-fields, Chelsea; but the case was made peculiarly interesting by the unsophisticated distress of Newberry's father.

The poor old man, who it seems had been a soldier, and was at this time a journeyman paviour, refused at first to believe that his son had committed the crime imputed to him, and was very clamorous against the witnesses; but as their evidence proceeded, he himself appeared to become gradually convinced. He listened with intense anxiety to the various details; and when they were finished, he fixed his eyes in silence, for a second or two, upon his son, and turning to the magistrate, with his eyes swimming in tears, he exclaimed--

"I have carried him many a score miles on my knapsack, your honour!"

There was something so deeply pathetic in the tone with which this fond reminiscence was uttered by the old soldier, that every person present, even the very gaoler himself, was affected by it. "I have carried him many score miles on my knapsack, your honour," repeated the poor fellow, whilst he brushed away the tears from his cheek with his rough unwashed hand, "but it's all over now!--He has _done_--and--so have I!"