Real Life In London, Volumes I. and II.
honey?--Sure enough it was not for the want of milk, meal,
or tatoes.'
“In a remote corner of the room, or rather cellar, sat three
draymen, five of his majesty's body guards, four sailors,
six haymakers, eight chairmen, and six evidence makers,
together with three bailiffs' followers, who came by turns
to view the body, and take a drop of the _cratur_ to drink
repose to the shoul of their countryman; and to complete the
group, they were at-tended by the journeyman Jack Ketch. The
noise and confusion were almost stupefying--there were
praying--swearing--crying-howling--smoking--and drinking.
“At the head of the bed where the remains of Murtoch were
laid, was the picture of the Virgin Mary on one side, and
that of St. Patrick on the other; and at the feet was
depicted the devil and some of his angels, with the blood
running down their backs, from the flagellations which they
had received from the disciples of Ketigern. Whether the
blue devils were flying around or not, I could not exactly
discover, but the whiskey and _blue ruin_ were evidently
powerful in their effects.
“One was swearing--a second counting his beads--a
third descanting on the good qualities of his departed
friend, and about to try those of the whiskey--a fourth
evacuating that load with which he had already overloaded
himself--a fifth, declaring he could carry a fare, hear
mass, knock down a member of parliament, murder a peace
officer, and after all receive a pension: and while the
priest was making an assignation with a sprightly female
sprig of Shelalah, another was jonteelly picking his pocket.
I had seen enough, and having no desire to continue in such
company, made my escape with as much speed as I could from
this animated group of persons, assembled as they were upon
so solemn an occasion.”
~85~~With conversation of this kind, the party were amused up St.
Martin's lane, and on the remainder of the road to Bow-street, followed
by many persons, some of whom pretended to have seen a part of the
proceedings, and promised to give their evidence before the magistrate,
who was then sitting.
On arriving in Bow Street, they entered the Brown Bear,{1} a
public-house, much frequented by the officers, and in which is a
strong-room for the safe custody of prisoners, where they were shewn
into a dark back-parlour, as they termed it, and the officer proceeded
to search the man in custody, when lo and behold! the handkerchief was
not to be found about him.
Pat d----d the devil and all his works--swore “by the fiery furnace of
Beelzebub, and that's the devil's own bed-chamber, that was the man
that nibbled the Jontleman's _dive_,{2} and must have _ding'd away the
wipe_,{3} or else what should he _bolt_{4} for?--that he was up to the
_rum slum_,{5}
1 A former landlord of the house facetiously christened it
the Russian Hotel, and had the words painted under the sign
of Bruin.
2 _Nibbled the Jontleman's dive_--Picked the gentleman's
pocket.
3 _Ding'd away the wipe_--Passed away the handkerchief to
another, to escape detection. This is a very common practice
in London: two or three in a party will be near, without
appearing to have the least knowledge of, or connexion with
each other, and the moment a depredation is committed by
one, he transfers the property to one of his pals, by whom
it is conveyed perhaps to the third, who decamps with it to
some receiver, who will immediately advance money upon it;
while, if any suspicion should fall upon the first, the
second will perhaps busy himself in his endeavours to secure
the offender, well knowing no proof of possession can be
brought against him.
4 _Bolt_--Run away; try to make an escape.
5 _Rum slum_--Gammon--queer talk or action, in which some
fraudulent intentions are discoverable or suspected.
~86~~and down upon the _kiddies_{1}--and sure enough you're _boned,_{2}
my dear boy.”
Some of the officers came in, and appeared to know the prisoner well,
as if they had been acquainted with each other upon former official
business; but as the lost property was not found upon him, it was the
general opinion that nothing could be done, and the accused began to
exercise his wit upon Murphy, which roused Pat's blood:
“For the least thing, you know, makes an Irishman roar.”
At length, upon charging him with having been caught _blue-pigeon
flying,_{3} Pat gave him the lie in his teeth--swore he'd fight him for
all the _blunt_{4} he had about him, “which to be sure,” said he, “is
but a sweet pretty half-a-crown, and be d----d to you--good luck
to it! Here goes,” throwing the half-crown upon the floor, which the
prisoner attempted to pick up, but was prevented by Pat's stamping his
foot upon it, while he was _doffing his jacket_,{5} exclaiming--
“Arrah, be after putting your dirty fingers in your pocket, and don't
spoil the King's picture by touching it--devil burn me, but I'll _mill
your mug to muffin dust_{6} before I'll give up that beautiful looking
bit; so tip us your mauley,{7} and no more blarney.”
1 Down upon the Kiddies--To understand the arts and
manouvres of thieves and sharpers.
2 Boned--Taken or secured.
s Blue pigeon flying--The practice of stealing lead from
houses, churches, or other buildings. A species of
depredation very prevalent in London and its vicinity, and
which is but too much encouraged by the readiness with which
it can be disposed of to the plumbers in general.
4 Blunt--A flash term for money.
5 Doffing his Jacket--Taking off his jacket.
6 Mill your mug to muffin dust--The peculiarity of the Irish
character for overstrained metaphor, may perhaps, in some
degree, account for the Hibernian's idea of beating his head
to flour, though he was afterwards inclined to commence his
operations in the true style and character of the prize
ring, where
“Men shake hands before they box, Then give each other
plaguy knocks, With all the love and kindness of a brother.”
7 Tip us your mauley--Give me your hand. Honour is so sacred
a thing with the Irish, that the rapid transition from a
violent expression to the point of honour, is no uncommon
thing amongst them; and in this instance it is quite clear
that although he meant to mill the mug of his opponent to
muffin dust, he had a notion of the thing, and intended to
do it in an honourable way.
~87~~During this conversation, the spectators, who were numerous, were
employed in endeavouring to pacify the indignant Hibernian, who by this
time had buffid it, or, in other words, _peeled in prime twig_,{1} for
a regular _turn to._{2} All was noise and confusion, when a new group
of persons entered the room--another capture had been made, and another
charge given. It was however with some difficulty that honest Pat Murphy
was prevailed upon to remain a little quiet, while one of the officers
beckoned Dashall out of the room, and gave him to understand that the
man in custody, just brought in, was a well-known _pal_{3} of the one
first suspected, though they took not the least notice of each other
upon meeting. In the mean time, another officer in the room had been
searching the person of the last captured, from whose bosom he drew the
identical handkerchief of Bob; and the Irishman recollected seeing him
in the crowd opposite the Opera House.
This cleared up the mystery in some degree, though the two culprits
affected a total ignorance of each other. The property of the person
who had given the last charge was also discovered, and it was deemed
absolutely necessary to take them before the Magistrate. But as some
new incidents will arise on their introduction to the office, we shall
reserve them for the next Chapter.
1 Buff'd it, or peeled in prime twig--Stripped to the skin
in good order. The expressions are well known, and
frequently in use, among the sporting characters and lovers
of the fancy.
2 Turn to, or set to--The commencement of a battle.
3 Pal--A partner or confederate.
CHAPTER VIII
Houses, churches, mixt together,
Streets unpleasant in all weather;
Prisons, palaces contiguous,
Gates, a bridge--the Thames irriguous;
Gaudy things, enough to tempt ye,
Showy outsides, insides empty;
Bubbles, trades, mechanic arts,
Coaches, wheelbarrows, and carts;
Warrants, bailiffs, bills unpaid,
Lords of laundresses afraid;
Rogues, that nightly rob and shoot men,
Hangmen, aldermen, and footmen;
Lawyers, poets, priests, physicians,
Noble, simple, all conditions;
Worth beneath a thread-bare cover,
Villainy bedaubed all over;
Women, black, red, fair, and grey,
Prudes, and such as never pray;
Handsome, ugly, noisy still,
Some that will not, some that will;
Many a beau without a shilling,
Many a widow not unwilling;
Many a bargain, if you strike it:--
This is London--How d'ye like it?
~88~~ON entering the Public Office, Bow-street, we must leave our
readers to guess at the surprise and astonishment with which the Hon.
Tom Dashall and his Cousin beheld their lost friend, Charles Sparkle,
who it appeared had been kindly accommodated with a lodging gratis in
a neighbouring watch-house, not, as it may readily be supposed, exactly
suitable to his taste or inclination. Nor was wonder less excited in the
mind of Sparkle at this unexpected meeting, as unlooked for as it
was fortunate to all parties. There was however no opportunity at the
present moment for an explanation, as the worthy Magistrate immediately
proceeded to an investigation of the case just brought before him, upon
which there was no difficulty in deciding. The charge was made, the
handkerchief sworn to, and the men, who ~89~~were well known as old
hands upon the town, committed for trial. The most remarkable feature in
the examination being the evidence of Pat Murphy, who by this time
had recollected that the man who was taken with the property about his
person, was the very identical aggressor who had offended him while the
hod of mortar was on his shoulder, before the conversation commenced
between himself and Tom opposite the Opera-house.
“Sure enough, your Honour,” said he, “its a true bill. I'm an Irishman,
and I don't care who knows it--I don't fight under false colours, but
love the land of potatoes, and honour St. Patrick. That there man with
the _blue toggery_{1} tipp'd me a bit of blarney, what did not suit my
stomach. I dropp'd my load, which he took for an order to quit, and so
_mizzled_{2} out of my way, or by the big bull of Ballynafad, I'd have
powdered his wig with brick-dust, and bothered his bread-basket with a
little human kindness in the shape of an Irishman's fist; and then that
there other dirty end of a shelalah, while the Jontleman--long life to
your Honour, (bowing to Tom Dashall)--was houlding a bit of conversation
with Pat Murphy, _grabb'd_{3} his pocket-handkerchief, and was after
shewing a leg,{4} when a little boy that kept his oglers upon 'em, let
me into the secret, and let the cat out of the bag by bawling--Stop
thief! He darted off like a cow at the sound of the bagpipes, and I
boulted a'ter him like a good'un; so when I came up to him, Down you go,
says I, and down he was; and that's all I know about the matter.”