'Ah, that's ould An' didn't you want 'Shanvanvouth,' or the 'Battle of Tara.'' ninety-eight brakin' out,' sis Tom. to throw Shamus ahocka (King James) in our teeth?" "You lie,' sis Tom. You lie,' sis Farrell. Take that,' sis Tom. 'An' that,' sis Farrell; an' thin, your honour, there was a gineral ruckawn-a sort of a permiscous skrimmage-and divil a haporth more do I know about it. Me own pipes was made kippeens of in the row, and I b'lieve I'd have been kilt intirely, only for me gardian angel, Miss O'Hern-may the cloud o' misfortune never darken her bright looks." The Recorder, finding it impossible to discriminate between the plaintiffs and defendants, bound all the parties over to keep the peace. A VETERAN OF THE IMPERIAL ARMY. THE most prominent picture in the Recorder's gallery of portraits yesterday morning was Macenat Fournier. Poor Macenat! adversity has left its traces deep and visible on thy features, and however bright your sun of life may have risen, it will set ere long, obscured by the clouds of misfortune. In order to see Macenat in the mind's eye, a brief outline of his outer man is indispensably necessary. He must have seen some fifty summers; aye, and a like number of winters. The summers have embrowned his features, and given to his face a mandarin kind of colour; the winters have frosted his hair, and left Time's tracks on his forehead. He was dressed in a muchworn military frock, in a hat of feltless antiquity, and in trousers which were once white, but now needed no committee to decide that they wanted washing. Two or three faded tri-coloured ribands were suspended to the breast of his coat; the remnant of what was once a moustache clung to his upper lip; he held in his hand a cane stick, to which was attached a leather tassel, and at his feet lay a half-starved long-haired French terrier dog. "Where did you find this man?" said the Recorder, addressing the captain of the guard, and referring to Fournier. "He was sleeping in the cathedral," said the officer, "and his dog well nigh bit me when I went to arrest him." "What brought you into the church?" said the Recorder, speaking to Fournier, "why were you sleeping there?" A VETERAN OF THE IMPERIAL ARMY. 17 "Ah!" said Fournier, "I went to pay my respect-my devoir to the memory of le grand Empereur! great sheneral! mighty man!" and his lustreless eye was for a moment lit up by his enthusiastic recollection of the hero of a hundred fights. "What did you know of the General ?" said the Recorder. "What I know of him?" said the little veteran, shrugging his shoulders, "ah, Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! I know'd all of him; I much wid him; I mess wid him; I fight wid him; I retreat wid him from Moscow; I die wid him.-He be one very little, big, great General !" "Bow! ow! ow!" barked the little dog that lay at Fournier's feet, looking up wistfully in his master's face, as if he intuitively had learned that he was in difficulties. "Ah, poor doggy!" said the Frenchman, and a tear drop started into the puckered corner of his eye, "you is de only one friens old Fournier has left. De French Republic gone—-Bonaparte gone-wife gone-son gone-daughter gone-all be gone but you. You stick to old Macenat whether he have money, whether he have bread, whether he have house, or whether he have nothin'. Doggy! master have no Hospital of Invalides to shelter him, and when he die you have no one to give you de crust of bread, and you die too. Ah, Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!" "Have you belonged to the imperial army?" said the Recorder. "Oui, oui," said the little Frenchman, " me "bliged to sell my medals, but there be my certificate of service," pointing to a sabre wound on his jaw, to another on his head, and to a gun shot wound on his leg, “dere, dere, dere!”—Here the little dog barked again, and the Frenchman patted him affectionately on the back. "How long have you been in this country?" said the Recorder. 66 man. "Twenty and one two years," said the Frenchman. Why did you come to this country ?" said the Recorder. "Ah, that be too much sorrowful to tell," said the French"My sheneral, the brave Napoleon, he be sent to St. Helena, my wife she die, my son and my daughter-fine boy! fine girl!-dey come to dis country of liberty; de imperial army be disbanded, and poor Macenat have no friend in France but his dog, and he come after his children and take his dog wid him, but he nevare find dem, nevare, nevare-dey die, and WHO TRIED TO BE A TEMPERANCE MAN, BUT COULDN'T COME IT! An individual who rejoices in the name of Jim Joyce, was lecturing the lamp-post on the mutability of matter, at the corner of Lafayette Square, on Sunday night. His remarks, which were delivered in a loud voice, brought the watchman on his legs, as they say in parliamentary phrase; for he had just, by way of showing his extraordinary vigilance, been taking a comfortable snooze-or, to speak more refinedly, he had been indulging in the luxuriance of an hour's somnolency. "Keep silent!" said Joyce to the lamp-post, as the watchman approached him, "and I'll explain the whole matter to you." "What's the matter with you?" said the watchman. "Who are you?—eh ?-Let me see. Why, I'm blowed if you aint Jim Joyce! What! Jim, my old covey, not taken the pledge yet! Ah, Jim! you must be elected president of the Unreformed Drunkards;-you can go the anti-Washingtonian ticket strong!" "Charley, old feller," said Jim, "I's not what I used to was -I aint myself-I aint nobody-I aint nothing-I wish I was. I have wound up my affairs, and am in a state of liquor-dation !" "Yes, I guess as how you have accepted a great many draughts lately," said the watchman-" you seem like it." "You're right, hoss--I has," said Jim; "but, dang it, the legislature won't come to my relief. Don't you see I haint got no movement,' and I'm used up with dead weight."" "Well, come-move alon along,' ," said Charley. "You haint bin out of prison three days. I'll refer you to a committee of one, composed of Recorder Baldwin: I guess he'll move for your recommitment, with a view to your amendment !” "Yes," says Jim; "but the Temperance Society has had me under consideration-I find I can't be amended-I didn't take nothing for three days; but I couldn't stand it no longer, and was obliged to resume my drinks. O! it's an awful state, Charley, for a feller to be without his bitters when he's used to them!" "Well, come along," said the watchman.-"Thirty days in the new workhouse may have more virtue in bringing about your reformation than a Father Mathew medal. We'll try it." "Well, I aint agoin' to go," said Jim. "I never keeps low company, and you is so cussedly vulgar that they say you have to strike the curb-stones, to force them to keep your society!" This was touching Charley in a tender point: it was a personal aspersion—a misdemeanour of no common magnitude, inasmuch as it was calculated to bring the officers of the law, and, per consequence, the law itself into disrepute. There was, therefore, no further parley between the parties, and Charley's stave, applied divers and sundry times to Jim Joyce's ribs, operated as a motive power to his locomotion until they arrived at the Baronne-street watchhouse. He is now developing the resources of the state in the new 'workhouse. AN ARTIST IN TROUBLE. As Recorder Baldwin was yesterday disposing of some case of ordinary importance, a low, chubby, cabbage-headed Dutchman, and a thin, tall, attenuated man in a seedy black coat, pants to match, and a well brushed faded silk hat entered the office. The first notice of their presence which the court had was the Dutchman telling the tall, thin, attenuated, gentleman in the seedy dress and faded silk hat, that he "wash a tam shon of a pitch." |