LITMIR.BIZ

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was obliged to exert all his effrontery, and to use very high language, in order, as the cant phrase is, to bounce the tradesman out of it; his fashionable appearance, and affected anger at his insinuations, always had the effect of inducing an apology; and in many such cases he has actually carried away the spoil, notwithstanding what passed between them, and even gone so far as to visit the same shop again a second and a third time with as good success as at first. This, with his nightly attendance at the Theatres and places of public resort, where he picked pockets of watches, snuff-boxes, &c. was for a length of time the sole business of his life. He was however secured, after secreting himself for a time, convicted, and is now transported for life—as he conceives, sold by another cele-brated Prig, whose real name was Bill White, but better known by the title of Conky Beau.

      will be acted on sometimes by the very party you are speaking to—the expertness with which it is done is almost beyond belief.”

      Bob having ascertained that his handkerchief was the extent of his loss, they pursued their way towards Charing Cross.

      “A line of street is intended,” continued Tom, “to be made from the Opera House to terminate with that church; and here is the King's Mews, which is now turned into barracks.”

      “Stop thief! Stop thief!” was at this moment vociferated in their ears by a variety of voices, and turning round, they perceived a well-dressed man at full speed, followed pretty closely by a concourse of people. In a moment the whole neighbourhood appeared to be in alarm. The up-stairs windows were crowded with females—the tradesmen were at their shop-doors—the passengers were huddled together in groups, inquiring of each other—“What is the matter?—who is it?—which is him?—what has he done?” while the pursuers were increasing in numbers as they went. The bustle of the scene was new to Bob—Charing Cross and its vicinity was all in motion.

      “Come,” said Tom, “let us see the end of this—they are sure to nab{l} my gentleman before he gets much

      1 Nabbed or nibbled—Secured or taken.

      farther, so let us brush{1} on.” Then pulling his Cousin by the arm, they moved forward to the scene of action.

      As they approached St. Martin's Lane, the gathering of the crowd, which was now immense, indicated to Tom a capture.

      “Button up,” said he, “and let us see what's the matter.”

      “Arrah be easy” cried a voice which they instantly recognized to be no other than Pat Murphy's. “I'll hold you, my dear, till the night after Doomsday, though I can't tell what day of the year that is. Where's the man wid the gould-laced skull-cap? Sure enough I tought I'd be up wi' you, and so now you see I'm down upon you.”

      At this moment a Street-keeper made way through the crowd, and Tom and Bob keeping close in his rear, came directly up to the principal performers in this interesting scene, and found honest Pat Murphy holding the man by his collar, while he was twisting and writhing to get released from the strong and determined grasp of the athletic Hibernian.

      Pat no sooner saw our Heroes, than he burst out with a lusty “Arroo! arroo! there's the sweet-looking jontleman that's been robbed by a dirty spalpeen that's not worth the tail of a rotten red-herring. I'll give charge of dis here pick'd bladebone of a dead donkey that walks about in God's own daylight, dirting his fingers wid what don't belong to him at all at all. So sure as the devil's in his own house, and that's London, you've had your pocket pick'd, my darling, and that's news well worth hearing”—addressing himself to Dashall.

      By this harangue it was pretty clearly understood that Murphy had been in pursuit of the pickpocket, and Tom immediately gave charge.

      The man, however, continued to declare he was not the right person—“That, so help him G——d, the Irishman had got the wrong bull by the tail—that he was a b——dy snitch{2} and that he would sarve him out{3}—that he wished

      1 Brush—Be off. 2 Snitch—A term made use of by the light-fingered tribe, to signify an informer, by whom they have been impeached or betrayed—So a person who turns king's evidence against his accomplices is called a Snitch. 3 Serve him out—To punish, or be revenged upon any person for any real or supposed injury.

      he might meet him out of St. Giles's, and he would wake{ 1} him with an Irish howl.”

      1 Wake with an Irish howl—An Irish Wake, which is no

      unfrequent occurrence in the neighbourhood of St. Giles's

      and Saffron Hill, is one of the most comically serious

      ceremonies which can well be conceived, and certainly

      baffles all powers of description. It is, however,

      considered indispensable to wake the body of a de-ceased

      native of the sister kingdom, which is, by a sort of mock

      lying in state, to which all the friends, relatives, and

      fellow countrymen and women, of the dead person, are

      indiscriminately admitted; and among the low Irish this duty

      is frequently performed in a cellar, upon which occasions

      the motley group of assembled Hibernians would form a

      subject for the pencil of the most able satirist.

      Upon one of these occasions, when Murtoch Mulrooney, who had

      suffered the sentence of the law by the common hangman, for

      a footpad robbery, an Englishman was induced by a friend of

      the deceased to accompany him, and has left on record the

      following account of his entertainment:—

      “When we had descended (says he) about a dozen steps, we

      found ourselves in a subterraneous region, but fortunately

      not uninhabited. On the right sat three old bawds, drinking

      whiskey and smoking tobacco out of pipes about two inches

      long, (by which means, I conceive, their noses had become

      red,) and swearing and blasting between each puff. I was

      immediately saluted by one of the most sober of the ladies,

      and invited to take a glass of the enlivening nectar, and

      led to the bed exactly opposite the door, where Murtoch was

      laid out, and begged to pray for the repose of his precious

      shoul. This, however, I declined, alleging that as the

      parsons were paid for praying, it was their proper business.

      At this moment a coarse female voice exclaimed, in a sort of

      yell or Irish howl, 'Arrah! by Jasus, and why did you die,

      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

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