Mornings at Bow Street — Page 122-133

A COACHMAN'S CONSCIENCE.

A hackney coachman appeared before the Bench, upon a summons to answer the complaint of a gentleman from whom he had extorted _seven_ shillings and sixpence for a _four_ shilling fare!

"How could you think of attempting such an impudent extortion!"

asked the magistrate.

"Why, your worship," replied honest _Coachee_, "I'll tell you how it was--I knows I'm guilty, but I'll tell you how it was, and I hopes you'll take it into your consideration, and not be too hard upon me.

The gemman's sarvent what rode on the box wi' me, said to me, says he, as we were toddling a little ways down Oxford-street, your worship, says he to me, says he, 'Coachee,' says he, 'there's a _weddun_ (wedding) in _this_ job, so you needn't be afeard of laying it on pretty thick; and then, you know, you can tip me a _bob_ for my own cheek.'

" "And pray what is a _bob_?"

asked his worship.

"Why a _shilling_, your honour, all the world over!

When he ax'd me to stand a bob, your worship, I thought he was a rummish sort of a customer, but howsomever I took the hint; and when I set the gemman down I ax'd seven-and-sixpence, instead of a four shillings, God forgive me!

But I thought I couldn't in conscience ax less?"

"And pray," asked the magistrate, "did you give the servant the shilling you had promised him?"

"No, your worship, I wouldn't give him anything; 'cause I thought he didn't desarve it, after putting me up to diddle his own master in that manner!"

The gentleman said it was certainly true that on the day in question he had been present at a wedding; but he had received an excellent character with the servant, and as he had now lived with him several years, during which time his whole conduct had been unexceptionable, he would not believe him capable of making such an unprincipled proposition.

The magistrate said he had little doubt that it was a mere invention of the coachman's; and even admitting his story to be true, it would be no palliation of his offence.

Honest Coachee was then fined twenty shillings for the pliability of his _conscience_, and he left the office, observing, "I'll take 'nation good care how I gets into this here sort of a scrape again!"

DANCING DONAGHU.

Michael--or as he himself called it, "_Mykle_ Donaghu," was brought up on a warrant for assaulting and beating James Davis.

Mr. Davis is a tall, gaunt, lank-haired, melancholy, middle-aged Englishman.

_Mykle_, on the contrary, is a short, plump, curly-headed, bushy-whiskered, merry little Irishman.

They both lodge in the same house--_Mykle_ uppermost, and thence comes the grievance; for _Mykle_, when he is _beery_--and seldom's the time he is not--is given to dancing.

Mr. Davis is a man of staid and serious habits, who goes to bed every night when the clock strikes ten, and every night--just as he gets into his first sleep--home comes sprightly _Mykle_, brimful of beer, and begins dancing his "Irish _fandangoes_" about the room overhead, till he shakes down great patches of the ceiling upon poor Mr. Davis below.

Nay, it was stated by a _credible_ witness, that he sometimes danced so vigorously as to shake down the ceilings in the adjoining house!

Mr. Davis bore these irregularities as long as he could, but at last his patience, as he said, was quite entirely exhausted, and he ventured to tell _Mykle_ that he would bear it no longer; when, what does _Mykle_ do, but seize the _poker_, and threaten to "_Kennedy_ him"[21] if he dared to interfere with his private amusements.

Mr. Davis, quiet as he is, had too much spirit to let any man swagger over him in this manner; and, whilst _Mykle_ was "shelalegh-ing about" with his poker, he attempted to take it from him;

and in the attempt he received sundry thumps on the head and shoulders, which made his eyes strike fire.

Thus far was Mr. Davis's statement; and now for _Mykle_ Donaghu:-- "Plase your honour," said he, "is it bekase a man canna dance if he's merry?

--and Misther Davis, says I, is it myself that isna' to dance the bit bekase the lazy likes of ye canna get yer sleep before sun down?

I

shall go to the bed in reasonable time, when I like me self, Misther Davis, says I. Come out o' that, ye Irish Grecian, says he--come out o' that, and I'll give it to ye!

And he pulls the coat off him, and shakes his fist in the face of me; and come out o' that, says he, again, and I'll give it t' ye.

Faith, Mr. Davis, says I, and if ye will give it to me, ye sha'n't give it me for nothin, for be th' powers I shall _Kennedy_ ye, my jewel; and I took Kennedy to myself, and he had his fists in his own hands, y'r honour, and faith it wouldn't be aisy to say which of us had the best of it," &c. Some witnesses brought by Mr. Davis, admitted that Mr. Davis had challenged _Mykle_ to come out of his room, and that something like a regular fight had taken place between them; and, therefore, the magistrate dismissed the warrant.

"But, Michael," said his worship, "do not let me hear any more of your tricks; drink less beer in future."

--"I _sholl_, Sir!"

said _Mykle_.

"And, Michael, let me advise you to go home in better time in future."

--"I

_sholl_, Sir!"

"And, above all, Michael, get another lodging as soon as you can; and take care that your amusements do not disturb your neighbours."

"I _sholl_, Sir!"

reiterated honest _Mykle_, and making a bow--so low that the tattered hat he held in his own right hand almost touched the floor, whilst his left leg mounted into the air behind--he gave his worship St. Patrick's benison, and let the office a merrier man than he entered it.

A MISS-ADVENTURE.

Among the watch-house prisoners from St. Mary-le-Strand, was a young gentleman, who was charged with having beaten a lady.

He was a fine, blooming, well-grown, genteelly-clad young gentleman--a very Adonis of the woods; and his name was Smith--William Augustus Smith, as we understood.

His case had been thus registered in the charge-book, by his honour the Night Constable of St. Mary-le-Strand:-- "Mr. Smith charges Miss Charlotte Long with picking him up and striking him; and Miss Charlotte Long charges Mr. Smith with knocking her down."

Of course it was a "cross-charge;" and his honour the Night Constable of course detained both parties; and, moreover, was coarse enough "to shut them up down below."

But that was no great matter; for Mr. Smith's bloom suffered no deterioration in consequence; and as for the lady, as his honour the Night Constable said, why she was "_manured_ to the place."

[22] It appeared that on Saturday night Mr. Smith went to one of the Theatres;

and after the Theatre was closed, he went to the Rainbow to sup; and, after the supper was over, he returned through Temple-bar, towards his home in the West, arm in arm with a friend; and that friend was smoking a cigar.

In this way they walked along very comfortably--"by none offended, and offending none"--quietly discussing the beauty of the night, and the merits of the players, and the supper, and the wine, and the waiters at the Rainbow, and every thing of that sort, until, just as they emerged from beneath the arch-way of Temple-bar, Miss Charlotte Long, in passing, squeezed the dexter hand of his smoking friend.

Now, whether it was that his smoking friend had "a hydrophobia" of ladies in general, or whether he _smoked_ Miss Charlotte Long's _character_ in particular, Mr. Smith could not say; but so it was, that Miss Charlotte Long no sooner squeezed his smoking friend's hand, than his smoking friend _smoked_ Miss Charlotte Long's _countenance_, by puffing a cloud from his cigar at it.

Mr. Smith could not, in justice, be held responsible for his friend's want of gallantry; but nevertheless Miss Charlotte Long instantly gave Mr. Smith such a smack on his nice round blooming cheek, that all the avenues of the Temple echoed to the blow; and he, fearing the smack would be repeated pushed her from him, and she lost her balance.

"And this is the whole truth of the matter," quoth Mr. Smith.

Miss Charlotte Long, on the other hand, declared that she never touched the filthy fist of the smoker--but that as she was quietly walking along, he rudely puffed the smoke in her face--a thing which she could not a-bear--and then Mr. Smith knocked her down as flat as possible--like a brute as he was.

The worthy magistrate having listened to these counter-statements with great patience, expressed a wish to see the smoker, and that gentleman immediately came forward; but unfortunately _his_ recollection of the affair had entirely evaporated with the fumes of his own cigar; and eventually the double charge was dismissed, upon each party paying their own fees; the magistrate admonishing Mr. Smith to keep better hours in future, if he valued either his morals or his complexion.

THE WEDDING RING.

Mrs. Catherine Casey was charged with having purloined Mrs. Judith O'Leary's wedding ring.

The ladies are both natives of "the Emerald gem of the western world"--the green land of shamrocks and shilelaghs.

They came to this country together in the days of their youth; they toiled together year after year in the sunny harvest fields; they got comfortable husbands to them; they grew old together; they ate, they drank, they smoked together; they were gossips--"sworn gossips and friends."

"But what is friendship but a name!"

saith the poet.

--Let Mrs. Judith O'Leary tell her own tale.

"Yer honour, this is Misthress Casey--the gossip she was to me many a long year in ould Ireland and since we comed to this; and much is it I made of her at all times, your honour--for we got our bits o' livings, and we ate, and slept, and we drink't together"-- "And got _drunk_ together," said his worship.

"Faith did we, your honour--and wonst _too often_;" rejoined Mrs. Judith O'Leary, making an _illigant_ curt'sy.

"T'other day, your honour, we were taking the drops at the Blue Pig, and talking of the ould consarns, and the talk came up, and the drops went down softly and swately--that's the throats of us, your honour; and by-and-by, says Misthress Casey to me, says she--'Misthress O'Leary,' says she to me, 'let's be home to our own place.'

--'And so I will, Misthress Casey,' says I--'ounly we'll have t'other drop with the three halfpence that's left in the bottom of it,'--that's the pocket your honour.

'Gad's blood, we'll have t'other drop, gossip,' says I to her.

And sure we had, and it was a drop too much for the head of me--it went round like the hind wheel of an _ackney_--rowling and rowling, your honour, and I rowl'd home mighty queer that day; and I laid meself down on my own bed; and the child I had be my own lawful husband, Tom Leary, laid be the side of me fast asleep--ounly sober as a judge was the child at that same time--why shouldn't it?

And when I waked up, says I to me--'how comed I here,' says I, 'in my own bed,' says I, 'before dark?'

says I to myself; but I couldn't tell, for the life of me, your honour, in regard of the gin--that's the _blue ruin_, as Misther Jenkins the pratur marchant calls it, your honour.

'Well,' says I to meself, 'sure I'll get up,' says I, 'for what's the use of lying here like a baste,' says I, 'when Tom Leary isn't in it, and is coming to it may be?'

And I got up and shook meself, and got the water to wash my hands, and I looked at 'em--that's the fingers, but d--l a _ring_ was on 'em!

'_Deevle_ burn ye, Kate Casey,' thinks I to myself, 'but ye've got the bit of gould from me at last!'

and I went to her place--that's in Bainbridge-street, your honour; 'and Misthress Casey,' says I, 'where's me _ring_?'

'What ring?'

says she.

--'My wedding ring that I got with Tom Leary,' says I. --'_Deevle_ a know I know!'

says she.

--'Don't be tellin the lie to the face of me,' says I, 'for sure there's them that seen ye _slither_ it off the finger of me,' says I. --'Be the mother of Moses!

it's a graat lie!'

says she.

--'Thank ye, Misthress Casey,' says I. --'Take _that_ for yerself, Mrs. O'Leary,' says she"-- "And what was _that_?"

asked his worship.

"Faith, a beautiful blow on the mouth of me!"

your honour, replied Mrs. O'Leary--laying hold of her upper lip, and turning it inside out for his worship's inspection.

But his worship declined inspecting it; and Mrs. O'Leary, having let her lip down again, proceeded to state that, having got this beautiful thump on the mouth of her, she did not choose to have any more to say to Mrs. Casey, but forthwith handed her over to an officer.

The Officer in question said he had learned that Mrs. Casey pawned a wedding ring on the day of the row, but she redeemed it in a few hours afterwards, and that was all the pawnbroker knew about it.

Whilst Mrs. O'Leary was telling her story, Mrs. Casey could hardly be restrained from opening upon her at almost every sentence.

She seemed to be bursting with words; and, no doubt, it was a great relief to her when his worship at length gave her leave to speak by asking, "Where is this poor woman's ring?"

"Honour bright!

your worship," replied Mrs. Casey, in a voice as melodious as a cracked bagpipe--"Honour bright!

your worship; _deevle's_ the bit I knows about it at all!

Och!

Mrs. O'Leary, but yer a bad one after all of it," &c. "You knows you'll say any thing but your prayers, Mrs. O'Leary, and meself never to find it out till this present time!

--Your worship, she gived the ring to a _man she has_!"

"Och!

an is it the likes of _me_, with three childer and Tom Leary!"

cried Mrs. O'Leary, lifting up her hands and eyes in astonishment at the scandal.

Mrs. Casey persisted in her story, and at last the charge was dismissed for want of evidence.

--In ten minutes after, they were seen together at "The Grapes," in Bow-street, taking their drops, as good friends as ever they were.