Part 8

Mr. Bob, turned, and looked Mr. Dan in the face, as though about to put the question to him; but Mr. Dan smiled him out of countenance, and Mr. Bob, turning back to his worship, said--"It's no use axing him anything, your worship, for he's got a spite agen me ever since I was in prison for saying a few words to a servant _gal_ what brought me here on a peace warrant, by which means he never sees me but he peeps through his fingers at me, as much as to say, 'who peep'd through the prison bars?'--He's a great blackguard, though he's a little chap, your worship; and he never meets my wife, Mrs. Wingrove, but he cries--'Here's a charming young broom!' when my wife is _not a charming young broom_--as all her neighbours can testify, but as honest a woman as ever broke bread--only that, like all other women, your worship, she likes a drop of something comfortable now and then."

Mr. Bob's landlady corroborated all his evidence general and particular, and her evidence closed the case for the prosecution.

Mr. Dan Butcher, in his defence, admitted that he _took_ Mr. Bob Wingrove _two smacks in the head_, as that gentleman had deposed, but he assured his worship they were in return for a _punch in the stomach_ which Mr. Bob Wingrove had _lent_ him; and he called two witnesses to prove that Mr. Bob was the aggressor.

Both these witnesses declared that Dan Butcher was walking quietly under Mr. Bob's window, singing a song, and "giving no offence to nobody," when Mr. Bob ran down stairs, and struck him in the bowels "without any _privy-cation_ whatsoever."

"And pray what song was he singing?" asked his worship; "I have no doubt it was a song intended to insult him."

"Your worship, I don't know what song it was," replied the first witness--"it was a funny sort of song enough, and there was a _tithery um_ at the end of it."

The second witness, however, after much pressing, admitted that it was a song called "_Bob's in the watch-house_," and made by one of the Hungerford-stairs poets in commemoration of poor Mr. Bob's imprisonment.

Mr. Dan could not deny that he sung this song vexatiously, and he was ordered to find bail--So, then, it was Mr. _Bob's_ turn to sing "_Dan's_ in the watch-house."

A GROWN GENTLEMAN.

A very precise, well-dressed young man presented himself before the magistrates, saying he had a very great desire to punish a Mr. Bradbury for _extortion_, _abuse_, and _assault_, and he would be particularly obliged to his worship if he would assist him in so doing.

His worship desired him to describe the nature of his complaint more minutely; whereupon the gentleman went into a long and rather melancholy story, from which it appeared--

Firstly, that Mr. Bradbury lives in the Strand, and is famous for teaching _grown_ gentlemen to write a fine free hand in six lessons, for the trifling sum of one guinea, though they might previously be only capable of scrawling "pot-hooks and links."--Secondly, that the applicant being in this unfortunate predicament, applied to Mr. Bradbury for his assistance.--Thirdly, that Mr. Bradbury undertook to make him a ready writer for the sum of one guinea; and also to teach him how to make a pen, without any additional charge.--Fourthly, that he went through his six lessons in writing, when Mr. Bradbury demanded his guinea.--Fifthly, that he gave Mr. Bradbury a sovereign and a half-crown, desiring him to take his guinea therefrom.--Sixthly, that Mr. Bradbury, instead of returning him one shilling and sixpence, returned him a sixpence only, stating that he retained the extra shilling for stationery; this was the "_extortion_" he complained of.--Seventhly, that he remonstrated with Mr. Bradbury on this stationery charge; and moreover complained to him that he had not sufficiently instructed him in the art of making a good pen.--Eighthly, that Mr. Bradbury replied he should teach him no more, for he had not conducted himself like a _gentleman_.--Ninthly, that he told Mr. Bradbury he should summon him before the Lord Mayor.--Tenthly, that Mr. Bradbury replied, that he cared no more for the Lord Mayor or the Lord _Horse_ either, than he did for him. This was the "_abuse_" he complained of.--Eleventhly, that, on his attempting to remonstrate farther, Mr. Bradbury got up from his desk, clenched his fist, and told him if he did not walk off quietly, he would "_bundle_ him down stairs." This was the "_assault_" he complained of; and having stated all this, he respectfully submitted that he had made out his case.

"And pray, Sir," asked the magistrate, "did he, in effect, '_bundle_' you down stairs?" "No, Sir," replied the gentleman, "but I think he would if I had not walked away very rapidly." "Then, Sir, I am sorry I cannot accommodate you by interfering," rejoined his worship;--"if you had undergone the _bundling_ operation, something might have been done, perhaps; but as it is, I don't see that you have any redress for your manifold grievances, except you sue him in the Court of Conscience for the recovery of the _shilling's-worth_ of stationery; and the issue of that measure would, in my opinion, be very doubtful."

The gentleman looked at his worship, then at his own hat, then at his worship again, and then he slowly withdrew; seemingly quite at a loss what to make of the matter.

DRURY-LANE MISSES.

Mrs. Margaret Bunce, a lean, dirty, slatternly matron, apparently between fifty and sixty years old, complained that she had been grossly assaulted by Miss Eliza Pritchard and Miss Hannah Maria Bagwell--a pair of little stunted damsels from the back settlements of Drury-lane; who, according to their own account, maintain themselves "very _cumfuttably_ by going a _charrin_."

"Please your worship," said Mrs. Bunce, "I lives in Short's Gardens, and these ladies lives in Charles-street, and I can get no comfort for 'em night nor day. They'm always at me for everlasting, go out when I will; and yesterday _arter_noon they pounced upon me as I was standing in _Doory_-lane, and give me this here black eye; and my nose has been as yellow as a _marygoold_ ever since, as your worship may see."

"Have you any witness?" asked the magistrate.

"Yes, your worship--I was standing talking to this 'ere _lady_ at the very time," replied Mrs. Bunce, pointing to a meagre young woman in a ragged hurden apron, a worn-out man's coat, and an old muddy hat, something in the form of a barber's basin. "I was talking to this 'ere lady at the very time."

The _lady_ came forward, dabbed a court'sy, and wiped her face with the corner of her apron.

"Oh! _this_ lady," said his worship; "and what may _your_ name be, Miss?"--"Julia Legge, your worship."--"And pray may I ask what occupation you follow--Miss Julia Legge?"

"I sells _vauter creeses_ and _sweeps crossings_, your worship," replied the gentle Julia; and then she wiped her weather-beaten charms again, and substantiated every word Mrs. Margaret Bunce had uttered.

"_Miss_ Eliza Pritchard and _Miss_ Hannah Maria Bagwell, what have you to say for yourselves?" asked the magistrate.

They answered--"in a joint and corporate voice," "Vy, your Vorship, ve've this 'ere to say--as ve never did _nuthin_ o' the sort; and that there lady (Miss Julia Legge) vasn't there at the time."

Mrs. Bunce and the gentle Julia hearing this, lifted up their eyes and hands in astonishment, and opened a fresh volley of evidence, which concluded with a declaration from Mrs. Bunce, that she never went to see her own mother that they did not lie in wait for and attack her.

"Your _mother_!" said the magistrate, "why how old are _you_?"

"_Me_, your worship--why I'm turned of forty."

"And pray how old may your mother be?"

"Why, your worship," replied Mrs. Bunce, doubtingly, "I reckon she must be _fifty_--or thereabouts!"

There was a general and very ungallant burst of laughter at the broad guess; and poor Mrs. Bunce seemed a good deal confused; but at length the gentle Julia took upon her fair self to say that Mrs. Bunce's mother was _seventy-eight_, to her own certain knowledge.

At last it was ordered that the young ladies, Miss Eliza Pritchard and Miss Hannah Maria Bagwell, should find bail to keep the peace towards Mrs. Margaret Bunce; and not being prepared with any, they followed the turnkey to his stronghold, weeping as they went.

A SMALL TASTE OF JIMAKEY.

A new-booted, yellow-vested, blue-coated, red-headed, rosy-faced, buckish young bricklayer, was brought up from the neighbourhood of Cranford-bridge, charged by one _Tom Nagle_ with having robbed him, on the King's highway, of ten shillings in money, and one bottle of "the best _Jimakey_ rum."

Tom Nagle is an honest, hard-faced, sandy-whiskered Emeralder, who takes out a drop of the rum or the whiskey, now and then, into the country, to make an honest penny of that same. "It so happened that, one Tuesday night, he went into the Queen's Head, at Cranford, with a bottle of the best _Jimakey_ rum in his little basket. There was a lovely sweet fire in the chimney, and the buckish young bricklayer was there sitting before it, with a face like a full moon at the rising, and a yard-and-a-half _backey_-pipe sticking out of the middle of it. And there was the parish-clerk, and the blacksmith of Cranford, and many other jontlemen _blowing_ their _steamers_, and taking their drops mighty convanient at that same time. So Tom Nagle sat down amongst them, and _took his drops_ 'mighty convanient' too. He drained off one pot of _heavy wet_,[24] and then another, and another, and he blew a bigger cloud than any of them; and at the last, he introduced his bottle of _Jimakey_, in the hope that some of the jontlemen would _dale_ with him--but they wouldn't. They only bother'd him--bad luck to 'em, and wouldn't dale with him at all; so he put out his pipe, and departed. Then, as he was walking away from fore-anent the door of the place, the buckish young bricklayer comes out after him, and says he, 'Hallo! Tom Nagle,' says he, 'what shall I give you for the rum?'--that's the _Jimakey_ he was axing about. 'Four and sixpence,' says Tom Nagle, says he, 'and ye shall have the corck and the bottle into it,' says he.--'No,' says the bricklayer 'I sha'n't give thee four and sixpence, but I'll give ye just a shilling for a small _taaste_ of it.'--'No,' says Tom Nagle, 'get along wid ye,' says he--'fait ye sha'n't have any _taaste_ of it at all,' says he. Then the buckish young bricklayer, bad luck to him! took the bottle from Tom Nagle by force, and took a taste of it, just in no time to spake of, and slithered his fist into Tom Nagle's breeches pocket, and pulled out ten shillings from the bottom of it; and split back again along the road--with the shillings in one hand, and the bottle of _Jimakey_ in the other, and Tom Nagle went to look for a constable.

In reply to all this it was stated, by the buckish young bricklayer, and the parish clerk, and two other witnesses, that Tom Nagle was neither more nor less than a bit of a smuggler, and a great pest to all the country round about Cranford for many miles; that on the night in question he was very much the worse for the beer, and that the company at the Queen's Head did certainly joke him about his spirituous calling; that he was very angry in consequence; that he went out of the house in a passion; that the bricklayer followed him, and having given him a shilling for a taste of his rum, he took the bottle from him--telling him, "in a lark," that he would inform against him, for selling spirits without a license. It was further stated, that the bottle was carried back to the Queen's Head, and safely deposited with the landlord, to be re-delivered to Tom Nagle, when he should call for it; and as to the ten-shilling story, it was declared by everybody to be a great fib--a pure invention of Tom Nagle's, and intended by the said Tom as a set-off against the threat of information for selling contraband spirits.

The magistrate asked Tom Nagle--"Is it true that you were drunk at the time?"

"Yer honour," replied Tom Nagle, "I was _hearty_--but not _drunk_ by no manes--bekase I'd only _three pots_ of the beer, and a small drop of the gin."

"Could you walk steadily?" asked his worship.

"Is it _that time_, your honour?" said Tom Nagle: "Fait, then, I could walk as well as I can now--and _better_."

His worship observed that, however disreputable and illegal Tom Nagle's occupation might be, the bricklayer had done wrong in taking his property from him, and he should therefore take care that he was forthcoming at the Sessions, where Tom Nagle might indict him if he thought proper.

Tom Nagle thanked his worship, and the buckish young bricklayer was held to bail.

A WHITE SERGEANT, OR PETTICOAT GOVERNMENT.

Among the "_disorderlies_" brought before the magistrate from St. Clement's watch-house, was a Mr. H., a very respectable law-stationer.

Robert Hunt, a watchman, deposed, that between twelve and one o'clock in the middle of the night, he heard a lady's voice crying "Watch! Watch!--Stop him, Watch!" whereupon he turned himself round about, and seeing the prisoner, Mr. H., running with all his might, he as in duty bound, stopped him full butt, and "civilly seizing him by the collar," told him he must wait a-bit, till "the lady what _skreeked_ should come up." But Mr. H., instead of waiting quietly, as a gentleman ought to do, slipped himself out of his coat, "_momently_ as it were," showed fight, and gave him two or three desperate "punches on the belly" before he knew where he was. This being the case, he "twirled his _rackler_," and other watchmen coming up, Mr. H. was conveyed to the watch-house.

Mr. H., in his defence, gave rather a different account of the matter. It appeared by his statement that, having occasion to call upon a friend late on Saturday night, he found that friend was gone to a neighbouring tavern, and, without thinking any harm, he followed him thither, and having found him, they sat down to take a friendly glass together; but they had scarcely got through the first glass of cold brandy-and-water, with-a-little-sugar-in-it, when, who should come in but his wife, Mrs. H----y! Now, such a visit, at such an hour, and in such a place, he humbly submitted to the magistrate, was confoundedly annoying. He told Mrs. H. that it was extremely indelicate, and desired that she would return home forthwith, and he would follow her in a few minutes. But no--before all the company she peremptorily refused to stir an inch without him! What was to be done? If he departed with her, every body would laugh at him; and if he remained, she would remain also; thereby making the thing still more ridiculous. In this dilemma he consulted with his friend; his friend advised him to go, his own feelings prompted him to stay; but, as matters were getting worse and worse every minute, he resolved to go--and go he did. In order, however, to show Mrs. H. that he would not quietly succumb to petticoat government, exercised in this vexatious manner, he no sooner got into the street, than he took to his heels and ran away--determined in his own mind not to go home for an hour or two. But here again Mrs. H. got the better of him; for he no sooner began to run, than she began to bawl "Stop him, watch! stop him!" and the watch did stop him--not as the said watch had deposed, by "_civilly_ collaring him," but by grasping him by the cravat, and _sticking_ his knuckles against his throat till he was nearly strangled; and he was verily of opinion that he should literally have died of the said strangulation if some persons had not providentially come to his assistance, and forced the watchman to take his hand from his throat. With respect to the "dreadful _punches_" complained of, he positively denied having inflicted them.

Mrs. H., and another lady or two, who, it seems, accompanied her in her tavern expedition, fully substantiated this statement in all its interesting particulars.

On the other hand, the watchman called four of his brethren, who all offered to swear that Mr. H. struck him repeatedly.

The magistrate was of opinion that the watchman had done his duty well, and called upon Mr. H. to find bail to answer for the assault at the Sessions, unless he could satisfy the watchman for his trouble.

Mr. H. said he had no money to bestow on any such purpose; and, feeling himself the aggrieved party, he had rather go before a jury; so he retired in the custody of the turnkey.

THE COOK AND THE TAILOR.

This was a matter of assault and battery, originating in roast lamb and cauliflower, carried on by means of a misfitting toilinet waistcoat, and ending in battle and bloodshed.

Mr. Ellerbach, the defendant, a tailor (by _trade_), small in person and fashionably attired, with his dexter arm gracefully suspended in a black silk sling, was brought up by the nocturnals of St. Martin's watch-house, and placed before the bench. Whereupon Mr. Arundel, the complainant, "a good portly man, and corpulent; of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage," being first duly sworn, deposed, that he was the proprietor of an eating house (commonly called a _slap-bang_ shop); and that the defendant, Mr. Ellerbach, being indebted to him for sundry plates of roast lamb and cauliflower, he, the complainant, expressed a strong desire to have the said plates of roast lamb and cauliflower paid for without delay; inasmuch as he was fully aware that when a good dinner had answered the purpose for which it was taken, it was speedily forgotten, especially when taken on _tick_. He, therefore, as aforesaid, expressed a strong desire to be paid; which so incensed Mr. Ellerbach, that he came into his shop, as he, the complainant, was standing in the midst of his men, and, after having kicked up a great dust, threatened to beat the whole lot. Complainant having no inclination to be beaten, ordered him to depart in peace, and pay for the lamb and cauliflower when convenient. But the defendant's voice was still for war; he d----d the lamb and cauliflower, "vain-gloriously;" and when one of complainant's cooks went towards him, with the kind intention of pursuading him to be quiet, he took up his fist and struck the unoffending cook right on the mouth. The blood gushed forth in a torrent; and, whilst poor _cookey_ was looking for his teeth, complainant called in the watch, and defendant was conveyed to durance.

Mr. Ellerbach entered upon his reply in a mild tone of impassioned eloquence; he admitted having eaten the lamb and cauliflower, and also that he took it on _tick_--not because he lacked the means of paying for it, even to the uttermost farthing;--but because he had a counter-claim upon the complainant for making him a toilinet waistcoat, which he, the complainant, alleged was a _misfit_, and therefore disputed the payment. Things were in this state, when he, the defendant, sent to complainant's shop for some cold roast beef and pickled cabbage, intending to eat it for his supper, and, to his immense amazement, the messenger returned, stating that complainant not only refused to send it, but had actually threatened to make pickled _cabbage_ of him (the defendant), unless he immediately paid for the lamb and cauliflower. This allusion to _cabbage_ he very naturally took as a reflection--a vulgar reflection upon his profession as a _tailor_, and he, therefore, went to his shop in person, to know what he meant by _pickling_ him. But he had scarcely entered the doors, when he found complainant and his surbordinate cooks all up in arms against him. Complainant called him a scoundrel, and ordered him to depart, without giving him time to demand the explanation he came for; and whilst he was endeavouring to obtain a hearing, one of the cooks made "a contemptuous and rather indecent sort of noise with his mouth;" which so exasperated him, that he certainly did strike the offending cook upon the offending organ; and in so doing he thought himself fully justified. In conclusion, he said, though the cook might have lost a little blood by the blow, and even, perhaps, an odd tooth or so, yet he, himself, at the same time knocked the skin off his own knuckles against cookey's teeth, and strained his thumb so, that he was obliged to carry it in a sling; and therefore he submitted that the assault account ought to be considered as balanced.

The magistrate, however, was of a different opinion, and ordered him to find bail for his appearance to answer it at the sessions.

Thus, though the cook failed to _pickle_ the tailor, the tailor contrived to place himself in pickle--and in such a pickle as probably _cured_ him of his pugnacious propensities.

THE TWO AUTHORS.

A man of six feet in height, of seedy exterior, and most melancholious physiognomy--principal contributor of bawdry and balderdash to the "Rambler's Magazine;" sixpence-a-sheet translator of the "Adventures of Chevalier Faublas," _et cetera, et cetera, et cetera_--was brought up in custody, to show cause why he should not be prosecuted for obtaining money under false pretences from one Mr. Robert Wedderburn--tailor and breeches-maker, field-preacher, radical reformer, romance-writer, circulatory-librarian, and ambulatory dealer in drugs, deism, and demoralisation in general.

Mr. Robert Wedderburn--or Robertus Wedderburn, as he delighteth to designate himself, is a man of colour--something of the colour of a toad's back, plump and puffy as a porpoise, and the magnitude of his caput makes it manifest that nature cut him out for a counsellor, had not the destinies decreed that he should cut out cloth. He therefore became a tailor and flourished (his shears), but age and fatty infirmity at length unfitted him for the operative department of his profession; his back would no longer bend to the board; his legs refused to let him cross them as he was wont to do; his eyes declined seeing a needle unless it was close to his nose; and though he got spectacles of all sorts, and let go his braces to their utmost limits, he could not manage it any how; and so, since he could no longer sew, he joined the _radicals_ of the day, and, from mending breeches, took to mending the state. His doings in this way made some noise in the world. He it was who had the honour of first inoculating the invincible Carlile with pure Deism; he it was who suffered pains, penalties, prosecutions, and imprisonments for his too liberal promulgation of too liberal politico-theological preachings; and he it will be that will have a place in the list of patriot martyrs of the nineteenth century--if a list of them should ever be published. _Shelved_, with the rest of the radicals, he turned his thoughts to literature; literature brought him acquainted with the prisoner; his acquaintance with the prisoner brought the prisoner to the bar of this office; and that brings us to the immediate matter at issue.