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aristocratic kind of hands, but they were not very clean; she wore boots made to lace at the sides, but as she omitted to lace them, they hung over her ankles like a player's buskins; her dress was of faded black silk, with several red, mouldy spots in it, and she wore her bonnet back off her forehead in an ill-adjusted manner.

Christopher Cribs was a small, smooth-faced, passive-looking personage-one of those whom nature intended for a member of the peace society, but whom chance at times exposes to scenes of domestic disquietude.

"Yes," said Mrs. Cribs, as we entered the court, "I may thank you-you, you unfeeling-cruelly unkind man; I may thank you for it all." And she shook her parasol in Crib's face in a manner indicative of revenge, adding, in tones suitably pathetic

"This is the deepest of my woes;

For this these tears my cheeks bedew;
This is of love the final close;

Oh, God, the fondest, last adieu!"

"Clemanthe, my dear," said Mr. Cribs, in an assuaging, soothing tone, "be silent till we leave this, or we'll be put in the papers-perhaps in the calaboose.”

"Cribs," said Mrs. C.,-" Cribs, don't speak to me-don't drive me mad. What do you know about the papers? You know-you well know that I have contributed to the poetical department of both the dailies and the magazines. Then why would one like you-without soul, without sentiment→→ on whose mind no ray of the Promethean spark ever shed its lustre who are an utter stranger to

The elegance, facility and golden cadence of poesy

Heaven bred poesy!'

Why I ask, should you offer such an insult to me in a public court as to speak to me of poetry."

"What's the matter with that woman?" said the Recorder. Policeman." That's 'zactly the way she was carryin' on last night when I 'rested her-she's a screamer, your honour, I tell you."

Christopher Cribs, (with one of his usual insinuating smiles,) "O, it aint nothin', your honour; it was Mrs. Cribs here, as was just a talkin' to me. She's a werry good woman, sir, and werry intellectual and

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Mrs. Cribs. "Cribs, I command you to be silent; don't expose your ignorance-don't, I say. Will the court call on this

illiterate individual to cease annoying me? O, Cribs! had we—

"Never met, or had we parted,

I had ne'er been broken hearted."

Recorder." Will any one tell me what this woman is say

ing?"

Mr. Cribs." Nothin' in the vide vorld, your honour. Mrs. Cribs Clem, I calls her, for love and shortness-Clem is one of the most lovingest wives as I ever knowed on. She aint got no fault, but that she's too fond of poetry books, and instead of mindin' her waking babe-little Tommy, the blessedest infant you ever seed-she keeps writin' sonnets to a sleepin' babe;' and t'other day, when I brought home some fust rate croackers from the lake, and told her to dress them for dinner, instead of doin' it she sat down-'cause she said the inspiration was on her-and she began writin' lines 'To a dead fish found on the strand;' and kept at it till the dead fish which she might find in the basket were spoiled. Well, I s'pose the poetry on the dead fish was all very good, for Clem said it was; but I'd be a better judge of the fish in the basket, if she had done them up for my dinner, instead of doin' up the poetry. When I told her I was gettin' right hungry, she says, says she,Cribs, have patience, you woracious wagabond; you see I'm preparin' an intellectual feast.' Yes, said I, but Clem, my love, it'll be a feast arter a famine, for I'm right hungry now. It won't be the feast of reason, neither, for there aint no reason in fastin' for the sake of poetry."

"Cribs," said Mrs. C., her eye in a fine frenzy rolling"Cribs, you're an ingrate-a deceiver-a false one! You knew when you plighted to me your eternal truth and undying constancy-you knew my passion for poetry, my love of literature, my admiration for the romantic;-but 'tis over!— "The charm is broken! Once betrayed,

Oh, never can my heart rely

On word or look, on oath or sigh!
Take back the gifts, so sweetly giv'n

With promis'd faith and vows to Heav'n."

Recorder. "O, I cannot be annoyed with this poetical woman and her fish-fond husband. Send them out of the court, and if brought up here again they shall find bail that they will not in future disturb the neighbourhood in which they live."

Cribs left the office, supplicating the amiable Mrs. C. for forgiveness, which she seemed very adverse to granting.

RECORDER'S COURT.

83

RECORDER'S COURT.

TWO OF A TRADE CAN NEVER AGREE.

We witnessed a lucid illustration of this argument in the court of Recorder Baldwin yesterday. While standing at the door, on St. Charles street, waiting for the opening of the court, we saw two men in hot haste, making tracks for the police office. Here, thought we, here is not one, but here are two heroes for our next morning's report-for we look out for a "character" with as much anxiety, almost, but not quite, as a merchant looks out for his ships at sea-as a stock jobber looks out for a fall or a rise in the funds-as an old maid looks out for some one to" pop the question," or as a political editor looks out for "glorious victories."

In the distance we could not see, "precisely," what they were; though as they approached we felt we could not be mistaken in putting them down for a pair of wood-sawyers. One carried his saw slung on his arm, and the other had his "horse" mounted on his shoulder. At a first glance they looked like wandering minstrels; the saw on No. One seemed

"Like his wild harp slung behind him ;"

and the "horse" on the shoulder of the other, like a hand organ. So far as the look of the outer-man was concerned, they were as like one another as the Siamese twins, or two plaster of Paris castings of Bonaparte; with this single exception, that the two legs of one of them were not of equal longitudehis life seemed a succession of ups and downs.

They unburdened themselves of their "plunder" outside the office door, and boldly made their way up to the bench. "I vants a varrant for this 'ere indiwidual," said he with the short leg and the long one.

"Yes, and please your honour," said the other, who stood on equal footing with himself, at least, "Fshall lodge hexaminations agin this 'ere feller."

The Recorder actuated by that fair-play-principle which distinguishes him as a magistrate, said he was prepared to hear both sides of the story, and bade the man with the imperfect understanding to proceed.

"First," said the Recorder, "what is your name?"

"Thomas, sir, Jim Thomas, but folks calls me Hop and Go Constant, by way of a rig-it aint my name though," said the odd legged man.

"And yours, sir," said the Recorder, to the other.

"George Villiams, sir," said the other; " and I haint got no title 'cause as how it aint democratic."

"Let us hear your story first, Thomas," said the Recorder. "Yes, sir," said Hop and Go Constant, "I'll tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth: Vell, your honour sees, I ha' follered this here purfession of wood sawin' for a long time, and I understands the business in all its branches. This here feller is but a new hand, and besides, he haint got no genius. 'Stead of learnin' to set his saw, he has made a dead set at my reg'lar business; he goes round to my customers, your honour, and he circum wents me."

"But has he assaulted you?" said the Recorder.

"Yes, sir-r," said Jim Thomas, " and he knocked out three of my teeth yesterday."

"Why, that is battery," said the Recorder, "according to our statutes; but I can't perceive that your mouth is much disfigured by the blow, nor do I see the vacuum which the three knocked out teeth have left."

"Why bless your hinnocent heys," said Thomas," it warn't out of my mouth, but out of my saw that he knocked the three teeth, and I have it outside to prove the fact. I thinks myself, the offence is burglary in the second degree."

66 Silence,' ," said the Recorder, " you have gone quite far enough. What have you to say to this, Williams?" he asked of the man whose legs, instead of being like two sides of an irregular triangle, were like two sides of a square.

"Vell, I haint nothin' to say but this here," said Williams; "that I rests my defence altogether on constitutional grounds. In the first place, ven I saws vood no man cant interfere vith me, 'cause I'm in the pursuit o' happiness; and, moreover, I thinks free trade and wood-sawyers' rights, is as much a constitutional question as free trade and sailors' rights, about vich folks makes such a muss. Vy, I asks, should there be monopoly in wook-sawin'? Dont competition benefit every business? I'm blow'd if I'll be put down by that 'ere man; that's all about it."

"That is enough about it," said the Recorder; "and as for you," he said, addressing the lame man," because you charge

RECORDER'S Court.

85

this man with breaking the teeth of your saw, you come to a lame and impotent conclusion when you think you can sue him for an assault. To maintain such a charge you should prove personal violence. You may both go."

They left the office. The man not fully initiated in the mysteries of wood-sawing, seeming to regard the decision of the court as a great triumph. The lame man's short leg seemed shorter and his long leg longer than usual.

A SERENADER.

CHRISTOPHER CRAMER AND HIS CREMONA.

AMONG the cases brought up Saturday before the Recorder, was Christopher Cramer-an old rusty fiddle was under his arm, and a bow, which had lost much of its original tension, was insinuated between its strings. Christopher's dress was superlatively shabby; his jaws were thin and attenuated; his nose was pimply and purple; he was of the lamp-post shape, or rather of no shape at all; and his fingers were as fleshless and long as if they had undergone an anatomical operation. He seemed to be as he was-a specimen of Paginini-ism done up on loafer principles; and his face, which was covered with scratches, looked like a gamut written with red ink.

66 Christopher Cramer ?" said the Recorder.

Christopher, whose spirits seemed sunk too low, was so absorbed in thought that he heeded not the authorative voice of the judicial functionary on the bench, but kept gazing on his fiddle, which was placed on his knees, with all the apparent affection with which a parent looks on an only child fading away from life under the corroding influence of a consumption. "Your case is called on," said a policeman, stirring up Christopher with his short pole-" your case is called on."

"Ah, I've lost my case," said Cramer, "and I thought as much of it as I do of my fiddle itself-my name was on it, C. C., done in brass nails.”

"You were found disturbing the peace last night," said the Recorder.

"There is a discord between the charge and the fact, may it please the court," said Cramer; "of nothing was I guilty but

"Peace and gentle visitation."

H

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